“Quite unnatural for a woman, if you ask me.”
Cathy pretended not to notice. However, straightening her spine made her look even taller. Apparently, she had been assigned the role of a landmark in every place she entered. There was no hiding from the cruel eyes of theton. She and her family sat in the third pew, just behind the Longroves.
To her left sat her grandfather with his ear trumpet at the ready, not that the instrument had been particularly helpful. To her right, her grandmother sat like a rock. She wondered what she had done to deserve this. Why did Madeline have to sit on the other side of her grandfather? And worse, where was her father?
The groom was dressed in midnight blue rather than black. He looked impeccable, with his cravat neatly tied and his coat well-pressed. His very appearance seemed to mock the chaos within him, the one that Cathy had glimpsed. He looked icy cold,far apart from the feral creature who kissed her senselessly, bruising her lips in its welcome violence.
When she sat down, his eyes snapped to hers as if he were primed to find her in the crowd. For most of the guests, if not all of them, it was merely a passing, idle glance. For Cathy, it was a reminder of what transpired between them in the library. She licked her lips, subconsciously looking for the taste of him. The memory of her undoing made her shift in her seat.
Shame on you!
Then, the ceremony began. It interrupted Cathy’s unfortunate daydreaming, which should never have taken place inside a church.
The vicar’s voice droned on, but Cathy’s heart was still galloping in her chest. She tried to focus on everything else but the man who was about to speak his vows, binding himself to the woman he claimed not to love.
She tried not to shake her thigh. There was just too much pent-up energy inside her, wanting to burst out like a coiled spring. Her chest felt wired for release. She bit down on her already swollen lip, and it helped for a little while. Maybe she should leave, but people would watch her. Follow her with their curious eyes. No, she would behave and face the ceremony. The gossips who watched her with hawk-like eyes would then turn to her as if she were a specimen—an insect under glass.
“Cathy!” Lord Norman’s voice echoed through the chapel. The candles flickered. Necks turned.
“Yes, Grandpapa?” she whispered, feeling uneasy at having to do this during a solemn ceremony. She leaned close to her grandfather’s trumpet, which he had pressed against his ear.
“Look at the bridegroom, Cathy!” Lord Marlow demanded, pointing a gnarled index finger at the altar. “I say, the man looks like he is about to be hanged instead of married! Though I cannot blame him. That Longrove girl looks like she has the personality of a piece of paper!”
Oh no.
His words sounded like thunder in the silence of what was supposed to be a holy place. Cathy felt all the blood drain from her face. It even seemed as if someone was leeching more from the rest of her body. True enough, murmurs began to spread as others hissed to quiet the growing unease.
“Grandpapa,” Cathy pleaded in a furious whisper, her face most likely purple by now. “Please lower your voice. Everyone can hear you.”
“What did you say? Yes, I believe I should be near you,” he grumbled.
“Norman! Please cease this embarrassing outburst! Do not let me call for the footmen to carry you out!” Lady Marlow warned in a furious whisper.
“Carrots? I have had enough of those, Margaret. I have not been to the restroom in days, and I do not think they are helping.”
The organ music died, and even the vicar froze to watch them. His face was indignant. He cleared his throat in that obviously judgmental tone.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, his eyes blazing and focused on Lord Marlow. “We are gathered to join this man and woman, the Duke of...”
“Stand tall, Cathy,” Lady Marlow murmured even as Cathy continued to hear the buzzing all around them. Her voice was soothing. It reminded Cathy of all the years her grandmother had been there for them whenever their mother had been unwell. “Do not let them see you flinch. They may know you as a Quinten, but you are a Marlow by blood. Keep your chin up, no matter what.”
Still, Cathy knew that the atmosphere had definitely changed. It was no longer a wedding but an impending spectacle. The vicar’s pauses created tension in the chapel, with everyone seemingly waiting for the next interruption. The bride seemed unaware. Her eyes shone as she envisioned a future with the Duke of Baxter.
Yet it appeared that the Baron of Marlow had other plans.
The vicar stopped once more. This time, he closed his prayer book and took a long, deep breath while squeezing his eyes shut. Then, with a voice full of suppressed rage, he finally asked, “If any person here feels that there is a just legal impediment—”
“Experiment?” Lord Marlow bellowed, his ear trumpet swinging toward the vicar with great enthusiasm. “Is this a scientific experiment? Because I must say, the man looks like he is being dissected rather than married!”
“Grandpapa, please sit down!” This time, Madeline had to pull him down because Cathy could no longer move.
Again, there was laughter, but there were also some concerned gasps. After all, the old man had never been quite this troublesome. Cathy felt all the blood drain from her face. Everyone seemed to be looking at her.
Did they know about the library? Were they still thinking of the competition where she made a fool of herself? She could also see the pity of the matrons of theton. Most of all, she could feel the Duke watching her. His eyes were wide, presumably shocked.
“Apologies, everyone,” Madeline said, slightly rising and smiling at everyone. “My grandpapa is hard of hearing and merely excited about this wedding. Let us focus back on the bride and groom.”
Lord Norman was finally seemingly paying attention to his ear trumpet. Then, he exclaimed, “Yes! The groom is so very handsome today.”