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I have no choice, though. I must save it from bankruptcy, and I have an obligation to help those in need. My friends in Southwark need me, far more than he needs this title. Far more than he needs Lady Marcella.
Lady Marcella continued her vows, reciting the same words Reginald had with the flattest, driest delivery he’d ever heard from anyone. His chest ached. This was all so wrong, so abominable, and even if he hadn’t been given much of a choice, he felt disgusted for his part in seeing Lady Marcella so unhappily wed.
“Then, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Reginald smiled and inclined his head slightly. “My Lady.”
“Yes. So it seems,” she replied.
The priest didn’t seem to even realize that anything was amiss, or maybe he was just acting. Lord Castamere and his wife clearly knew that Lady Marcella was most displeased with the predicament, but they didn’t give any indication that they noticed their daughter’s dismay. They clapped. Lord Castamere’s face was set in a relieved smile, and Lady Castamere looked as though she’d never been to a more joyous occasion in her entire life.
Reginald looked at his father again and Simon. Lady Greenburrow sat beside her son, and Reginald focused his attention on her. She was a friendly face, someone for whom Reginald bore no contradictory, confusing feelings. “Your wife,”his aunt mouthed.
Right. His wife, of course. Reginald took Lady Marcella’s hands in his. Her fingers looked so delicate and pale, save for a small, hard callous on her middle finger. That was likely where she held her quill when she wrote. Her devotion to writing must be great for it to have left a mark on her body like that.
“I’ll do my best to make you very happy,” Reginald murmured. “I’ll do everything that I can. I promise, My Lady.”
She was his Marchioness, or she would be shortly. Reginald had fulfilled the requirements of the contract, making him the Marquess of Hurrow. He’d gotten the title and his father’s promised inheritance. Now, he could really do some good in the world.
Lady Marcella tipped her chin up. Her proud countenance stared him down, seeming to search his face for deception. “I’m sure you will,” she said at last.
“Oh, congratulations!” Reginald’s father approached, his smile bright and his arms spread wide. “I’m so happy for the both of you! Lady Marcella—ah, Lady Hurrow—welcome to the family! I’m so delighted to finally have a daughter.”
Lady Marcella smiled tightly. “You’re too kind to me, Your Grace.”
Reginald’s father grinned. “And we’re now brothers!” he exclaimed.
Lord Castamere nodded. “At long last, my friend!”
Reginald stepped aside, feeling as though he was a bit misplaced at his own wedding. His father and Lord Castamere heartily embraced one another. Lady Castamere and his aunt Blaire approached one another and stood talking with amused expressions.
Simon cleared his throat and approached Reginald, who felt his pulse quicken. “Cousin,” he greeted.
“So I am,” Simon replied. “Please, accept my congratulations on your happy union. It will go splendidly with the title.”
And the estate, which both Lady Greenburrow and Simon had just recently left vacant. Reginald and Lady Marcella would journey there at once and behave—as far as anyone knew—precisely as a loving married couple ought to behave.
“I think My Lady does make a lovely Marchioness,” Reginald said, trying to include Lady Marcella in the conversation.
Lady Marcella! It felt so strange to still think of her by the lofty, formal address. Reginald longed for Southwark, where everything was easier. Husbands and wives called one another by their Christian names, and everything was fine. Here among theton,Reginald felt as if every little gesture was filled to the brim with some sort of deep, performative meaning. It would be preposterous to call his wife anything but simply Marcella.
“She most certainly does,” Simon said, his smile clearly forced. “Congratulations, My Lady. I wish you the best of luck in taming my vagabond cousin.”
“Vagabond?” Lady Marcella asked. “I daresay my dear husband has found his place among thetononce more. It hardly seems fair to still call him a vagabond after he’s learned to be a gentleman once more.”
She’d defended him. Reginald’s lips twitched into a fond smile. There was just the merest hint of her fiery nature.
“My cousin is, indeed, quite admirable,” Simon said. “I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t.”
If they hadn’t had such a complicated history, Reginald might’ve believed that. As it was, he had a hard time believing that Simonhadn’tmeant something by it. It made sense that Simon would be bitter, considering everything that he’d just lost, but even when they were children, Reginald had always felt that Simon assumed himself superior to everyone around him.
“Of course, you didn’t,” Lady Marcella replied, her smile placating.
“Now,” said Adeline, joining them. “You must promise, My Lord, that you’ll not keep my dearest Marcella away from me. I’ll be dreadfully lonely without her.”
Lady Marcella shook her head. “You talk as though I’m walking into my own grave.”
When they’d been preparing to say their vows, Lady Marcella had rather looked it.
