Page 41 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

‘Look now,’ her friends urged, clustered around the long mirror on its stand.

Thea looked.

Yes, there is the Duchess of Leamington. Here is Hal’s bride.

* * *

The chapel at Leaming had been built by the Jacobean duke who had seen the one at Hampton Court and been determined to outdo it. Now it absorbed all the guests as though it had been designed for just this wedding, the hushed murmur of their anticipation filling it with echoes.

Hal stood at the altar steps with his old friend, Colonel Jack Wylde, back from Waterloo with a limp and an interesting scar on his left cheek that he assured Hal was ideal for attracting young ladies.

Now he stood stock-still as though waiting for a cavalry charge, the wedding ring safely in his fob pocket.

Perhaps waiting for the French cavalry was less stressful than this, Hal thought. He felt as though some of the holly leaves that were part of the decorations had taken up residence under his shirt, so he fixed a serene expression on his face and set himself to study the chapel.

The team of gardeners and housemaids had done a wonderful job, given that it was November. Berried evergreens were lightened by golden ribbons, and stately cream-coloured candles and bows of creamy organza on the pew-ends made the space look bridal rather than a celebration of Christmas.

Jack unbent enough to mutter from the corner of his mouth, ‘You are supposed to be facing front, not looking yearningly at the door as though you want to bolt.’

Now he knew why he had chosen Jack to stand with him. Suppressing a laugh, Hal turned to face the altar and Miles Haversham, the Castle’s chaplain. ‘I suppose you would see it as your duty to bring me down and haul me back?’

‘No such thing. I am reliably informed that if the bridegroom flees, it is the duty of the best man to marry the bride. And I have to say, that is a delightful prospect.’

Then the organist stopped playing something quiet and vague and struck up something triumphantly processional.

Hal turned, all thoughts driven from his head by the sight of Thea on her father’s arm beginning her slow walk towards him.

Tall, slender, clad in cream and touches of green, his family’s emeralds glowing at her throat, in her ears, on her hand, she came to him unveiled, her face serious, her eyes wide.

In her hands a spray of orchids trembled.

That tremble steadied him. This was not a vision of some goddess; this was a real woman. His woman. She was nervous and he would let none of his own fears show, because now she was his to protect.

He held out his hand and smiled and he saw something run through her, relief perhaps, and her lips curved into an answering smile.

As she reached the steps, she turned and passed her flowers to one of the young women behind her and then her hand was in his, warm and steady as though all her nerves and doubts had fled.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together—’

He knew he should be facing forward, solemnly attentive to what Haversham was saying, but he could not keep his gaze from Thea’s face and, it seemed, she felt compelled to hold that gaze with her own.

I love her. I am in love with Thea.

As that hit him the chaplain’s words swam in and out of his comprehension. ‘An honourable estate…not to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly…but reverently, discreetly…soberly…’

He had taken marriage lightly at first. Just another duty to be performed, no need to exert himself with his bride already chosen. That was a sobering thought, because this did not feel like a light thing now. Not now he realised how he felt about this woman.

‘…the causes for which Matrimony was ordained. Firstly, the procreation of children…’

There was a little blush on Thea’s cheeks.

‘Secondly…a remedy against sin…’

He had been very close indeed to sinning the day before in the library on that window seat. Still he could not drag his eyes away from Thea’s face.

I love you.

And that was something his almost-wife did not want to hear, surely.

To have the burden of his feelings. At any moment they would be asked to promise to love each other, as though that was something that could be ordered, an obligation.

She was already marrying him because of obligation—that old betrothal, the need to protect the family name in the face of scandal—and he would not heap more on her.

If she ever came to feel for him what he realised he felt for her, perhaps he would be able to tell.

Until then, he would show her how he felt in everything except words, he vowed silently.

* * *

‘Thirdly…for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other…’

That she could offer without blushing, Thea thought, wondering at the intensity in Hal’s eyes. There was no doubt that he took this ceremony seriously, that it meant something to him beyond the legalisation of their marriage.

I love you. I will help you and comfort you , she promised silently. Always.

‘…or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’

There was the sensation that the whole congregation was holding its breath that Thea had noticed at other weddings. But, of course, nobody jumped to their feet to protest.

But now Hal had looked from her to the chaplain, although her hand was still secure in his. Soon, very soon, she must find her voice and make her vows. Say them strongly and firmly as she truly meant them.

‘Wilt though love her,’ the chaplain was asking Hal. ‘Comfort her, honour her…’

How can they ask someone to vow to love? she wondered.

Just as Hal said, ‘I do.’

Now it was her turn. ‘Wilt thou have this man? To thy wedded husband…’

‘I will,’ Thea said and heard her own voice, steady and certain in the still, chilly air.

‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’

‘I do,’ she heard her father say, and he stepped back, leaving her with Hal, giving her to her new life.

‘I take thee, Thea Caroline Anne, to my married wife,’ Hal said, clasping her right hand in his.

‘I take thee, Avery Henry de Forrest Castleton,’ she repeated after the chaplain, speaking steadily until, ‘…and thereto I give thee my troth.’

The tall man in uniform, his cheek bearing the scars of battle, handed the ring to Hal, and Hal slid it onto her finger. ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’

It was not a dream as she had half feared it was. This was reality, and any moment now she would be married to Hal.

‘I pronounce that they be man and wife together.’

And there, it was done. Her own deep sigh was echoed around the chapel.

Thea knelt beside her husband as prayers were said and the chaplain delivered a blessing.

‘Amen,’ she said.

Please let this marriage be happy for both of us. Please let me love him and not betray myself.

Hal helped her to her feet and they followed the chaplain into the vestry to sign the register. As the best man and her own attendants signed as witnesses, he kissed her.

‘My duchess,’ Hal murmured against her lips. ‘My most beautiful duchess. I swear I will do all in my power to make you happy.’

When he lifted his head, she went on tiptoe to kiss him back. ‘I know you will,’ she whispered. ‘I trust you.’

I love you.

The words he would not want to hear, the words that would be like a shackle.