1
“Iknow you do not want this match, Violet, but Lord Westall is a good man and a good match for people like us,” Sir Horace Wilkinson reasoned as he led his daughter up the steps to the front of the chapel where she was about to be wed.
Violet wished she could express how much she didn’t think the word ‘good’ should be used to describe Lord Westall, but the lump of fear and anger in her throat wouldn’t permit her to do anything other than struggle to breathe.
The carriage still parked in front of the chapel called to her to turn back and run before binding herself to a man she had yet to hear one good thing about, but her father’s grip on her arm was set on preventing that escape. He was more determined to see this through than anything else he had ever attempted to do.
She sighed.
Why did it have to be Lord Westall of all people to ask for her hand?
She had yet to understand why he had all but threatened her father to make him agree to the match. It wasn’t as though she were some great beauty, and her family was on the lowest rung of the social ladder.
Her father had yet to answer her, despite how many times she had asked over the month it had taken to finalize the wedding preparations. A time she had considered too short.
“You just have to be patient and respectful,” he continued. “Marriage takes work, and if you do your duties well, you may come to find love with your husband in time.”
May.Notwill.
The thought left a sour taste in her mouth, which she forced herself to swallow. He couldn’t even pretend to hide the truth from her.
It was days like this that resentment towards her father’s nature overshadowed the love she had for him. He never considered her happiness in any of the decisions he made. Never considered how much he was hurting her by refusing to listen to her concerns.
She had hoped the thought of resigning her to a future of misery would be reason enough for him to grow a spine, but he haddone the opposite. Even now, she felt nervous tremors rack through him the closer they got to the chapel doors.
Lord Westall intimidated him; that much was obvious. Yet her father considered him agood man.
When their engagement had been announced, Violet had received pitying looks from ladies who would usually ignore her, and the ton’s most famous gossip, Lady Weatherby, hadn’t hesitated to fill her ears with tales of his gambling and failed attempts at climbing the social ladder.
Shame was the only thing she could feel upon hearing those words, and disgust was the only thing she could feel every time she looked at him.
Whiny and always complaining about his lot in life, she didn’t understand why such good looks had been wasted on such a man. He was tall, considerably taller than her, with a head of golden hair that was always gelled in the latest style that showed off his aristocratic face. If he had better manners, he would have been one of the most sought-after bachelors for his looks alone.
The chapel doors opened sooner than she had hoped, and she wasn’t at all surprised by the number of guests in attendance. Theirs was no great match that would stir the gossip pots of the ton, so the rows were more empty than filled. Although she was more than surprised to see the Earl and Countess of Burnwick.
Then again, the Countess was a lover of weddings.
“My lovely Violet,” Lord Westall said, taking her hand from her father’s grasp. “You are as lovely as a spring flower.”
She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. She turned away from him, trying to suppress the shudder that ran through her when he kissed the back of her hand.
However, her breath hitched when he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “I cannot wait for this ceremony to be over, and I can finally make you mine. I have dreamed of our wedding night since your father agreed to my proposal.”
She shuddered, unable to hide it this time, but she did not look at him lest her fear show. Her heart thudded unsteadily in her chest as a cold bead of sweat ran down her spine.
Why did she have to be married to a man who couldn’t be bothered with propriety enough to know he shouldn’t speak so crassly in public, and what’s worse? In a church!
The priest began the sermon, but she hardly heard his voice, the sound lowering to a din underneath the heavy pounding of her heart.
It wasn’t too late. She could yank her hands from the odious man’s grip and run out those doors. Her reputation might suffer for it, but at least he would be too embarrassed to come asking for her hand again.
Run, Violet!
I can’t.
Stop being a coward and move.
She shuffled on her feet, but Lord Westall’s grip tightened on her arm as if sensing her urge to flee.
