Page 17 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

One Week Later

“It is quite customary to feel a touch of apprehension, is it not?” Colin inquired with evident anxiety. “There has been much discourse regarding being afraid and such, yet I never imagined… I am devoted to Louisa, for heaven’s sake!”

Nathan rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Marriage is a serious business,” he said, keeping his voice low so that the rest of the congregation could not hear. “It’s entirely natural to be nervous. If fact, if you were not nervous, I might think that you didn’t understand the seriousness of it all.”

Of course, he had hoped Colin’s nerves would not present themselves now , when they were waiting at the altar, on his wedding day.

The church was barely half full, and the wedding breakfast expressly by invitation only. Colin and Louisa both wished for a quiet, intimate ceremony, with only a few friends and the closest family members. Society would no doubt turn up its nose at being excluded from a wedding, but frankly, Nathan did not care. Colin and Louisa deserved the wedding that they wanted.

He had been a little surprised to be asked to be Colin’s best man. Colin was remarkably gregarious and had a great many friends and acquaintances. It was of course a great compliment, and Nathan had felt a flare of pride that morning, as he dressed in his wedding finery.

Apparently, another unforeseen duty of the best man was to console the groom when his nerves got the better of him. Not that Colin was on the brink of fleeing the church, of course, but still.

“I suppose at the end of the day, it’s all about luck, isn’t it?” Colin remarked, almost to himself. “One doesn’t know one’s spouse, not really , until one marries them. You simply marry somebody you care about, and hope for the best.”

“To an extent,” Nathan agreed. “There is an element of luck. Let me ask you this, then. Do you believe Louisa to be the sort of woman to hide her true character?”

“Louisa? Heavens, no! She’s the most authentic young woman I have ever met,” Colin responded, snorting. “She’s entirely too honest at times. It’s most thrilling.”

“In that case, you can reassure yourself that you know exactly who you are marrying. And as to the element of luck, well, it can be reduced by marrying somebody you truly love, and choosing wisely. You have done both, so there’s no need for you to worry so intensely.”

Colin let out a long, slow breath. “Do you know, I think you’re right. I am being foolish, aren’t I?”

Nathan chuckled. “I never said that.”

“No, but you thought it. I know you, you wretch.”

Nathan nudged him gently with his shoulder, and Colin nudged back.

On cue, the church doors opened, and Louisa appeared in the doorway, a vision in silver lace and satin. The congregation rose duly to their feet, whispering and exclaiming at the bride. Louisa, however, never glanced at any of them, not even once. Her eyes were fixed on Colin as she slowly progressed up the aisle.

Colin, for his part, seemed to have stopped breathing, transfixed. Nathan bit his lip, holding back a smile, watching the two of them come together. Colin held out his open palm, and Louisa extended a white-gloved hand to put it in. They seemed to see nothing but each other.

Once they turned to face the rector, who was smiling broadly, the service began.

Nathan settled into his seat on the pew, finding that there was a lump in his throat.

He’d known about Colin’s wedding for weeks, of course, and had looked forward to it. Colin deserved happiness, and so did Louisa. They were well-matched, and it was apparent to all that they were in love.

Jealousy, on the other hand, was a nasty, bitter thing, and had no place at a wedding. And yet Nathan found it forcing its way up his throat, burning as it went.

What must it feel like, to love so intensely and be loved back?

Marriage was a part of many, many people’s lives, but how many of them could boast of feeling the same love he saw in Colin’s and Louisa’s eyes when they looked at each other?

When Nathan closed his eyes, he saw Miss Pippa Randall behind his lids, looking up at him with a faint smile, her ice-blue and silver dress swirling around her. His chest tightened, and he swallowed thickly.

There’s no use pretending anymore. I am in love with her.

Well, that did him no good. Love was all very well, but only if it were requited. And was his love for Miss Randall requited?

It was hard to tell. Sometimes, he thought so, but at other times, she seemed to be actively avoiding him. Lady Randall certainly did not approve of him.

