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CHAPTER EIGHT

“ I bet you never thought you would be the talk of society,” Anthony whispered, elbowing Cyrus in the ribs as he stood waiting for his bride to arrive.

Cyrus did not look at his friend. “Society’s opinion does not interest me at all.”

“I was at the gentlemen’s club last night, and it was all anyone could discuss,” Anthony continued, undeterred.

“You would expect gossip from the ladies, but the gentlemen have been riled into a near-identical frenzy! They were all asking me for information, though, of course, I kept my lips sealed. The last thing you need is a crowd, gawping at this hasty union.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, Cyrus muttered, “If you do not cease, Anthony, I shall replace you with Silas. I do not wish to talk about this. All I want is for it to be over with, and swiftly.”

Anthony put up his hands in mock surrender.

“I shall not say another word.” He paused, immediately breaking his promise.

“Goodness, on what is supposed to be the cheeriest day of your life, you are especially grumpy. Did you not sleep well? Were you too busy dreaming of your bride and your wedding night? Were you?—”

“Even half an utterance more, and I shall relegate you to the pews,” Cyrus warned, his anger flaring.

Of course he had not slept well. What sort of madman could sleep well, knowing he might be about to destroy a young lady’s life? And not in the way her life would have been ruined if she had decided to refuse him. If only it were that bad.

Anthony pretended to produce a key from his pocket, turned it against his mouth and tossed away the imaginary thing. Yet, he fidgeted loudly, shifting from foot to foot, humming in the back of his throat, adjusting his cuffs, checking his fob watch, as if he were the one awaiting his bride.

She was ten minutes late, but the congregation had not seemed to notice—a congregation that amounted to Silas and Anthony. Teresa’s side was arriving with her, by all accounts, the emptiness on the right of the church leading Cyrus to wonder if they might not turn up at all.

If that is her choice, so be it.

He was just thinking that might be for the best, when the church doors opened, and the women of the Wilds family hurried inside: Teresa’s mother and sisters. The former mouthed an apology toward the altar, where the reverend tapped his foot impatiently, as the ladies took their seats.

A moment after, Cyrus’ bride entered on the arm of her brother.

Dressed in a pretty gown of daffodil yellow, haloed by the foggy light that filtered in from outside, she was every bit as striking as he remembered.

Her fascinating blue eyes were downcast, observing the floor as she walked toward him, and with the bend of her neck a small, white rose fell from her hair.

It disappeared beneath the hem of her wedding gown, reappearing behind her as trampled petals.

An omen Cyrus did not want to see.

It took less time to boil an egg than it took for Cyrus to find himself married to Teresa.

He had chosen the church and, more particularly, the reverend, for his renowned brevity, and the clergyman had certainly been worthy of the accolade, hurtling through the ceremony as if he had an emergency to attend to.

“I now pronounce you man and wife, the Duke and Duchess of Darnley,” the reverend babbled, so fast the words blurred into one.

He flicked his wrist as if to say, Go on, get out of here, though he added a slight bow of his head to Cyrus, allowing half a second for courtesy.

Teresa blinked. “Is it done?”

“It is,” the reverend replied before Cyrus could answer. “Now, if you would be so kind, I have another couple and their congregation arriving any moment.”

Cyrus did not need to be told twice. Taking hold of Teresa’s hand, he guided it through the crook of his arm and promptly ushered her back up the aisle and out into the gloomy morning. Her family followed at a pace, while Silas and Anthony took their time, strolling out last.

“Your Grace, what a delightful ceremony,” Teresa’s mother called out, almost running to put herself in front of the newlyweds.

“I thought the reverend mumbled rather a lot. If our dear Father Francis had performed the ceremony, it would have been so lovely… but I suppose that is not important. Now, I know you did not specify in your letters to Vincent, but I took the liberty of preparing a wedding breakfast for the two of you at Grayling House. With that in mind, I thought that we would ride ahead and you?—”

“There will be no need for that,” Cyrus interrupted coolly. “I mean to return to my estate without delay.”

Julianna’s eyes widened in dismay. “But… it is not so very far. It is but four or five hours by carriage, or so I am told. Surely, you could?—”

“I am in something of a hurry,” Cyrus replied, unwilling to glance down to the bride at his side to see her reaction.

He could feel it, bristling up his arm, where her hand had suddenly gripped him.

If he was not mistaken, she was holding her breath, her entire body rigid beside him.

Whether in displeasure or relief, it was not his place to say, nor did he care to discover which: he had done his part, he would not play the role of merry husband for these people, forced into the position of having to sit at a dining table with no choice but to get to know the woman he had married.

She will thank me for it, even if she is not grateful now.

“Oh, well…” Julianna’s eyes drifted to her middle daughter, clamping her lips together as they began to tremble.

Cyrus removed his arm from Teresa’s grasp, stepping past Julianna to reach the carriage. Mounting the step and entering the stuffy interior, he called back over his shoulder, “Say your farewells, Duchess. We leave immediately.”

That done, he closed the door, grateful for the small curtain that covered the window. Sinking back onto the squabs, he shut his eyes and put a hand to his chest, feeling each rapid beat of his heart, willing it to slow as he breathed deeply.

The anguish will not last as long if the severance is swift. He would have told his bride that, if he had thought she would listen.

Outside, he heard the farewells begin.

She can visit whenever she likes, he reminded himself, prodding his chest with his forefingers, trying to untangle a knot that had twisted too tight in the very center.

“Promise you will write,” begged a young voice. Prudence, most likely. “And remember all I have taught you about the usefulness of saucepans and household implements.”

“We are not so far. If ever you need me, send word and I will come, or you can come to me. Whenever. I mean it.” That was almost certainly Isolde, for though they had not met, he had taken time to learn about Teresa’s family in the week since his proposal.

“Be happy, Tessie. See this as an opportunity,” came Vincent’s low, hesitant voice. “But if anything should happen, summon me. I will defend you at any given time.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” cried Julianna, punctuated by an ‘oof’ that spoke of a too-tight embrace. “I am… so sorry to see you go. I shall miss you terribly. Oh… my darling, darling girl.”

Discomfort writhed in Cyrus’ stomach as he listened to the fond sentiments of Teresa’s family.

He had no notion of what it was like to have such a family, wondering if he should have allowed his bride to have her wedding breakfast after all.

A proper chance to say goodbye to the people she clearly adored, in a place that was familiar to her.

“I should not keep my future waiting,” he heard Teresa say, in a voice brimming with false brightness. “I will write to you all of my adventures, I will see you all just as soon as I can, so please do not worry about me. I love you all. I will be thinking of you.”

He sat up as the door began to open, pretending to check his fob watch for the time. He would not permit Teresa to see him ill at ease, and if she found him to be unbearable in his manner toward her, then all the better. That way, she would expect nothing from him.

She had just seated herself on the opposite squabs when Cyrus thumped his fist against the carriage wall, startling her. Pretending he had not seen the fear on her face, he turned his gaze out of the window, expelling a discreet breath as the carriage began to move.

Soon enough, he would be back at his estate, at peace once more behind those familiar, soothing walls. As far from society’s eyes and judgment as it was possible to be. After all, a castle was not worth much if it could not keep out the enemy.