Page 46 of The Reclusive Earl’s Scandal (Vows and Vanity #1)

Five days later, Simon rode to St James’s Church in a new coat that had been especially made for the occasion. There was a light drizzle in the air, and dark gray clouds had lowered over London, making everything seem sad and lifeless.

Still, he had not been able to quench the excitement within him when he had awoken that morning.

The cobblestones were slick and shining under his horse’s hooves as he trotted through the streets, hawkers shouting their wares all around him. The light rain had churned up the mud of the street, and the stench of London was strong in his nostrils as he caught the gazes of several passers-by.

The damp air clung to his coat as he dismounted, patting his horse, Willow, on the neck as she snorted at him reproachfully.

“I shall see to you shortly, I promise,” he said, eyeing the man outside the church, who had cared for his horses many times. He was a weary-looking man with only a few remaining teeth, but he cared for the animals like they were his own children.

“No apples today, please, Smithson,” Simon implored. “She is spoiled enough,” he said, as the man waved him off.

I expect Willow will have at least three apples, now I made a point of denying her.

Simon smiled as Smithson patted her neck, leading her away to the small stable block near the church, and tugged at his coat.

He longed for a mirror to check his appearance one final time. He had not anticipated the rain on the outward journey, and his hair had a tendency to dry at odd angles whenever any moisture got near it.

He flattened it down hurriedly, pulling at his sleeves, nerves fluttering manically in his stomach as he walked through the smart iron gates toward the church’s entrance.

The spire of St James’s loomed above him, the large clock in the centre showing that he had arrived early. He was grateful to be there in advance of most of the congregation, but it only meant that his nerves had more time to build in anticipation of the event.

I am being foolish. I have seen Scarlett a thousand times in my life, yet now I must present myself to her directly, I find myself utterly tongue-tied.

He straightened his cravat as he walked through the doors. There were several members of the ton already in attendance, calling to one another, speaking in small groups, and bickering over which pew would be the best place to be seen.

The spring light filtered through the stained glass above, casting soft hues across the grays and greens of those sitting in the pews. It was a beautiful church, high and exultant, with gold highlighting the arches in the ceiling and a large, imposing altar in front of him.

Walking to the end of the aisle, he lowered himself into place beside his father, noting the look of disapproval that was directed his way at his damp appearance. His father had travelled by carriage and did not understand his son’s ‘obsession’ with riding on horseback everywhere he needed to go.

Simon leaned back in his chair as his father shifted, extending a hand across his son to a nearby lord who acknowledged him warmly.

Simon’s mother, Her Grace Cassandra Hayes, also offered prim smiles to many in the company, waving discreetly to a few of her friends at the back of the church.

His parents always played dutiful hosts, exhibiting the utmost decorum in public, no matter the occasion.

How am I ever to live up to their towering expectations?

Simon had craved their approval since birth, but it had never been easily given. Gone were the days when he expected anything other than brisk affection from either parent, but he secretly longed to hear his father say he had done well, just once in his life.

Perhaps this marriage will pave the way for that. I have done his bidding. I wonder if he is proud of me for it.

Throwing off such childish thoughts, he began to scan the nave, looking out for that beautiful dark hair in the crowd. He was restless in his seat, trying to keep still and stop himself from turning around every thirty seconds to see if the Bradfords had arrived.

Thankfully, on his first turn about he saw them, and his heart almost stopped completely as he watched Scarlett enter behind her mother and father.

Heavens, how have I been so fortunate as to have her as my betrothed?

She looked glorious, as she always did. Her hair was tied up at the back of her head with an emerald ribbon that exactly matched the shade of her eyes. She wore a dark green dress that could almost have been mistaken for black in certain lights, but it shimmered beautifully as she walked.

He watched her, aware of other eyes about the room, noticing the family’s arrival.

Scarlett’s posture was stiff, her slim waist accentuating the line of her elegant figure. She followed her family to their pew across the aisle from where Simon sat, and although he knew he should look away, he found himself unable to do so.

Just as he was about to turn back to face the front of the church, bright emerald eyes met his gaze.

Simon’s whole body became rigid at the tingling, charged moment of connection between them.

Scarlett’s eyes were brimming with fire, with a contempt and anger that he knew well.

He loved that passion, the defiance in it—the suppressed rage.

Or he had loved it, until it was directed at him.

Does she remember me at all? So many times, I have seen her at balls and other gatherings, but I cannot recall us speaking since we were young children. Why have I never had the courage to bridge this gap before?

She looked at him as if he were about to pass judgment on her. The thought was an unpleasant one and made his stomach churn with a mixture of guilt and regret.

Although he and Scarlett had known one another as young children, they had been entirely estranged in recent years, circling the same rooms but never speaking.

Their fathers were close friends, which had brought about their alliance, but anything else between them had evaporated after they had become adults.

Now he sat near her, about to have their betrothal announced to the world, and it was like looking at a beautiful stranger.

Stricken by her acidic look and worrying that he had allowed every emotion he was feeling to show on his face, he turned back to the front of the church just as the vicar stepped up to the pulpit.

His voice was steady and forthright as he began and Simon tensed, knowing what was coming a feeling of elation and misery warring inside him as he waited for the words that would bind Scarlett to him forever.

