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Chapter Thirty-Three
Dread coiled within the base of her stomach, her palms sweating with an odd strain of nervousness. Belle wanted so badly to cling to her mother, to cry since she could do nothing else, but she held her composure. The Duchess, as if she knew the train of her daughter’s thoughts, grasped her hand tightly, the carriage jolting them about.
Soon, she would arrive at the church for her wedding. Belle had tried to delay it as much as she could. It made no sense to try, she knew, since it would not stop the inevitable, but Belle hated to admit defeat so easily.
The wedding dress she wore felt more restricting that it should. Belle struggled to breath and she stared out the window, as if that would help her bring it under control. Squeezing her mother’s hand tightly, she prayed her father did not notice her state, not wanting to deal with his anger in addition to everything else.
“Belle, calm down,” her mother whispers softly to her. Belle didn’t dare to look at the Duke.
“I am calm, Mother,” she said, but her voice cracked. She took a deep, steadying breath. Tears pricked her eyes when it did not do what she hoped it would.
“I will not tolerate tears, young lady,” her father said gruffly. “Not on a day like this.”
“These tears are borne of my anger, Father,” she bit back, not caring about the consequences. There was nothing her father could do or say to hurt her now.
As if he too knew that, the Duke only regarded her with narrow eyes. Belle held his glare, sending him her own, hoping he knew everything she felt without her having to say the words.
But nothing would stop this carriage. Nothing would keep her father from wanting this marriage. Belle wished she had Stephen by her side. Though he was a commoner, his mere presence would be enough for her to fight this.
Belle’s heart came to a halt for a moment when the carriage stopped. With a gasp, she realized that she they had arrived. Already, the church was thrumming with her father’s important guests, all awaiting the arrival of the bride.
The Marquess of Winchfield was inside. The man who was soon to be her husband was waiting for her, to give her a kiss the moment the priest said it was fine to do so. Belle felt disgust crawl up her spine and as the coachman helped her out, she stepped down on unsteady legs.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this!
Her mother remained by her side, as if she knew Belle needed the comfort her presence would serve as. But having her father on her other side seemed to make it for naught, because Belle could only grapple between anger and fear as he took her arm and laced it through his.
The Duchess held out a handful of flowers to her. Belle had been so preoccupied by her father that she hadn’t seen who gave it to her. Her face was sad as she handed Belle the flowers.
Another tear escaped. The Duchess reached up and wiped it away, glancing up at the Duke as if to make sure he did not see it. Then, she pressed a kiss on Belle’s cheek.
Belle steeled herself when her mother stepped aside. The guests had settled, the music had begun. Now, it was time for her entrance. Belle faced the doors of the church and braced herself for what would be the worst thing to ever happen to her.
As the doors began to open, revealing the gaping maw of the life ahead of her, Belle felt her chest cave in. She didn’t know, not until that very moment, just how much she hated what was about to happen. The physical toll it took on her body as she struggled to lift her chin and blink the tears away was something she would never forget for the rest of her life.
The guests all watched her approach. She kept her eyes on the priest in the distance, on the smiling elderly man who was very unaware of her reluctance. She couldn’t tell if the guests were smiling, or if they understood her leaden, slow steps. But Belle knew they would do nothing to help her. She knew that, like the customs that separated her from a commoner like Stephen, if she could not go against her father’s wishes, then no one could.
Oh, how I wish Stephen would come to whisk me away. Am I being far too impudent?
Having her mother by her side served as little comfort now. Belle could only focus on keeping the tears at bay, her fingers grasping the flowers in her hand so tightly that she wished they had thorns. At least she could have focused on the pain.
At long last, she arrived at the pulpit to stand by her betrothed. She couldn’t deny that the Marquess looked quite handsome. His devilish grin that had swayed so many hearts was at its brightest, but when he reached out to grasp her hand, Belle felt a shiver run down her spine.
“You look beautiful, My Lady,” he said softly to her. Belle swallowed. She didn’t miss the way he ran his gaze down the length of her. The hint of lust that shone in his eyes made her want to pick her skirt up and run away.
“T…thank you, My Lord,” she murmured back.
His hand tightened in response and, without warning, he tugged her a bit closer to his side as they turned to face the priest. But the Marquess wasn’t finished with his admiring perusal of her, however. He kept drinking her in, from the modest bust line of her white muslin dress, accentuated by lace trimmings, and the simple white train that laid behind her. On top of her curls was a lovely flower crown her mother had spent quite some time making, but Belle wouldn’t forget the look of sadness in the Duchess’ eyes when she had put in on her.
“You look quite handsome yourself, My Lord,” she said after a beat, knowing it was expected of her. It was a fact she couldn’t deny. He wore a silk-white cravat that offset his dark-blue tailored jacket and the cream-colored waistcoat underneath. Yet as she took in the rest of him, she couldn’t help imagining Stephen dressed in a such a fashionable manner. Especially in those skin-tight breeches that would have undoubtedly shown off his muscular legs and perhaps a hint of what laid beneath.
“You seem nervous, My Lady,” the priest said with a soft smile. His eyes sparkled kindly and Belle suspected he was merely trying to ease her anxiousness.
She gave him a jerky nod. “As one would expect from a lady on her wedding day, after all,” she said with a smile took too much energy to summon.
If the priest was aware of her severe apprehensiveness, he didn’t bother to address it. He cleared his throat and Belle braced herself for what was to come.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest said in a large voice. “We are gathered here to witness the matrimony between the Marquess of Winchfield and Lady Belle...”
