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Behind Arthur stood two gentlemen, one with blond hair peppered with grey, dressed in the scarlet uniform of His Majesty's Army; the other wore an elegant morning suit. Though he bore no military presence, he possessed a comforting smile. Both were tall men, though neither matched the Duke's commanding height.
She accidentally caught the officer's eye.
He offered her a warm, reassuring smile, and it was the first genuine kindness from a stranger she had received all morning.
When she looked back to the Duke, she watched him patiently. A neutral expression had replaced the scowl on his face, but his jaw remained set, and his gaze stayed fixed upon her with such intensity that she felt rooted to the spot.
"I do," the Duke said.
His voice was deep, assured and rich enough to command attention from every corner of the chapel before finding its way back to her.
The priest turned to her.
"Do you, Eliza Harper, take Arthur Roger Wellington, Duke of Buckingham, to be your lawful wedded husband?"
"I do," she answered, hastily in comparison to the Duke.
The priest motioned for them to exchange rings before he could continue with the vows.
Arthur reached for her hand.
The moment his fingers closed around hers, every coherent thought deserted her.
His hands dwarfed her own entirely, enclosing them with a surprising steadiness as he guided her hand into his palm.
Heat bloomed where their skin met.
It spread slowly, impossibly, travelling from her fingertips to her wrist, before unfurling through every inch of her body until she could hardly remember how to breathe. It was absurd. It was only a touch. A simple, necessary gesture exchanged between bride and groom before God and their assembled guests.
Yet it felt anything but ordinary.
It took every ounce of composure she possessed not to betray herself with the smallest intake of breath.
She almost succeeded.
She needed to pull herself together; she had to assume this was the normal reaction to being touched for the first time. Still, she struggled to steady herself.
The Duke carefully slid a gold ring onto her finger. It was heavier than she had expected, set with a single ruby surrounded by two diamonds that caught the light filtering through the chapel windows.
She looked at the foreign object on her finger. Panic struck at once.
Was she supposed to have brought him a ring? Nobody had told her.
She had nothing. Goodness...She had forgotten the Duke's wedding ring.
The priest, apparently sensing none of her alarm, calmly lifted a small purple velvet cushion between them.
Resting upon it was a simple gold band. Relief washed over her so quickly she nearly laughed aloud.
She accepted the ring before turning back to Arthur.
His gaze had her pinned to where she stood, which caused her to hesitate. Squaring her shoulders and taking a breath, she slowly reached for his hand. Determined not to embarrass herself, she kept her eyes fixed on his fingers as she carefully slid the ring into place.
It settled perfectly.
She had managed to slide his band on with one attempt, and a small triumphant smile escaped her. Only then did she dare to look back up.
He was still watching her with an intent stare, and his brow remained furrowed.
