Page 28 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

His chest tightened with a sense of dread. All his life he had sworn he would not endure the sort of marriage his parents had entered into and yet here he was… Damn it all. He would do his best to keep it civil, if nothing else. Something his parents had been unable to attain.

Graydon greeted his bride when she reached the altar. She gave him a quick, nervous smile, which eased him somewhat, and the vicar began the service.

Though he was aware of the vicar’s voice, Graydon was not really paying attention to the words. This wedding was simply a means to an end. He did, however, have the feeling of his mother’s gaze boring a hole through his back. Nonsense, of course. But she really hadn’t liked the idea of this marriage any more than Dearing had.

His mother was concerned for his happiness. Nothing else mattered as far as she was concerned. She had always been that way and he loved her for it. She had been the one who had persuaded him to go to Canada six years ago when he’d come down from university, sending him to her brother, his Uncle Robert. She had wanted him away from his father’s influence, she’d told him later.

He really was grateful to her for convincing him to go adventuring on his own. It had made him self-reliant and confident and his uncle had taught him a great deal about the business world and how to deal with people.

Case in point, his bride’s father—while the old man might not realise it, Graydon had driven a hard bargain when the settlement had been discussed. In addition to a wife, he had won some significant concessions from the old gentleman. He smiled in satisfaction.

‘I pronounce that you be man and wife,’ the Reverend Pole said, beaming at them.

Finally.

After the signing of the register, they faced the congregation. His bride’s hand trembled in his palm. He gave it a slight squeeze of comfort, encouragement…something in between. It was the husbandly sort of thing to do. He just wished that the trembling had stopped in response.

Yes, his mother standing in the first pew looked far from happy, but she straightened her shoulders and smiled. Hopefully her anxiety would ease once she got to know Florence better.

Florence. His wife.

An odd pang twisted in his chest. If he had made a mistake… No. This was the best solution. And he would make a go of it.

They walked down the aisle. After the wedding breakfast—which would be held at the church hall, his house being nowhere near ready for entertaining—they would be off into their future.

Hopefully the London townhouse would be ready for their arrival. Mrs Spragg had gone to make sure all was in order the moment he had announced his plans. When he had suggested the housekeeper might prefer to stay for the wedding, she had been adamant that it would make her life a great deal easier if she did not.

The church hall had been decorated with flowers and bunting for what most would see as a triumph for the Dearings. Florence stiffened her spine and gazed across the room from the high table with a sense that she was dreaming and would soon wake in her own little bedroom.

Yet she knew she would not. She was married to a man she scarcely knew. To say it had come as a shock to her sisters was putting it mildly. Primrose had even tried to talk her out of it.

Against all expectations, she was married. Part of her wanted to twirl and skip in delight. She had forced herself not even to dream of such a thing. The other part of her could not help but fear she had made a terrible mistake.

The stone-like expression on her husband-to-be’s face as she’d walked down the aisle had almost sent her running for the hills. Only the thought of what that would do to her sisters had kept her feet plodding forward.

She had tried smiling at him when she’d reached the altar, but his mouth had been set in a hard line and had not softened a fraction. His squeeze of her hand at the end of the ceremony had been that of a man who expected his wife to obey. It could have been nothing else. And, like a lamb, she had let him guide her down the aisle to the waiting carriage.

Her father rose to his feet. He seemed a little unsteady. Surely he had not drunk that much? She glanced at Graydon. His jaw was tense, as if he feared Father would make some sort of scene.

He would not. She had made him promise, on the honour of their family, he would not. Her sisters’ futures rested on her making a success of this marriage.

Father lifted his glass. He stared at them for a long moment and then shrugged. ‘To the bride and groom.’

Everyone rose to their feet and the room echoed the toast. Florence caught Lilian’s eye at a nearby table and her friend gave her a little grin. Lilian had actually been pleased for her, once she had assured herself that Florence wanted the match. She had never understood Florence’s insistence that she would never marry.

But then, Lilian did not know about Albert. No one knew about Albert except her new husband. Oh, Primrose had guessed some of it. She knew Florence had fallen in love with the man, because she had been so furious when she’d caught him flirting with her. Primrose had denied having any interest in Albert, but she didn’t know the full extent of Florence’s stupidity.

She glanced at Graydon. He was smiling now, but that smile did not quite seem to reach his eyes. Was he regretting his marriage?

Father sat down with a bump and Florence released a breath she had not realised she was holding.

‘It is time to leave,’ Graydon said.

Was it?

Florence’s heart began beating so hard, she thought everyone nearby might hear it.

Graydon took her hand and they headed for the door. In moments they were surrounded by well-wishers. Getting to the door was like running the gauntlet, but somehow Primrose and Iris managed to push to the front so she could give them one last hug.