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"I will," he said at last, and Dorothy swore she heard a sigh of relief.

"Dorothy Godwin, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," she replied, perhaps too quickly.

It was the only way she could have responded at all.

The second part came, the part they had had to memorize, and both said it at quite the pace. Dorothy was pleased that she was not the only one to have done so, though she knew it must have looked strange to those in attendance. Neither one of them were comfortable, and they quite clearly both wished to be anywhere else but there, but that could not have been a surprise to anyone.

Regardless, it did not matter, for the rings were then exchanged and the ceremony was over with and they were wed. She was a wife, a duchess, and now living the life that many young ladies would have done anything to lead.

She should have been grateful, and in many ways she was, but in some ways she wished she could have simply declared spinsterhood as Cecilia had done. She felt out of place among the congregation, the group of perfectly prim and proper guests.

"Congratulations!" Beatrice said brightly at the wedding breakfast, once they found one another. "You look so beautiful."

"I do not. I look like a strange statue, especially with how tense I felt."

"Even if you did, statues are beautiful. You must give yourself more appreciation. It is difficult being a bride."

"How would you know?" she laughed. "You are not yet married."

"Indeed, but I have been to many weddings. Nobody ever seems completely happy to be at the altar, even the most blissfully in love couples."

Dorothy smiled, trying to believe her friend. She had not known Beatrice for as long as she had known Emma and Cecilia, but she knew that they were the most like one another. Though she did not say it, she hoped that Beatrice would find a man that made her as happy as she deserved to be, one that would encourage her to bake even if it was an odd hobby to have.

"Oh!" Beatrice gasped. "Your husband approaches. I shall leave you both be."

Beatrice curtseyed quickly to the Duke before leaving. Dorothy willed her to stay, so that conversation might have been easier, but she did not.

"That was all right, was it not?" she said in an attempt to make conversation.

"Yes, it was a perfectly fine wedding. Do you know any of the people that were in attendance?"

She wanted to say yes, that her friends were there, but after the way he had reacted to their existence she was reluctant to do so.

"A few of them."

"Is that to say the vast majority were for your father's sake?"

"It would seem so, yes. Did you know anybody?"

"I do not know many people, and I have no family to speak of. I had left your father in charge of inviting guests. I hope that he has found his endeavor successful."

"You truly do not like social climbers, do you?"

"I cannot stand them. Shall we go?"

"Now?"

"Yes. I would like to return to my– our household. There is much to be done."

"I thought that it was prudent for us to stay and thank our guests."

"And I thought that part of your vows was to obey me."

Dorothy took a step back, shocked by how he was speaking to her. This was not the gentleman that she had met in the garden, nor was he the man that had taken her on a promenade and enquired about her passions and promised her a tutor. He had, indeed, changed the moment they were married, and she hated it.

"I will leave with you in a moment," she nodded solemnly. "I wish to say goodbye to my friends, first, especially if I shall be forbidden from seeing them again."