the carriage that brought us here this morning, but instead to mount his fastest horse and head in the opposite direction.
“When he failed to heed my warning, I knew there was no help for it, so I begged the honor of having your bridal bouquet crafted from the humble blooms in my hothouse.” The viscount presented the flowers to her with an elegant flourish. “They pale in comparison to your beauty, but I do hope they bring you some small measure of happiness on this most important and joyous occasion.”
Dorothea lifted the flowers to her face and took a deep breath. It was a stunning bouquet that smelled delicious. Yet finding no words to appropriately reply to such an odd statement, she answered Lord Benton with a wry smile of thanks. The viscount promptly withdrew and entered the church, leaving the bride and groom alone.
Dorothea felt calm and in control as she placed her hand on the arm Lord Atwood offered. The moment their feet landed on the marble-floored church vestibule, the sound of trumpets and an organ heralding their arrival filled the air.
Dorothea swallowed hard. She could see her sister, Emma, in the front pew, with aunt Mildred beside her and uncle Fletcher next to his wife. Naturally, Gwendolyn was not there, and the lack of seeing her older sister brought a well of tears to Dorothea’s eyes. How could she possibly get married without her beloved Gwen in attendance?
Hoping to distract her sudden distress, she clenched her fingers tightly around her bouquet. Carter must have sensed her nerves, or felt her trembling, for he abruptly ceased walking.
“Second thoughts?” he asked casually.
His question sent a shiver down Dorothea’s spine and made her feel a flush of panic. “Hell, no,” she whispered furiously. “Are you having second thoughts?”
He seemed startled by her question. Or maybe it was her answer? “I feel ready,” he said, and he smiled at her. “And flattered to hear you are so firmly set on this course.
She laughed, the flutter of nerves draining away. “Perhaps that was not the best choice of words, considering the circumstances,” she said hastily. “And where we are standing.”
“Better to curse before the ceremony than after, don’t you think?”
“I will make no promises on that score, my lord,” she replied primly.
He smiled again and squeezed her hand. A swirl of calm surrounded her heart. This was the right decision; he was the right choice to be her husband. Had his kiss not told her so? Dorothea focused her eyes on the front of the church where her family was seated. Their encouraging expressions, coupled with Lord Atwood’s rock-steady arm, allowed her to gracefully glide down the aisle, her face open and smiling.
But her nerves returned the moment the vicar asked her to recite her marriage vows. She struggled to concentrate on every word, to keep her voice steady and strong as she repeated the vows that would bind her to this man for all eternity.
“Wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife?”
There was only an instant of silence before Carter answered, but Dorothea held her breath until he spoke the words, “I will.”
Dorothea’s voice was not as loud as she would have liked when she repeated her vows, but it was steady. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the vicar offered the suggestion that the groom seal the union with a kiss. There were a few mumblings of interest at this very progressive notion.
Puzzled, Dorothea turned her face toward her new husband. Carter smiled mischievously, put his arms around her waist, and kissed her possessively, full on the lips. The mumblings of the congregations rose in volume, followed by several gasps.
As the marquess escorted his new wife back down the aisle, Dorothea caught a glimpse of her father-in-law. The duke was sitting in the front pew, still as a stone. His expression was guarded, his eyes focused forward. He did not turn or glance in their direction as they walked past him.
A prick of unease skittered down Dorothea’s back. She probably should not have allowed the kiss, even though it was meant in good humor and sanctioned by the vicar. Which left her to wonder, was the duke most distressed over the kiss or the marriage itself?
Fortunately, there was no time to dwell on the duke’s ill mood. When the newly wed couple reached the end of the aisle, they were crowded with well-wishers. The gentlemen shook Atwood’s hand and slapped him on the back, then waited eagerly for their chance to embrace the bride.
Dorothea noticed several younger women dab at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs as they offered her congratulations. She idly wondered if they had been sincerely moved by the service or were expressing regret that Lord Atwood was now a married man.
As Dorothea embraced her sister, Emma, a tear trickled down Dorothea’s cheek. She couldn’t help it. This was such an emotional day.
“I never would have figured you to be a watering pot,” Emma teased, her own eyes suspiciously bright.
“I fear I may be more like Aunt Mildred than any of us suspected.” Dorothea laughed. It felt wonderful to share this private moment with her younger sister. It almost, though not quite, made up for the fact that Gwen was missing.
It seemed a bit surprising that she would miss her sisters so much, for Dorothea had always prided herself on her sense of independence. Growing up, the trio had clashed on various occasions, as sisters were wont to do. But the deep abiding love and strong sense of loyalty they shared was as impermeable as ever. On a day when so much had drastically changed in Dorothea’s life, this constant was a great comfort.
She would bring Emma to London the minute she turned seventeen and host the most sensational coming-out the
Aunt Mildred embraced her next. She was weepy and sniffly and could barely speak. Uncle Fletcher gave her a quick, awkward hug and Dorothea could tell from his eyes that he still felt a measure of guilt for pilfering and then spending her dowry several years prior. If not for the generosity of Gwen and Jason, Dorothea would be entering this marriage with nothing, though Lord Atwood had expressed very little interest in her modest dowry.
But this was not a day to dwell on the mistakes and hurts of the past. Dorothea bore no grudge toward her uncle, who seemed to genuinely repent for his transgressions.
There was a great deal of laughter and gaiety at the wedding breakfast that followed, hosted at the home of Lord and Lady Dardington. The chilled champagne flowed freely during the lavish celebration and the numerous guests imbibed with obvious relish. There were toasts to the bride and groom, which became progressively sillier as the party wore on, and lively music to enhance the festive atmosphere.
The three Dardington girls had attended the ceremony with their governess, sitting quiet and unnoticed at the back of the church. But they were in the thick of the celebration at the wedding breakfast, and Dorothea was glad to hear their happy, excited squeals.
Even the Duke of Hansborough seemed to be enjoying himself. He sat among a circle of older gentlemen, eating and drinking with gusto, his face breaking into a smile every now and again.
Dorothea was pleased. She wanted to be surrounded by happiness today. With a broad smile, she circulated among the many guests, basking in the attention. Separated from her groom, she chatted with several matrons, one of whom pointed out a small tear in the lace of her train. A few skillfully applied stitches by Lady Meredith’s maid in the privacy of her bedchamber soon repaired the damage.
On her way to rejoin the festivities, Dorothea turned the corner of the long gallery hallway and found herself face-to-face with Major Roddington. She quickly hid her surprise. She had seen very little of the major since her engagement to Carter had been decided.
Major Roddington was handsome as ever, yet up close she could see the telltale signs of little sleep. For a split second she worried that she was the cause, but then he smiled with genuine warmth and Dorothea felt a great rush of relief.
“I wish you joy in your marriage,” he said quietly, breaking the long silence.
“Thank you, Major.”
Dorothea smiled a bit shyly, wondering how different things might have turned out if Carter had not interrupted them in the garden that night at the Dardingtons’ dinner party. The soft expression in his eyes seemed to indicate
