Page 8

Twenty minutes past the hour. Twenty-five.

People began to get up and leave, complaining loudly, as if they’d been tricked out of a morning’s entertainment. The door opened, and Anna felt hope well inside her. She turned around and immediately felt sick.

The Earl of Downton had paused in the doorway, clearly waiting for her to turn around and spot him. He grinned, tipping his hat, and she spun back around, red-faced.

At half past the hour, the priest shuffled forward. Approximately half of the congregation had left.

“Miss Belmont,” he murmured, “I… I fear this wedding is not going to proceed as planned.”

“What do you mean?” she snapped. “He’s late.”

The pity in the man’s eyes was unbearable. “I… I don’t often see this, thankfully. But marriage is a serious thing.”

She closed her eyes, hating that he was unconsciously echoing what Henry had said only a matter of hours ago.

How could I not see it? The fear on his face, the panic. The fact that I had to convincehim to marry me.

No, no, I’m being foolish. This is Henry. I knowhim. He’s coming.

“He’s coming,” she said aloud.

The priest glanced nervously at Octavia.

Her mother lay a hand on her forearm, and Anna flinched.

“My darling girl,” Octavia whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Five more minutes. Just five more minutes, and he’ll be here. I know it.”

Octavia swallowed hard, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Five more minutes then.”

Ten minutes later, when the priest had given up reasoning with Anna and was instead staring miserably at the clock, the door opened one last time.

Anna had almost lost hope by this time.

A thousand awful situations had run through her mind, including but not limited to Henry’s twisted, broken body lying lifeless in the wreck of that ridiculous phaeton.

It wasn’t Henry in the doorway this time. A scruffy urchin stood there, eyeing the congregation with barely concealed insolence.

“Which one of you is Miss Belmont?” he shouted, not caring about the way people flinched and glared.

“I’m Miss Belmont,” Anna responded flatly, not turning around.

And likely to remain Miss Belmont.

The boy scurried down the aisle and handed her a small piece of paper, folded over. She took it mechanically.

To Miss A. Belmontwas written on the front. She opened it. Inside were scrawled two words in Henry’s familiar handwriting.

I’m sorry.

Anna pressed a hand to her mouth. A flower dropped forward out of her hair, tickling her forehead. Those ridiculous, ridiculous flowers. She snatched a handful of her hair, tearing the blooms out of it. Handfuls of them tumbled to the ground, collecting on the fabric of her skirt.

“Anna, darling…” Octavia began, reaching a tentative hand forward.

Daphne was back, huddled with her twin at the end of the pew, her eyes wide and terrified. It seemed that the Earl of Downton had crept several rows forward.

Anna jerked away from her mother’s touch. She rose uncertainly to her feet, her bouquet of flowers dropping unheeded to the ground. When she stepped back, she crushed it.