Mrs. Belltree picked up the garment on the bed by the shoulders and held it to her own body. “Do not fret, my dear. I remember the day I married your father. I was in quite a similar state.”
Winifred put her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. He cursed Mrs. Belltree for arriving before he could enter and tell Winifred that his intentions were honorable. She didn’t need a lecture; she needed reassurance that she wasn’t about to marry a monster.
It wasn’t entirely Mrs. Belltree’s fault, his conscience reminded him. He’d already have been introduced to Winifred if he’d done his duty properly.
“Well, get up, child,” Mrs. Belltree said.
Winifred shoved her balled-up handkerchief away. “What?”
Mrs. Belltree tutted. “You know the Sorrow family custom. This is the way things have always been. I have also prepared the other items you will require…”
Marcus quickly shuffled away. As curious as he was to get a better look at Winifred, he would not impose upon her any more than he already had. He edged out of the secret passage, dusted the cobwebs from his trousers, then grimaced. He had a mere hour before he was expected in the ballroom, where they would marry. That would have to be enough time for his valet to prepare him.
He wanted Winifred to have the best possible first impression.
Chapter Six
Winifred sat atthe foot of a bed in an unfamiliar room with her head in her hands as her stomach gurgled and the stale oatcakes she’d eaten that morning threatened to rise. Not once during the ocean crossing had she expected her wedding to be so stressful. Despite weeks of anticipating this moment, she felt as if she’d been dropped into the situation entirely unprepared. That her future husband hadn’t met them at the door made her even more nervous. What if he had changed his mind and would spurn her at the altar?
It was an absurd thought, as such an action would result in a terrible scandal, but she couldn’t seem to convince herself that it wasn’t going to happen.
Oh, God, she was about tomarrya man she’dnever met.
It was not a future she’d ever seriously imagined for herself, even though such matches were not uncommon. She had, in fact, barely considered what marriage would be like until recently. It had been much easier to envision a life focused on research and the eventual companionship of her cousin. Now she was in Scotland, becoming the wife of a man who would have nearly as much, if not more, control over her than her parents had ever had.
She dropped her hands from her face. There was no point in moping. If Marcus kept his word, she would soon be free of her managing mother and ready to begin her new life. She would simply have to force herself to endure standing in a crowded, noisy room for an hour. This was not the first time she’d had to smile and nod while screaming inside her head.
She smoothed the fabric of her gown, which had become slightly wrinkled from her terrible posture. At least the garment was lovely, made of ivory silk moire with a white tulle veil. The bodice had puffed sleeves trimmed with white knitted lace. For jewelry, her mother had generously gifted her an opal-and-seed-pearl pendant in the shape of a sun on a gold necklace with matching teardrop earrings. It was strangely comforting wearing her family crest, even though the same symbol was burned into her flesh between her collarbones, the last gift her uncle had given her before she’d left England.
She checked her coiffure one last time in the small mirror above the writing desk and then lifted her chin and strode with confidence she did not feel into the hallway, where her father was waiting. Her feet seemed to sink into the floor as she realized how much he’d aged in the past year. The silver strands in his hair had multiplied tenfold. The slim-fitting silver coat he wore made him appear almost sickly thin, and when he turned to her and smiled, there were noticeably more dark spots on his wrinkled cheeks.
“It is not too late to change your mind,” he said as she placed her fingers on his arm. “You could still accept that scoundrel Vincent’s offer.” His tone was serious, but his wide smile gave him away. She responded by “accidentally” stepping on his toes.
“I almost wish I’d been kidnapped by pirates,” she said. At leastthenshe’d have some idea what to expect.
He squeezed her arm. “Are you sure about this?”
She kissed his cheek. “Yes.”
A chance to achieve her dream of becoming an esteemed scholar was worth the risk of venturing into foreign territory, and far better than being shackled to a man whose presence made her nauseated.
“Wait until you see the earl,” her father said, when they arrived at the dining hall. “I’ve never seen such fearsome scars, and an eyepatch, too. All he is missing is a parrot on his shoulder. You might yet get your wish.”
She stomped on his foot again. Not that it stopped the old man from laughing.
A strangled laugh drew Winifred’s attention to her cousin Felicity, dressed in her white bridesmaid’s dress. When Felicity met Winifred’s gaze, she grinned and waved. A small gesture, but it settled Winifred’s nerves more than anything her mother had said.
“Thank you,” Winifred whispered as her father led her toward the door. She wished Felicity could have joined her while she’d prepared, but Mrs. Belltree had insisted that an archaic Sorrow family tradition required that the mother of the bride solely perform the task.
“Ready?” Winifred’s father asked.
She licked her dry lips, then nodded.
The doors opened, revealing a small crowd sitting in rows in front of a friendly-looking man she assumed was the vicar. Her mother was there, of course, along with Aunt Ethel. Uncle Ethan was noticeably absent, along with Felicity’s brother, Vincent.
Winifred did not miss them.
The remaining guests were unfamiliar, two men Winifred assumed were related to Marcus. Both were tall, with unusually pale skin and dark hair, but their countenances could not have been more different. The man closer to her looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon; his lips were pressed into a tight line and his bright, blue eyes were wide. The other man wore the slack, bored look of a parishioner impatiently waiting for the end of a lengthy sermon.