***

Scarlett stepped into the church behind her mother and father as they greeted the assembled members of the ton. Her gown felt stiff and uncomfortable against her frame. The corset her mother had insisted upon was too tight, and cinched her waist so firmly she could hardly breathe.

She had chosen it because it was almost black. It matched her mood, and she hoped that it looked in certain lights as though she were in mourning.

I hope I look as miserable as I feel.

The bitter thought was not a new one. Even as she had awoken that morning, it felt as if she were walking to the gallows instead of to a sermon in church.

Scarlett wished that she felt numb and push all emotion away and just act as a good daughter should. But she had never been that woman, she would never be able to behave as a lady was expected—she simply refused.

I will stop short of disgracing my parents, but nothing else. Lord Hayes will know how much I hate him by the end of this sermon, I swear it to all I hold sacred.

Her mother turned, whispering about how many people had come and how much anticipation there was for the announcement.

Scarlett followed behind her, keeping her eyes on the floor, not wishing to see the excited gazes of any other girls she knew.

They would almost certainly think the match was a source of great excitement, giggling and whispering to each other like fools.

No one will see anything on my face but rage.

As she skirted around other members of the congregation, her eyes moved upward and collided with a pair of large blue-green ones across the aisle from where her parents were about to sit.

Scarlett’s fingers clenched into fists as she finally laid eyes on Lord Simon Hayes. He was cool and collected, his face blank, his calm gaze unnerving as she drank it in. Was it indifference? Or something else?

She mustered every ounce of contempt she could and glared at him furiously, just as her brother sidled up between them, blocking her view and smirking down at her. Scarlett fought the almost overwhelming urge to stamp on his foot as she finally lowered into her seat.

Scarlett was forced to sit at the end of the pew, and there was now only three feet of space between Lord Hayes and her. She felt like screaming into the high ceilings of the church, railing against the injustice of the world around her.

Why must I be here? Why me? Why couldn’t I have been undesirable? Ruined? Reviled? Anything!

The vicar’s voice broke through the gentle hubbub of chatter around her and Scarlett looked up at him, darkness edging into her vision as the inevitable, terrible words were spoken aloud for the first time.

“I announce the banns of marriage between Lord Simon Hayes and Lady Scarlett Bradford. If any here know a reason why these persons should not be joined, declare it now.”

The words hit her hard, each one a brick sealing her fate. Her cheeks burned as every eye in the room turned in place to look at her.

To Scarlett’s surprise, she saw a few of the older matrons in the crowd show her some pity, almost as though they knew of her spirit and could see how it would now be buried beneath the burdens of duty and expectation.

Several of her so-called friends grinned at her, a particularly silly girl named Clarissa Montague clapped loudly and her mother pulled her hands down into her lap with a sharp hiss of disapproval.

Scarlett felt the weight of her brother’s gaze and risked a glance at him, her lips thinning with renewed rage at the smug expression on his face.

She hated him—this was all a tremendous jest to Owen.

He would never have to suffer this fate and knew nothing of what it was to have your life signed away by your parents so cruelly.

Finally, her eyes met Simon’s. With the entire room watching for the slightest hint of scandal, Scarlett couldn’t reveal her true feelings.

One flicker of displeasure, and her mother would never let her forget it.

But she could be formal and reserved, letting cold fury simmer beneath her skin, just enough for Lord Hayes to notice, while others dismissed it as the nerves of a blushing bride-to-be.

She expected him to look away under the rage she could feel pulsing beneath her skin, but he did not. His steady gaze remained upon her, a depth in it that she could not understand nor decipher.

The streak of defiance that she had possessed since birth erupted within her like a flame.

I will stop this. I must. I shall escape from this trap and live my life as I choose.

Still, he did not look away, the blue-green of his eyes like a summer lake in the mountains, bright and joyful, reflecting the light from the windows. A flicker of doubt crept into her mind.

Does he feel trapped, too? Or is he content to be my captor?

“At least he is handsome,” Owen said, whispering into her ear, his breath stirring the wisps of hair on her neck. “You could have been left with a man of an apish countenance, but he is rather fetching.”

Scarlett sucked in a sharp breath as the vicar continued and the spell about the room was broken. The thread of anger she had been fighting since her mother had first told her the news grew taut, morphing into real panic that the announcement had finally happened.

There was no turning back now, and her anger finally had an outlet when she turned to her brother and took in the perpetual amusement at the back of his eyes.

“I hope one day you are forced to marry a woman you cannot love. I hope you are miserable until the day you die,” she hissed furiously, rage like nothing she had ever known consuming her even as Owen’s eyes went wide with shock.

Scarlett looked hurriedly back toward the vicar, a guilty resentment rising as her anger peaked and she finally felt the flame of it lessen with each passing minute. When she looked at her brother again, he was pale, his eyes hooded and unhappy.

Owen is not the one at fault here.

Yet he had jested with her beyond bearing for the entire week before the betrothal. She had hoped in the back of her mind that he might be sympathetic to her plight, but he did not care. No one cared.

The only person I can rely on to get me out of this situation is myself, and that is what I will do. By the time these two weeks are up, Simon Hayes will wish he had never heard the name Scarlett Bradford.