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Chapter Seventeen
Lady Marcella looked more like a woman who’d been sent to the gallows than a bride on her wedding day. She looked angelic in a white gown, lined with delicate pearls and draped in lace. Her hair was arranged in careful ringlets, and her lady’s maid had quite clearly put much effort in making it appear so lovely. It was too perfect, and he longed to run his fingers through it, to coax apart the curls and make it just alittlewild.
Her eyes betrayed her, though. Those beautiful hazel eyes were downcast and distant, as if she imagined herself being somewhere far from the chapel with only their closest friends, relatives, and an aged officiant.
“You look lovely,” Reginald muttered.
Lady Marcella, who stood scarcely a few feet away, nodded. She seemed more invested, though, in tracing the outline of the church’s stained glass window with her eyes. Reginald felt a twinge of guilt. She simply didn’t want to marry him.
Reginald knew that he wasn’t the only one forcing this marriage. Both his father and Lady Marcella’s parents had agreed to it, and everyone involved had made it clear that the marriage would happen whether it was wanted or not. Really, he shouldn’t feel guilty because this wasn’t all his fault, and even though he was involved, he meant well. Surely, that mattered for something, didn’t it?
“Thank you,” Lady Marcella said, after a few seconds of silence.
Behind her, Lady Adeline offered him a small, gentle smile. At least, she looked as though she tolerated him, unlike his bride-to-be.
I’ll just have to make Lady Marcella happy. Surely, it can’t be too hard. I’ll tend to my affairs, and she’ll tend to hers.
That sounded so utterly dreadful, though. Reginald wondered if he didn’t actually want a wife who loved him, who was present and supportive in every aspect of his life. Or at least, he wanted the fiery Lady Marcella who’d fled on her horse and kissed him in the rain. She was much more intriguing than this cold woman who faced him.
“Shall we begin?” the officiant asked.
He was a slight man, all bones and thin skin. Reginald wouldn’t have been surprised really if a strong gust of wind proved capable of blowing him away. He swallowed, forcing down the lump in his throat. He locked eyes with his father, who appeared so happy and proud. The Duke practically glowed beneath the sunlight streaming from the church windows.
“Yes, Father,” he said.
Lady Marcella’s lips pressed into a tight frown. A shiver rushed through Reginald, as he imagined those lips pressing against his own. Their kiss in the woods had been quick, fumbling, and awkward. Still, it ignited something within him. He longed to touch her, to drink in her sweet scent, and to show her all the passion that a man ought to show a woman. Reginald’s mind went to several places which were best left unthought-of in a proper church. Maybe he could charm her. Maybe she’d grow to love him.
In the nearby pews, Lady Marcella’s stepmother and father sat, looking quite pleased with themselves. It was a predatory sort of pleasure, though, as if they were a couple of cats who’d just shared an exceptionally delicious bird.
“Do you, Reginald, take this woman, Marcella, to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked.
Lady Marcella’s eyes widened, and she gazed at him as if she’d only just remembered he was there. She was such an infinitely lovely creature, and her cheeks seemed to grow rosier beneath his gaze. Was she also thinking of that kiss in the rain? It might’ve been her first one. The thought that he’d been the lady’sfirstkiss sent a delighted shiver tracing down Reginald’s spine.
“I do,” Reginald said, his eyes never leaving the lady’s face.
Lady Marcella let out a slow, steady breath of air. Perhaps she was preparing herself for the inevitable. Reginald smiled, hoping for some small gesture that marrying him wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but she offered none. Maybe it was selfish of him to expect that from her.
Reginald obediently repeated his vows, swearing his eternal love and devotion to Lady Marcella, and he had every intention of giving her that. He might even be delighted to give her that, if only he could solve the mystery behind her strange behavior. Who was the real Lady Marcella? The cold, formal lady or that enchanting woman who escaped the ball thrown in her honor and who kissed gentlemen in the rain with a servant near enough to hear?
In hindsight, Reginald wondered if Phillip had noticed what his mistress had done. If he had, he’d kept Lady Marcella’s secret. Otherwise, the wholetonwould’ve known.
Once Reginald’s vows were said, Lady Marcella’s face became impassive. She looked cold and utterly unapproachable, although Reginald could imagine easily what she must be thinking. He wondered if she’d hesitate or simply refuse to say the vows. What was the worst that would happen if she did?
She’d return home to her displeased father and stepmother. Lady Marcella would likely lose her fortune, but Reginald didn’t know if that meant anything to her. Surely, a lady of her high birth would not be so keen to discard her wealth, however.
“Lady Marcella?” the priest prompted.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Do you take Reginald to be your husband?”
Reginald scarcely dared to breathe. Lady Marcella seemed to grow somehow very still. Her lips curled inwards until they resembled a closed rosebud, far still from bursting into bloom. She let out another soft breath of air. “I do.”
Reginald felt his muscles lose tension that he hadn’t realized they were even carrying. He smiled more easily and looked at his father, beaming with pride. The Duke looked as if he’d even grown younger since Reginald’s return, as if he’d been brought back to life in a sense.
I’m making him proud, like I should have.
When Reginald’s eyes drifted to his cousin, Simon, any feelings of pride twisted into a dull knot of dread. Although his cousin’s face bore no malicious expression, Reginald couldn’t help but feel as though he was being judged and deemed unworthy right at that very moment. Simon was likely hot with fury and hiding it well behind that cool façade. Why wouldn’t he be angry? He had lost the Marquisate to someone who’d not been a part of thetonfor a decade.
