Page 16 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)
Vows that Bind, Chains that Chafe
“You are not in earnest!” Myra stood, pulling Mr. Northcott’s hand with her as she realized what was being said. “I have not agreed to this.”
The Earl of Hastings smiled down at her, his expression kindly given the predicament before them. “It is the only option, Miss Astley. You cannot expect to spend the night tethered to my son without becoming his wife.”
His words trailed off as his gaze shifted from her to his son and then back to her again.
Myra shook her head. There had to be a solution. “We could sleep on the floor with a door between us.”
It would be uncomfortable, given the length of the chain was barely beyond the width of the door, only two small links, but if it was possible to save herself from marrying a man she did not love, she would gladly lie upon the floor.
“Lord Southwood, can you not save me from an imprudent marriage to your brother?” She reached for him, begging him to declare that his love was enough to save her from the scandal of all that had occurred that day. To her utter surprise, Southwood took a step backward.
“I am afraid my father speaks the truth, Miss Astley.”
The cordiality of his tone, the vacant darkness of his features, the way he dismissed her as though she were just another woman vying for his attention sent a shock to her heart, and Myra collapsed into the chair once more.
As though her mother feared she would swoon, she ran forward, waving a fan in Myra’s face. “Juliana, find the smelling salts.”
The earl stepped forward. “I fear there is no time for hysterics. We must leave for the church this very moment.”
Her father cleared his throat. “My lord, perhaps there is another option. A blacksmith in a nearby town?”
The earl sighed. “I want nothing more than to free our children, Mr. Astley, but we have the issue of my son’s personal needs. How do you suggest he use the necessary while tethered to your daughter’s side? And what of her needs?”
“Indeed,” her father said. Myra let out a whimper as her father patted her shoulder. “The situation is not ideal. But I see it must be.”
“Far from ideal,” Southwood yelled as he kicked the foot of the chair Myra sat in.
The earl took hold of Southwood’s arm. “You have only yourself to blame. Had you chosen to entertain your guests instead of…”
Lady Hastings stepped forward, tears piercing her eyes. “Perhaps the arguments could wait until later.”
“Very well.” Lord Hastings swept his hat off the hook by the door and gestured for everyone to follow.
Myra tried to stand, but her legs shook, and her chest was heavy, a pain piercing her heart as the earl’s pronouncement replayed in her mind. The church. Were they truly leaving Northcott Castle for the church? She tried to stand, but her legs would not function, causing her to collapse.
* * *
Myra woke to the jostling of a carriage.
Her head rested against something quite comfortable, and so she slightly adjusted and moved her head around her hand, stretching forward to embrace the soft pillow—until her senses returned, and she realized the person next to her was not a pillow; instead, it was the same shoulder that had shielded her hearing in the stables.
Sitting upright, she could see Mr. Northcott watching her in the dim moonlight shining through the windows of the carriage. “Where are you taking me?”
Mr. Northcott cleared his throat. “The church.”
Turning away from him, she found her mother and father sitting in the carriage across from her. “Mama, please do not allow this to happen.”
“There is no other option, my dear.”
Her pleading eyes fell to her father. She knew he’d been pleased with her decision to marry the viscount; certainly he could not be so close to catching a title for his family only to let it slip away for a little blunder at the bazaar.
When he didn’t immediately appease her concerns, she looked down at her hand, a stark reminder that it wasn’t just a little problem.
Outside the window of the carriage, she could see her fate looming ever closer as the carriage rolled up to the front of the chapel.
Mr. Northcott gently assisted her down each step, his concern that she might swoon once more evident as he watched her every move, not releasing her until she was clearly stable on her feet.
Her four sisters exited the carriage behind theirs, and Lord and Lady Hastings stepped out from theirs, but to her surprise, Lord Southwood was not present. Was his heart aching as deeply as hers?
Certain she would drop dead the moment the vicar declared her Mrs. Northcott, Myra walked on shaky legs into the chapel. They sat on the front bench as the earl and her father spoke with the vicar. Coins were exchanged, and far too soon they had procured the ordinary license.
Myra closed her eyes, praying she would wake up to discover this had been a horrible dream, when the sound of footsteps stopped directly in front of her.
“Miss Astley, Mr. Northcott, if you will but stand for the ceremony.”
A ceremony seemed unnecessary, given neither she nor Mr. Northcott wished for a marriage. “Can we not simply sign the license and be done with the matter?”
“Of course not!” Her mother pulled her to her feet. “You may not be able to marry the man you previously thought would offer for your hand, but that does not mean you can forgo the vows.”
Her head hung low, the view of her wrinkled day frock leaving her further distressed.
The gold silk gown she’d purchased in expectation of a wedding was hanging in the wardrobe, waiting for a special day that would never happen.
She couldn’t even wear the dress for this impromptu ceremony, stuck as she was in a day frock.
She’d saved her favorite dresses for Lord Southwood, opting to wear an old frock to the bazaar.
“Mr. Northcott, please take Miss Astley’s hands.
” The vicar said, his voice stern as though he were rebuking them for their careless behavior.
This most certainly was not her fault. If she could place the blame on Mr. Northcott, she would, but he also shared no fault in their current predicament.
In fact, he’d tried to convince her not to go into the mystic’s tent.
She’d been foolish to sit down at the table.
Foolish to put her hand under a curtain.
Foolish in everything she’d done that day.
Unwilling to meet his eyes, Myra kept her head down as tears streamed down her cheeks.
The words she’d dreamed of hearing for her marriage to Lord Southwood played out exactly as they were written in the Book of Common Prayer.
When prompted by the vicar, and then compelled by her mother, she agreed to the vows.
It was all over, at least as far as their families were concerned. But for Myra and Mr. Northcott, she knew their lives would never be the same.