The chapel finally erupted into wild peals of laughter.
Cathy felt her face so warm with embarrassment and the heat that she was about to faint. Suddenly, it was impossible for her to breathe.
“Cathy!” Lady Marlow exclaimed, grabbing her granddaughter’s wrist. Her grip was strong for her age, yet gentle enough not to hurt. Concern was etched on her face. “Are you feeling all right? You look like you may faint. Why do you not take some air before your grandfather ruins our family completely?”
“But I... I cannot, Grandmama! We are in the middle of the ceremony,” Cathy barely managed to utter the words.
“I can see that you are flushed red, my dear. Please go take some air,” the Baroness Marlow urged. There was something in her voice that told Cathy that there was no way she could say no to her. The older woman always knew what to do in these situations. Then, with a gentler, more polished voice, she said, “Do forgive this last interruption. My granddaughter is not feeling well, and all the excitement has made it worse. She mustretire.”
With that announcement, there was no choice but for Cathy to rise. She gathered her skirts and hurried down the aisle to the exit. She could swear the Duke’s eyes were fixed on her back, but it might just be her imagination. The Duke was about to marry a woman who had no family members to embarrass her. A woman who would have never exited a ceremony in such a manner.
She almost stumbled at the threshold.
Why has seeing him get married affected me so?
Chapter 7
“Your Grace? The vicar is waiting for us,” the urgent whisper said.
It was Miss Longrove. Of course, it was her. Her voice pricked through what felt like a heavy fog that came over him. It was too gentle and prim for the kind of storm that raged within him. Lord Marlow’s words echoed back to him. He did feel as if he were being dissected.
“Pardon?”
He turned toward his bride. She was lovely in white. Her smile was just right, and she knew when to speak and when to hold her silence. However, his eyes kept drifting back to the third pew.
Someone might say it was understandable. There was so much commotion in that section earlier, but there was a noticeable empty spot now between the Baron and Baroness of Marlow.
Why would she leave?
“Your Grace?”
The voice was small, but no less urgent. He blinked, his fingers playing with the seam of his trousers. He forced himself to look at his bride and the vicar, who did not expect the wedding of the Season to become such a spectacle.
His eyes still tried to see a glimpse of the lavender gown that made Cathy look breathtaking, but she had left in the blink of an eye. When the fleeing woman’s back could no longer be seen, something heavy weighed inside Tristan’s chest.
What am I doing?
“Your Grace?” the vicar prompted, his voice still holding on to that decorum of respect, although Tristan could hear a little bit of irritation. “Shall we proceed with the wedding?”
“Your Grace!” Lord Longrove yelled from the front row, undoubtedly wondering if the Duke would ever marry his daughter.
The Duke then opened his mouth, ready to sayI do, the words that would forever bind him with the porcelain doll in front of him. Lord Marlow was right. He did not want to do this.
Tristan could not make himself say two simple words. His throat had gone dry. Moreover, the murmurs from the guests grew louder.
Tristan’s jaw clenched. He wanted to yell at everyone. He wanted all of them to hush. They did not have the right to speak ill of Cathy. She was the only one in the chapel who had tried to be true to herself. To not be a hypocrite. Well, her grandfather was the other one.
Finally, he saw it.
It was probably a sight he should have seen the night before. He suspected that the flash of ginger fur skulking under the floral arrangements was none other than the famous Napoleon. The cat moved like a soldier on a mission. Tristan realized that it was truly Lord Marlow’s pet through and through. Hopefully, it was not deaf like its owner.
The beast moved with the ease of a predator. Tristan almost chuckled aloud when he remembered the baron’s nickname for him.Tiger.
“Let us proceed, Your Grace. Repeat after me. I, Tristan, take thee, Anne,” the vicar urged, as if one were leading a child in learning his first set of prayers.
Napoleon was not too happy about the liturgy. The feisty feline jumped from one end to another, ending up on the table right behind the vicar. The landing was clumsy, causing his hind paw to hit the heavy brass candelabra.
For a moment, the candelabra seemed to float in the air, suspended by time. Everyone’s eyes left the bride and groom to watch the piece of brass make a rainbow shape over the vicar. Then, over Tristan and Anne.