Evander nodded and reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving the neatly folded paper. “We have obtained a special license,” he said, extending it.
The vicar adjusted his spectacles and read it over with a slight nod. “Very well. Everything appears to be in order. If you’ll come stand with me at the front.”
As they moved up the aisle together, Olivia’s gloved hand rested lightly on his arm, but Evander could feel the tension radiating from her posture. Her back was stiff and her steps measured. He glanced sideways at her, heart clenching.
Was he asking too much? Was he being selfish?
Abruptly, he slowed to a stop, drawing her to a halt with him. Turning to face her, he whispered, “You don’t have to marry me, Olivia. Not if your heart isn’t in it.”
Her eyes met his with surprise, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them. “I told you I would.”
“You did,” he said. “But I want you to be happy. That is all I’ve ever wanted.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Marrying you is the sensible thing to do.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Since when have you been sensible?”
That drew a soft laugh from her, easing some of the strain from her features. “Fair point. I suppose it’s nerves. You’re the best man I know.”
From behind them, Wilton gave a theatrical cough. “Then you clearly haven’t met very many men.”
Olivia didn’t even look back. “My mother insisted that Richard attend,” she said lightly, ignoring her brother’s teasing tone.
Before Evander could reply, the vicar asked, “Is there a problem?”
Olivia turned back to him, eyes shining. “No. No problem at all.” She looked at Evander and smiled, the kind of smile that steadied him. “I think today is a fine day to be married, don’t you?”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his voice thick with emotion. “I do.”
They walked the final distance to the front of the chapel together.
“Will the witnesses step forward?” Reverend Appleton called.
Wilton and Alcott moved forward, taking their places beside Evander. Wilton looked proud, while Alcott offered a resigned, good-natured shrug, though his expression was far softer than usual.
Evander barely registered the vicar’s words. His mind and heart were consumed by the vision beside him—Olivia.
She was really going to be his wife.
They would face Society together. They would weather the awkwardness, the whispers, the doubts, and build something new. Something theirs.
“Evander?” Olivia’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He blinked. “Yes?”
“The vicar asked you a question.”
“Oh.” He looked towards Reverend Appleton, flustered. “I beg your pardon. Would you repeat it?”
The vicar did not seem particularly amused. “Evander Addington, Viscount Westmere, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Evander said quickly, his voice certain and full of conviction.
The vicar turned to Olivia. “Lady Olivia Kendall, wiltthou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” she responded.
A wide smile broke across Evander’s face, and it stayed there as the vicar pronounced the final words of the ceremony. It wasn’t until the last line had been spoken that he leaned forward slightly and asked, “May I kiss the bride now?”
