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Arm in arm, they walked out the main doors of the house and started toward the church. Fanny’s husband-to-be had agreed to come to be married in her local church. He had obtained a license, she hoped.
Fanny focused on her breathing, trying to calm her racing heart. This was Grandmother’s wish. It could not go unfulfilled. She comforted herself with the fact that Molly was also undergoing significant changes. She would have to move to a new household as well.
As they walked, people on the street stopped to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath the veil. Since her accident, Fanny had not ventured into town except on the rare occasion. Her gaze drifted uncomfortably between the onlookers, hoping they couldn’t see past her veil. It was a warm day, with a crisp breeze that carried the smell of flowers. Ladies with parasols paused to admire Fanny’s gown as they walked down the cobblestone streets.
“Are we nearly there?” Fanny’s voice was tight with anxiety. She gripped Molly’s arm tighter. Fanny had taken to staring at her feet as she walked, and when she finally glanced up, she saw the church straight ahead. She swallowed and tried to stop her legs from shaking.
“We have arrived.” Molly nearly squealed with excitement. “Come along.” She pulled Fanny by the arm through the tall, intricate doors of the church.
Fanny’s eyes slid over her surroundings. The ceiling was higher than she remembered, crowned in glossy, polished wood. The entire room had an eerie silence about it, with row after row of empty pews spreading toward the back of the church where she stood. Morning light entered through the high windows, illuminating the dust floating in the air around them.
Front and center stood the man who would be performing the ceremony, along with two other men. With curiosity in her steps, Fanny moved closer.
One man appeared slightly older than the other, short and broad, with large eyes and a small, hooked nose reminiscent of a bird. The other man was tall, with chestnut-brown hair and a stoic expression. He stood with his arms crossed, mumbling the occasional comment to the shorter man. Fanny stopped walking, her gaze darting between the two men.Which man was she to marry?She eyed the taller man once again and found that he easily gained her favor. The longer she studied him, the more handsome he appeared. Her gaze flickered to the older man—he had been watching her. Ah! He had beenwatchingher. He could not be her groom.
She studied the younger man once again. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, unmoving. He stood like a person very aware of their surroundings, careful, observant. Fanny took another step forward, and her boot clacked against the floor. His head jerked toward her, and she froze. A scowl marred the man’s expression. Her heart leapt in her chest and she had to remind herself that he could not see her.
“You must be Miss Clarke,” the short man said, his voice echoing off the walls. His smile was stretched wide, cracking his thin lips.
The other man stiffened, turning his head toward the sound of Fanny’s footfalls.
“I am,” she choked, walking closer. Her hand tightened around Molly’s arm as she tried to appear nonchalant about her pending marriage.
“Excellent. My name is Harry Wellington, cousin of your groom. Might I make known to you now, Mr. Percy Wellington.” He extended his hand toward his cousin.
Fanny was only a few feet away now. Her heart galloped in her chest. The introduced Mr. Wellington stood rigid and complacent. Fanny studied his face once again in silence. Beneath his stoic lips she could sense a tremor of nervousness similar to her own. His jaw was tight, as if he didn’t intend to speak to her at all. His eyes appeared to be focused just over her shoulder. They looked blue, but she couldn’t be certain.
“A pleasure,” she mumbled. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Mr. Wellington moved his head to the sound of her voice, and for a moment, it appeared that he was looking straight at her face. At the scars.
In one frantic motion, Fanny’s hands jumped to her head to adjust her veil to ensure her face was still covered. The quick movement combined with her shaking hands made the veil slide off her head and fall to the ground.
“Oh! I’m sorry. So sorry.” She bent over, scrambling to pick up the covering. Her face was exposed to these strangers, and she felt every breeze, every judgment, every glance. When she stood upright again, her cheeks burned. The cousin was staring at her. He did little to disguise his shock. The vicar gave a small gasp. Fanny didn’t know if it was due to her clumsy display or her appearance.
“What is happening?” Mr. Wellington asked. His voice was low and edged with confusion.
Fanny’s gaze darted to him. She took a deep breath as she secured the veil atop her head. At least he hadn’t seen her. She allowed her shoulders to relax. “Nothing at all,” she replied.
Mr. Wellington mumbled something—Fanny couldn’t tell what—to his cousin. Then he cleared his throat and turned in her direction again. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Clarke.” His voice was flat and not at all indicative of pleasure. He seemed exasperated and short of patience.
“Very well,” the cousin said. “Now that introductions have been made, let us sign the papers and be done with it. Yes?”
Fanny hesitated, staring at Mr. Wellington with renewed curiosity. Was she making a mistake? Grandmother had never said he was a pleasant man. Fanny’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered the meaning of his smug expression.
“Miss Clarke?”
She looked at the cousin again. “Sorry. Yes.”
Molly nearly had to pry Fanny’s fingers away from her arm. “Go on, miss.”
Fanny swallowed her fears and stepped tentatively forward.This was what Grandmother wanted, she told herself.I must marry this man.No matter how serious and smug he may be.
Mr. Wellington stiffened again as she came closer. She was pleased to see that his hands were also shaking.
The vicar cleared his throat noisily. “Before the papers are signed we must also perform the ceremony.” His voice was high and grating.
“Do what needs to be done,” Mr. Wellington said, his face tight with impatience.
