Page 21 of A Seaside Scandal (Change of Heart #2)

Chapter Fourteen

ALICE

Dear Charlotte,

I have been struggling to think of the best way to tell you the news.

I know you may not wish to hear from me, especially under these circumstances, but I felt that you might resent me even more if I kept the matter of my marriage a secret.

I always assumed you would attend my wedding, perhaps help me choose my gown and accessories and how to arrange my hair.

You would offer your honest opinion of the groom and all he has to offer.

Since you cannot be here, I wanted to at least tell you about some of these things.

My hair is arranged at the crown of my head with a few pearl pins. I have a necklace and earrings to match. My gown is white muslin, a little plain, but I did not have time to purchase a new one. The groom—

I lifted my quill. How on earth could I tell her that I was marrying Mr. Croft in less than one hour?

The thought made my stomach clench, and I nearly cast up my accounts all over Charlotte’s letter.

By the time Charlotte received my letter, I would be long married.

I needed to be brief with the details. She would likely rip the letter to pieces the moment she received it, so there was no point in being lengthy with my words.

The groom is Mr. Croft. The story is so very absurd, I doubt you would even believe it.

We were forced to marry because I went for a swim, and the situation was spun into a ridiculous scandal.

I will leave it at that. I always wanted to marry in Hampshire, but Mr. Croft insisted on having a swift, simple wedding here in Brighton.

After that, we will set off to his estate on the coast of Kent, where I will live the rest of my days as an unwanted wife.

This likely doesn’t sound unsuitable to you, but I cannot imagine anything worse. I have always wanted to fall in love.

I tried to begin another paragraph, but there was nothing more to say. I blinked hard as I signed my name at the bottom of the letter.

My eyes were dry. I had cried out all my tears over the past week.

Mama had returned to Brighton to discover the circumstances, and together we had planned the fastest wedding imaginable.

Mr. Croft had been stubborn in not wanting to journey to Hampshire but waiting a week had allowed us enough time to obtain a common license and for the rest of my family to arrive in Brighton.

Charlotte, obviously, had not accompanied them. I doubted she was even made aware of my upcoming wedding. It had all been so rushed, and I could hardly believe that the day—the hour—was already here.

With shaking fingers, I folded and sealed the letter, leaving it on the writing desk for Eliza to send.

My room had been cleared out, my trunks carried off to Mr. Croft’s carriage.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, nearly folding over from the intensity of my nervousness.

It was silly that I dreaded marrying him so much.

He was handsome, rich, and we had shared several pleasant conversations.

But everything pleasant about him had been poisoned after our last few interactions.

I thought of his smug smile, dark eyes, and that aloof expression that I should have never ignored. I had once been quite infatuated with him. I had wanted to marry him. I scoffed as I adjusted the ribbon at my waist.

How embarrassing. How completely ridiculous.

Mama had encouraged me to hope for a man who would choose me—who would claim me in his heart…but Mr. Croft hadn’t done either of those things. I had spent a week mourning my dreams, tucking them away to a place they could wither and die. I refused to love a man who was so determined to dislike me.

It was much easier to dislike him just as much.

Perhaps even more.

St. Nicholas’s stood atop the hill, a solid flint-and-stone parish church surrounded by tombstones and trees.

A path to the front doors wound upward from Brighton’s bustling streets.

I swallowed, holding tighter to Papa’s arm as we took to that very path.

His face looked much like Edmund’s, but older, with a familiarity and strength that made my heart sting with grief.

My new home was not so very far from Hampshire, but still—I wasn’t ready to be parted from my family. I never would be.

Inside, the church was cool and dim compared to the bright August sunlight outside. Narrow stained-glass windows let in muted shafts of colored light, falling across the worn stone floor and the simple wooden pews. The guests were sparse, which was all I could have hoped for.

Besides Mama and Edmund, my brother Owen was seated beside his new wife, Annette, and her two young brothers, Peter and Charles.

I waved in their direction, my spirits lifting slightly.

I saw them often when I was at home, but I had missed them fiercely since coming to Brighton.

I wanted to speak with Annette about my marriage, my fears, my sorrows, but I doubted I would have a private moment to do so.

She was much like my mother—empathetic, kind, and a good listener.

Even though I was pretending otherwise, I was desperate for reassurance.

Mr. Croft’s sisters sat on the front pew, their pastel gowns elaborately trimmed as usual.

Their husbands sat in silence while the two women whispered to one another in excited tones.

They seemed happy that their brother was marrying—even if he couldn’t possibly be more displeased with the arrangement.

Besides our families, Lady Cinderford and her friends had also taken space in the pews, along with a handful of other women who had likely heard the gossip and were eager for more.

Thankfully there weren’t a great number of near strangers in attendance.

I was nervous enough without having to face even more scrutiny.

With a deep breath, I dared myself to look straight ahead.

I had been avoiding doing so for a reason.

Mr. Croft stood at the altar rail beside the vicar. His hair was combed neatly, features sharp and stoic. His dark eyes met mine.

Despite my effort to contain them, butterflies erupted in my stomach.

I jerked my gaze down to the floor. Mr. Croft was about to become my husband.

How could a woman not feel a fluttering sensation in her stomach when her betrothed was as handsome as he was?

I knew he hated me, resented me, and wanted nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help but admire him in his dark blue jacket.

I cursed myself for my wayward thoughts, even as each of my steps brought me closer to him. My heart pounded hard against my rigid stays. Eliza had laced them particularly tight that morning.

Papa led me forward until I stood at the altar rail. His arm shifted under my grasp, and I realized I was supposed to let go. My hand slipped away, falling limp at my side.

Silence hung heavy in the air, emphasizing every shift and rustle from the guests in the pews.

Without even trying to whisper, the six-year-old Charles said, “Who is that man beside Alice?” I heard Annette shush him, as well as the quiet chuckle from my brother, Owen.

I glanced out at my family, surprised to see a hint of sympathy in Owen’s gaze.

Perhaps he wasn’t as amused as I thought.

The vicar, a middle-aged man with very little hair, stared at my face until I met his gaze.

He then shifted his attention to Mr. Croft.

I couldn’t mistake the skepticism in his expression.

Any hasty marriage was enough to raise questions and judgment.

He cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony…”

I wiped my sweating palms discreetly on my skirts. My heart beat fast in my chest, elevating the rate of my breathing as well. I avoided looking at Mr. Croft’s face as long as I could, but then the vicar addressed him directly.

“Sir, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep you only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

I expected a moment of silence—of hesitation, but Mr. Croft spoke in a firm voice. “I will.”

My gaze flickered up to his face. His gaze was on me, and I hardly knew how to endure it. The words he had just consented to did not make sense.

He had promised to love me. We both knew we couldn’t make such a promise.

His expression was heavy, weighed down by obvious uncertainty. There was more than that though—he looked almost…afraid.

I glanced toward the vicar again, swallowing hard. He was looking at me now.

“Will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep you only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

I drew a shaky breath. The words of the vow replayed in my head, and I couldn’t answer without feeling like a liar.

My heart ached as I realized that yes, I would have loved him.

I would have honored him. I had been giddy once, not so long ago, at the thought of courting him.

Without Charlotte’s interference and my own stubbornness, what if we could have formed a real attachment?

I remembered Mr. Croft’s words from the back of his horse. Such a thing does not exist. Nor will it ever.

“Ma’am?” The vicar’s voice cut through my thoughts.

My face burned as I blurted out the words I was expected to say. “I will.”

The vicar instructed each of us to repeat further vows, and I had never felt like more of a liar. Did Mr. Croft feel the same as he said those words?