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“Cutting it awfully close, aren’t we?” Aunt Amelia whispered as she stood and stepped aside to allow the gentlemen and Leticia the chance to slide into the row and take their seats.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Leticia replied through her tightly clenched jaw. She gave the Dowager a brief smile and then turned toward her aunt and shrugged her shoulders. “They wouldn’t stop arguing with one another.”
“These men of war,” Aunt Amelia breathed, “they never know when to surrender.”
“Never surrender—” the Dowager muttered, and Leticia looked toward her once more. While she was adding to the whispered conversation, she was not actively engaging with either of them or the two gentlemen who were now elbowing each other like a couple of children. The Dowager’s eyes were focused straight ahead, and a smile was plastered on her face. Had Leticia not been sitting so close to the Dowager, she would have missed the way the corners of her mouth quivered, and she never would have noticed the tears which sat on the edges of her eyelashes.
“Is she okay?” Leticia whispered, but then, she followed the Dowager’s gaze, and her own eyes fell upon Richard. He was standing next to the vicar with his head down. His black hair hung in waves, and when he lifted his chin, even though he wasn’t gazing directly back at her, Leticia could see the depths of his blue eyes sparkling. He did not smile, rather his features were fixed in a placid way as if he was accepting the inevitable and moving toward it. In a gesture she’d seen him do a million times before, his hand floated upward and tapped his front pocket, but then, casually, it swung back to his side and came to rest behind his back.
“Are any of us?” Aunt Amelia replied. Then, there was a rustle as a wind swept down the aisle, and the rose petals fluttered.
“It’s time,” the Dowager said shakily. As a unit, the congregation rose and turned to gaze at the bride who was standing framed in the doorway.
Over the last few years, Leticia had attended a great many weddings. They were all slightly different as they were designed to cater to the needs and wants of each married couple. And while she had known this wedding between Richard, the Duke of Braxton, and Miss Loery was going to be the grandest she had yet to attend, nothing quite prepared her for that first glimpse she took of the bride.
It was no secret that Miss Loery was a beautiful woman, but now, as she took her first confident steps down the aisle, she seemed to light up the whole room with an ethereal silver glow. Her gown was made of white silk, and a silver lace overlay had been sewn carefully overtop. The white roses she carried in her nosegay matched the blanket of rose petals at her feet, giving her the appearance of one who was walking across the clouds. As the bride came closer to the front of the church, Leticia spotted a sapphire pendant hanging from her neck, and she couldn’t resist the urge to swing around and gaze at Richard’s eyes so like that lovely gemstone now.
But when she turned to look at him, she could not see his eyes as his head was lowered once more.
He’s not even looking at his bride. He doesn’t see her.
Leticia’s insides snarled and twisted, and helplessly, she glanced back toward Miss Loery. The lady was mere steps from approaching the altar and standing at Richard’s side, but before she mounted the steps, she turned to hand off her bouquet to her bridesmaid, Miss Walch, and her cool eyes flashed as she winked covertly.
No!Leticia’s insides raged, and her tension must have been palpable because, at that moment, her aunt placed a gloved hand on her arm delicately. She breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure, and sat when her aunt nodded her head firmly to indicate it was time to do so.
“Dear Beloved—” the vicar began. He was a rather old man. He wore the traditional costume, appropriate for the occasion, but as he spoke his jowls wobbled. The tired expression on his face was reflected in his speaking, and even as he welcomed those assembled to this joyous occasion, it seemed as though he too were rather unenthusiastic about his officiating duties. “We are gathered here today to witness the blessed union of Miss Laura Loery and His Grace, Richard Olsen, the Duke of Braxton. As decreed by law, the banns have been read for the last three Sundays, but now, I ask all those present: does anyone have reason to believe these two people should not be wed?” He paused and glanced slowly around the crowd.
Leticia tightened her fingers into fists. She squeezed so hard that she wound her fingers into the folds of her dress to stop her nails from piercing through her gloves and biting into the soft palms of her hands.
A quiet war raged inside Leticia as the vicar continued speaking. “Should anyone have cause to split this couple asunder, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
At that moment, compelled by her compassion for her oldest friend, Leticia shook away her aunt’s gentle hand, unlocked the grip she had on the folds of her dress, and sprang to her feet. “I have cause.”
Collectively, the congregation gasped, and Richard and Miss Loery, who’d been standing facing the vicar, both turned slowly to look at her.
“You do?” Richard asked, his voice nearly inaudible.
Leticia nodded numbly. “You can’t marry her,” she blurted, unsure of what else to say as now certainly did not seem like the right time to reveal what she’d overheard when she was eavesdropping on the bride and her companions two days ago.
“I can’t?” Richard questioned, and his eyelashes fluttered, betraying just how baffled he was by her declaration. Others in the audience began to whisper, their own bewilderment clear. The lady sitting directly behind Leticia and her family huffed in an irritated fashion as if she wished for nothing more than to reach forward, lay her hand on Leticia’s arm, and force her to have a seat once more.
The vicar now stepped forward. Whereas he’d seemed so subdued moments before, now his thick white eyebrows were lifted, and he gave Leticia an expectant look. “And do you have a reason why this couple may not be wed?”
Leticia glanced helplessly around herself. “I…” she began, but nothing popped to mind, “I mean…just look at him.” She meant to point out how distraught and miserable Richard looked, but her uncle who was still seated on her left side nodded his head firmly, showing he agreed with her.
“What about him?” the vicar pressed.
“Preposterous bit of nonsense.” She heard Miss Loery’s father, the Viscount, as his voice floated across the aisle, and he expressed his displeasure. “Someone calm that young lady and make her sit down at once.” Aunt Amelia gasped, and Leticia had to fight the urge to look at either of them.
If I look at their reactions, I might lose my nerve.
She steeled herself and fought to summon the courage to continue talking. “He’s—” Leticia stumbled to say what she was thinking without being offensive. The lady behind her harumphed now, and the gentlemen who sat next to her made a sound like he too was flustered by Leticia’s indecisiveness.
“He’s devastatingly handsome,” Uncle Sebastian murmured, and Leticia took up that idea at once.
“He’s devastatingly handsome,” she repeated. Mild titters raced through the crowd, and Leticia felt a blush of humiliation creep up her cheeks.
Now, the vicar smiled in an avuncular manner when he said, “Be that as it may…we do not generally halt wedding ceremonies to comment on the attractiveness of the groom.”