The ceremony reached the part where the bride and groom exchanged their vows. Nathan’s eyes shot open, as he remembered he was to give out the rings. He was on his feet in in the nick of time, handing over the twin gold rings. Colin took them with an inward-looking smile, a soft expression on his face.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the rector announced, beaming.

The congregation broke out into cheers. Nathan spotted his mother, who of course had known Colin for many years, blotting happy tears with the corner of her handkerchief.

And yet I feel nothing beside this hollowness. Why can’t I even be happy on my best friend’s wedding day?

No answer came. Nathan clapped mechanically along with everybody else.

***

The wedding breakfast was a cheerful, informal affair. The dancing had not yet started, and the meal was still progressing. Nathan was seated by the head table, swirling whiskey in his glass and trying to convince himself that he had an appetite.

There were many familiar faces at the wedding breakfast – Henry, for one, and his wife, Eleanor. Miss Randall and her mother were not there, of course, and nor was Katherine, on account of her progressing pregnancy.

Come on, now, Nathan scolded himself. You should be in better spirits. Your friend is getting married.

A quick glance at the head table showed Colin and Louise wrapped in conversation, staring dotingly at each other.

The plump, middle-aged woman nudged Nathan roughly in the side.

“Young love,” she said, nodding at Colin and Louise. “It’s fine to see, is it not?”

“Indeed, very much so,” Nathan answered, smiling faintly. “It’s Mrs. O’Hare, is it not?”

“Indeed, it is,” the woman responded, spearing a roast tomato. “And you are Lord Whitmore. Your mother is a friend of mine, and she discusses you frequently.”

Nathan winced. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, don’t worry. All mothers rave about their children. The good ones, at least.”

“Good mothers, or good children?”

Mrs. O’Hare put the tomato in her mouth with a wink. “Well, now, that would be telling. Anyway, I hope to see Rose later today. She entertains hopes of you marrying this Season, yes?”

He cleared his throat, shifting. “I believe so.”

“And how is that going along?” She met his eye and snorted at the look in his face. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. A woman of my age and station tends to dispense with formality and get straight to the point.”

“Well, your frankness is certainly refreshing. Make no apologies to me,” Nathan responded, and Mrs. O’Hare grinned.

She was a pleasant enough conversation partner, and the breakfast slipped away most pleasantly, until a flare of music jerked Nathan out of their discussion.

“Time for the dancing,” Mrs. O’Hare said, with a sigh. “I recall that when I was young, I used to dance all night. I had the ankles and knees for it, you know. These days, my joints protest if I even dare to climb the stairs too quickly.”

Nathan chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Were you fond of dancing?”

“Fond of it? I lived for it. Young women are often like that, you know. They don’t look ahead. And the ones that do are told that they are foolish little things, bound to obey their parents and with nothing in their heads but gowns and trinkets,” she paused, snorting again. “I quite approve of this new movement for women to be well educated. Why shouldn’t a female grasp Latin and mathematics as easily as a man? I have a parcel of children myself, and I must say, the girls are cleverer than the boys.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Nathan replied. “I believe this new literary movement is encouraging women to read more, which can never be a bad thing. Unless, of course, you are one of those people who disapproves of novels.”

Mrs. O’Hare gave him a sharp glance. “Do I strike you as a person who disapproves of novels?”

He smiled wryly. “No, Mrs. O’Hare, You do not.”

The conversation progressed, with Mrs. O’Hare doing most of the talking. Nathan didn’t much mind, until a familiar name made him sit up straight and nearly spill his whiskey.

“They’re saying that Miss Randall, will be wed soon,” Mrs. O’Hare said, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not surprised. I met her a while ago, and she is quite a breath of fresh air. No fortune, of course, but naturally her cousins will settle something on her.”

Nathan swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself. “She… she’s betrothed?”

“No, not yet, but Lord Barwick’s pursuit of her is rather obvious, and she is accepting his attentions. Other gentlemen are already pulling back. No sense in wasting their time, if she already has an understanding with another,” Mrs. O’Hare sighed. “Frankly, I think I would have chosen better for her than Lord Barwick. Not that she could get better than a Marquess, but I’m not sure he’ll suit her. Still, it’s not of my concern. I daresay Miss Randall knows what she’s doing. Her mother certainly does.”

