She gestured wildly toward the house behind them, then back at the fence. “I’ve thought through every exit. Every possible escape. This fence is my only chance. If I can get over, I’ll find a carriage to Ashbourne, my sister’s place. I can hide there until the wedding madness passes.”
Lucy folded her arms, her lips twitching between a smile and a scowl. “You, madam, are proposing to scale a thorn-covered fence in your wedding dress and hope for a happy ending in a carriage at Ashbourne. Have you thought of what might happen if you catch more than thorns? What if you fall? What if someone sees you?”
Dorothy’s eyes darted toward the house, then back at the fence as if it were a living beast daring her to climb. “I have to try. I can’t marry Lord Hensley. Not today. Not ever. No matter how much I try to prepare myself, I can’t imagine being his wife. This... this is the only way.”
Dorothy’s fingers clenched the delicate lace of her sleeve as a tempest of thoughts swirled within her, relentless and unforgiving. When her father first fell ill after he heard the rumor she started, she had made her peace with the marriage. Not because she wished it but because she believed it was the price of peace, a sacrifice she was willing to make for the family’s sake. Lord Hensley was a man of status, wealth, and propriety.Marrying him meant stability, an end to endless whispers, and a balm for Howard’s fragile health.
Yet, in the days that followed, a flicker of hope had blossomed in her heart. What if, by some miracle, her father could be reasoned with? What if, by baring her soul, she could sway him to relent, to call off this union? For a full week, she had tried. Every day, she sought him out, offered words dipped in all the sincerity and desperation she possessed. Every day, he remained unmoved, his resolve as cold and immovable as stone.
Now, standing beneath the looming fence, the reality pressed down upon her like the thickest fog. She hated the thought of becoming Lady Hensley. She hated it with every fiber of her being. There was something about him she could never forget. There was a chilling emptiness beneath his smile, a coldness in his gaze that made her skin prickle every time he looked at her. It was a smile that promised civility but revealed no warmth, a gaze that measured rather than cared.
The thought of sharing her life with a man whose gaze felt more like ownership than affection made her skin crawl. The idea of living a life shackled to obligation, silenced by duty, suffocated her very spirit.
She felt sorry for her father. She knew this would break his heart, stir his agitation, perhaps even hasten his decline. But the walls around her were closing in, not just these garden walls, but the walls of expectation, tradition, and fear. She could not, would not, marry Lord Hensley.
Dorothy took a deep breath and looked Lucy squarely in the eyes. “All you have to do is help me. Just lift me up a little, push me, so I can grab that trellis there...” she said, pointing to a loose vine near the top, “and then I’ll haul myself over to the other side.”
Lucy stepped closer, her brow furrowed with skepticism. “When you get to the top, how do you plan to get down? There aren’t any tendrils or footholds on the other side. What’s going to support you?”
Dorothy’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of desperation and determination. “When I reach the bridge beyond the garden, I’ll cross it. I have to get out of here.”
“Dorothy, I do want to help you, but you will get hurt,” Lucy said with furrowed eyebrows. “This isn’t the way. Also, you’re not dressed to be a runaway bride. You’re literally dressed as a bride! If you are planning to escape, then you need to change your dress.”
“There’s no time. It’s now or never.”
Their heated back-and-forth was abruptly cut short as Martha appeared in the garden, her face pale and anxious. “Miss Dorothy, Lord Lochart is standing outside, looking for you. He’s waiting.”
The words hit them like a sudden chill. Dorothy’s heart leapt. Lucy’s eyes widened in alarm.
Before either could react further, heavy footsteps echoed down the path. Howard appeared almost immediately with a stern expression on his face.
“What are you doing here, Dorothy?” he asked. “You’ll ruin your dress. It’s time to go. You should come along.”
Dorothy stopped in her tracks, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her voice, though trembling, carried a newfound resolve. “I don’t think I should marry today, not while my sisters aren’t here.” She glanced toward the path behind Howard as if imagining Emma and Cecilia appearing at any moment. “It’s not right. My brother is away, travelling on his tour, and my sisters haven’t arrived yet. Even if we sent letters, it’s impossible for them to arrive in just a week.”
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “It hardly seems fair to me that I should go through with this wedding without Emma and Cecilia by my side.”
Howard regarded her quietly for a moment then shook his head gently but firmly. “That does not matter, Dorothy. Your sisters will still be here after your honeymoon and even during it; if you have questions or concerns, you may ask them then. They do not have to be physically present for a small wedding such as this.”
He stepped closer, his tone softening. “This is not about theatrics or appearances. It’s about a commitment you are to make, and the company present does not lessen its meaning.”
Dorothy bit her lip. “But Papa?—”
“No more buts,” Howard said firmly, opening his mouth to say more, when suddenly a harsh cough tore from his throat, loud, violent, and uncontrollable. He clutched his chest, shoulders shaking with the effort to catch his breath.
Dorothy’s heart clenched. The stern resolve that had stiffened her moments ago began to melt away. She stepped forward instinctively, reaching out, but Howard waved her off weakly.
Fear settled in her chest. She did not want to argue anymore, not when his frailty was so plain to see. The fight drained from her as worry and exhaustion took its place.
Dorothy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Lucy gave a tight nod, and with a resigned sigh, they yielded. Without a word, she slipped past them, the rustle of her gown the only sound as she made her way to the waiting carriage. Howard followed slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, and settled beside her as the coachman snapped the reins.
The horses trotted off toward the church, the wheels clattering over the cobblestones. Dorothy sat stiffly, fighting the rising tide of tears. She pressed her hand to her lips, biting back the sobs she so desperately wished to release.
All she wanted now was for everything to move quickly, for the ceremony to begin and end, so that she might finally step beyond this day, this life, and whatever lay waiting on the other side.
The carriage came to a halt before the grand doors of the chapel. Dorothy’s fingers tightened around the folds of her gown as the door swung open, and her father rose slowly to assist her.
They moved forward together, step by measured step, the murmur of the assembled guests swirling around them like a gathering storm. The chandeliers glittered above, casting a solemn glow on the polished pews and the delicate flowers adorning the aisle.
