Page 24 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he day of the wedding had arrived soon… too soon, it seemed to Cordelia, as she sat before the looking glass in her chamber. The final touches of powder and ribbon were being applied while around her, the hum of quiet conversation filled the air.
Matilda stood by the window, her hands nervously twisting the edge of her glove. “I must say,” she began hesitantly, “I never thought this day would come for you, Cordelia.”
Cordelia smiled faintly, feeling the weight of those words. “Neither did I,” she confessed. “But it is necessary, this marriage. A means to save myself from Vernon’s grasp.”
Matilda nodded, her usually shy eyes brightening with a spark of sympathy. “I understand. It is difficult, knowing one must sacrifice so much.”
Hazel was standing with arms crossed, as she gazed about the room with a keen eye. “It is not sacrifice if it leads to safety,” she said pragmatically. “Besides, the Duke is a good man. You would be fortunate.”
Cordelia shook her head gently. “Fortunate, perhaps. But it is only a marriage of convenience. He offered to protect me, and I agreed. Nothing more.”
Hazel smiled, a rare softness touching her usually stern features. “You give him too little credit, Cordelia. Sometimes the heart knows more than we do.”
Matilda glanced toward the door wistfully. “If only my own story had ended so kindly. Robert’s deceit changed everything for me. But you, my dear friend, have a chance to shape your own fate.”
Cordelia’s smile faltered for a moment, the shadow of her friend’s pain touching her own heart. “I only wish it were so simple.”
“But it will be,” Hazel assured her. “You are stronger than you realize.”
“Oh, I do hope so,” Cordelia smiled, gazing at her own reflection in the looking glass.
Hazel stepped closer, her practical expression softening again. “You look lovely, Cordelia. No one could look at you today and think this anything other than the happiest of occasions.”
Matilda smiled shyly, folding her hands. “More than lovely. You look… radiant. I think I have never seen you so.”
Cordelia’s lips curved in polite thanks, but the words pricked at something deep within her. She could not deny the truth she had been avoiding all morning—that for her, this was not simply business.
She wanted to be married to Mason. Not merely bound by law and name but by something more, by a closeness of soul, by affection freely given.
She already had his friendship, and she treasured it more than she dared to admit.
But she knew he would never look at her as she longed to be seen: not as an ally nor as a partner in convenience but as a woman.
Worse still, she knew she would never have his heart.
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap, hidden from their view. She would not tell her friends this. They saw today as a triumph, and she would not shadow it with her private ache.
Finally, she smoothed her hands over her skirts, drawing in a slow, steady breath. “I believe I am ready,” she said at last.
Hazel and Matilda exchanged a glance, then each made a small adjustment: Hazel tugging at the bodice so it lay perfectly smooth, Matilda tucking back one last wayward curl.
“There,” Hazel declared with brisk satisfaction. “Now you are flawless.”
Matilda’s smile was softer. “They are all waiting in the garden. And I suspect the Dowager has already positioned herself for the best possible view.”
Cordelia rose, and both women embraced her briefly, their warmth genuine and unguarded. Then, with a final squeeze of her hand, they swept from the room, their chatter fading down the corridor.
She was alone.
For a moment, she only stood there with the stillness pressing around her like a held breath.
She turned to the window. Below, the garden bloomed in early summer splendor, awash with color and sunlight.
Rows of chairs were set upon the lawn, every seat filled with bright dresses, dark coats, and faces alight with expectation.
They were all so cheerful, so certain this was the beginning of something happy.
Cordelia’s fingers tightened on the sill. She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses drifting faintly up to her. She told herself to step forward, to play her part, to be grateful for the life this would give her.
And yet… her heart beat uncomfortably fast, as though it knew she was walking toward both her salvation and her sorrow.
Mason stood before the gathered guests with his hands clasped loosely behind his back and the weight of expectation pressing on his shoulders. The sun shone warm upon the garden, the air thick with the scent of roses and fresh-cut grass.
And yet, there was no bride.
Seconds bled into minutes. The murmur of polite conversation gave way to curious whispers. A rustle passed through the crowd as heads began to turn, eyes seeking the path from the house. Somewhere, someone chuckled nervously.
Mason’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway. Each heartbeat came louder than the last, the silence stretching until it was almost unbearable. She should have been here by now.
A sharp thread of worry pulled tight in his chest. Had she changed her mind? The thought struck hard, and to his own surprise, he felt not only concern for the scandal that might follow but fear, fear that she had chosen to walk away from him.
He swallowed, glancing toward the house again. If another minute passed, he would go in himself, find her, and ask her to come. He did not care in what terms she agreed to have him. He only knew he wanted her as his wife in whatever way she could bear.
Just as he took a step forward, the doorway darkened.
She appeared.
Cordelia stood framed in the open light, the early summer breeze teasing the fabric of her gown, her hair gleaming like sunlight through honey.
Slowly, she stepped onto the garden path, each movement measured, unhurried, as though she walked through a dream.
Blossoms swayed on either side of her, their colors paling against the glow she carried.
Mason forgot to breathe. The restless shifting of the guests faded to nothing. All he saw was her, coming toward him, the space between them shrinking with every graceful step. And in that moment, he was utterly, helplessly, irrevocably lost.
She came to a stop before him, the sunlight spilling across her veil like a halo. The murmur of the guests softened to a hush.
“You look,” he murmured, bending just enough so only she could hear, “like a fairy from a childhood story my mother used to tell me.”
It was not the grandest compliment he had ever given, but in that instant, it felt the truest, the only one worthy of her. And he saw, clear as the summer sky, that the words struck her heart. Her eyes softened, shining in a way that made something tighten in his chest.
“Well,” she replied, her lips curving, “you do not look bad yourself… just?—”
She leaned in slightly, her hand rising to the edge of his coat. Her fingers brushed his collar, deft and unhurried, straightening it with a tenderness that stole the air from his lungs.
The faintest trace of her scent, something that was warm, fresh, and wholly her, wrapped around him like the warmest embrace. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and for one dangerous heartbeat he imagined this was real. Not an arrangement, not a convenience, but a true beginning.
When he opened his eyes again, she was still there, looking at him with that small, knowing smile. And in that moment, Mason knew, with all the clarity of a man teetering on the edge of something irreversible, that he was utterly and helplessly lost before this woman.
The officiant’s voice rose above the soft rustle of leaves, his words weaving the ceremony into something gentle and steady.
Mason barely heard them. His gaze stayed on Cordelia, on her serene expression, on the delicate way her hands folded around her bouquet and on the faint curve of her lips when their eyes met.
“…and do you, Mason Abernathy, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” he said, the words leaving him with startling ease.
“…and do you, Lady Cordelia Brookes, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her eyes held his for a long moment before she spoke. “I do.”
A flicker of something fierce and unguarded passed through him at her answer. The officiant smiled, lifting his hands slightly. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce?—”
“I have an objection!”
The words rang out, sharp and cutting through the garden’s stillness like a struck bell. Gasps rippled through the guests. All heads turned toward the back of the garden, where a lone figure stood, his voice still echoing in the stunned quiet.
Mason’s jaw tightened, his hand instinctively finding Cordelia’s. The officiant froze mid-sentence. Cordelia’s breath caught in her throat. And the summer air, so bright and peaceful a moment before, now felt heavy with the weight of what would come next.