He felt ill. Nathan was aware that he’d drunk too much whiskey on too little food, and the room began to swim. The music seemed to be louder than before, and the laughter was growing raucous.

“It’s certain, then, that she’s going to marry him?” he pressed. “Is it not just gossip?”

Mrs. O’Hare glanced at him oddly. “Well, I heard it from Lady Randall herself, an old friend of mine, so I imagine it’s as settled as it’s going to be. Why do you ask?”

Nathan didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer, of course. He knew he was acting strangely, and asking impolite questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Come, now, he thought. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?

Before he could process the thought, Nathan found himself on his feet, with Mrs. O’Hare staring up at him, mildly confused.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice tight and a little too loud. “I find myself quite taken ill, Mrs. O’Hare.”

“Goodness,” she said, looking concerned. “Would you like to lie down? I’m sure there’s a quiet, dark room around here. I can summon a physician, and…”

“No need, thank you. But I must ask a favour of you. I shall return home immediately, but my mother seems to be having a good time. Would you mind telling her that I’ve left, but reassure her that I am well? And… and could you take her home in your carriage?”

It was not a proper request to make of a woman he did not know well, but Mrs. O’Hare’s expression softened.

“Of course, I shall,” she responded, with a look in her eyes that hinted she had guessed more than he would like.

There was no time to worry about that, however. Swallowing hard, Nathan pushed himself away from the table and set off, striding away down the hall. He had to get out of this place. Now.

***

Nathan tripped as he climbed out of the carriage, catching his foot on the lower step. Having drunk too much whiskey, his thoughts whirling around his head, he did not catch himself in time and sprawled out on the gravel.

The footman who had opened the carriage door gave a yelp of alarm, rushing to help him up.

“I’m quite all right,” Nathan said sharply, holding out a hand. “Don’t worry, Edward. I’m not in my cups, I’m only clumsy.”

The footman did not seem convinced, but he pulled back even so, letting Nathan haul himself up onto his feet. He stumbled inside, ignoring the pain in his knees and palms where they’d scraped on the gravel.

This was one of the worst days of my life, he thought miserably, a thought which was followed by a wave of guilt at not having enjoyed Colin’s wedding the way he should. Colin, of course, had not noticed, being entirely wrapped up in his new bride. As he should be, of course.

My dearest friend’s wedding, and all I could think about was the woman I wish was beside me. A woman who is no doubt on the cusp of marrying another man, if rumour is to be believed.

Lord Barwick’s pursuit of Miss Randall could only end in success. He was a better match, after all, and a woman like Miss Randall, with no wealth of her own, would do best to secure the best match she could.

He stormed through the house, heart thudding, feeling sick. No doubt news of his sudden departure would reach his mother soon enough, and then she would come hurrying back, worried about him.

I don’t deserve her. I am entirely too ungrateful.

Nathan went directly to his study, brushing off the butler’s offer of tea, and closed the door behind him, leaning against it. He let out a long, shuddering breath.

Is this what my life has come to?

I wish I’d stayed here, buried in my work. At least here I am sure of success. Why, oh, why did I let my wretched mother drag me out into Society?

He let out a shuddering sob, sliding down to the floor. There was a pile of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He should get started with it at once, but Nathan found that he could barely convince himself to breathe, let alone move.

I love her. I love her. What am I meant to do about it? Nobody warned me it would be so complicated. Nobody warned me.

Perhaps it would have been simpler to marry Amanda Davenport after all.

He paused, considering this thought, and shook his head. No, marrying Amanda Davenport would never be anything like simplicity. Quite the reverse.

Nathan sat where he was, curled up against the door, and stared into space until he heard the rumble of carriage wheels on the gravel outside. His mother, then, had come home. He dragged himself to his feet, pasted a reassuring smile on his face, and went out to meet her.