Genevieve stood still, not sure where to go or what to do. Mrs. Mann approached, her face looking strained and pinched. Genevieve didn’t have to wonder why. No doubt the last thing the housekeeper had expected when she rose this morning was to have to prepare for a wedding. “I suppose best wishes are in order,” she said.
“Thank you. I know this is a bit of a shock.” Genevieve refrained from pointing out she was probably just as shocked as the rest of them. She’d had the perfect opportunity to bow out of this wedding not a quarter hour ago. She had really thought she would take it. Despite the kiss the night before and her body’s insistence that she do whatever was necessary to ensure more kisses followed, Genevieve had awakened this morning with a queasy feeling in her belly and a lump in her throat. Yes, she already loved Frances, but she barely knew Rory.
There was no denying he had a dictatorial side. What if once they married, he began imposing his dictates on her? He could forbid her to see her mother or even leave the property. As her husband, he had complete authority over her. She’d seen women trapped in marriages with husbands who sought to control every aspect of the lives of their wife and children. She’d left those positions as quickly as she could find another. It didn’t escape her notice that the wives couldn’t escape. How many times had she told herself she would never marry—or at least never marry a man she didn’t know with certitude would not seek to rule over her. Her father had been the sort of man who never tried to assert his authority unjustly, but from what she’d seen of the world, those sorts of men were few and far between.
She’d come down the stairs that morning determined to tell Rory she’d changed her mind.
But that was when he walked through the door carrying Frances. The little girl’s head had rested on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck. The sight of the man whojust days ago had barely acknowledged his child carrying her so lovingly broke Genevieve’s heart open. She wavered in her resolve to refuse his marriage proposal. She’d wanted a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts, but he demanded she stand beside him.
Over her years as a governess, she’d trained herself to smile and acquiesce to demands. As a potential wife, her ire rose. She’d opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about his orders, but she’d made the mistake of looking at his face. His expression was as impassive as one could possibly make it, but she had been governess to many young boys who had been forced, at young ages, to behave as men. The look on Rory’s face was exactly that of a five-year-old who was terrified but trying to pretend he was brave.
She could see the fear in his eyes and knew if he had met her gaze, she would have seen vulnerability. He must have known this too, because he kept his gaze fixed on a spot above her head.
Instead of running away, Genevieve had come down the steps and stood in front of him, looking at his face and wondering if he was the sort of man who let fear make him into a monster or who might eventually reveal his fears and let her in.
One thing was clear—he cared more than he wanted her to know about her answer to his proposal. But of course he did. No man married beneath his station, traveling four days to obtain a special license then throwing his orderly house into chaos for a wedding, if he didn’t want that wedding very, very badly.
He had taken a chance by asking her to marry him. She would take the chance of accepting his proposal. She stood by his side, and now Mrs. Mann was asking her about which maid she’d like to dress her hair.
“I recommend Molly. Her own hair looks well enough. Of course, we will hire you a lady’s maid.”
Genevieve waved a hand. “Whatever you think, Mrs. Mann.”
Just then, Frances came skipping into the foyer. “Papa says you will be my mama now, Miss Genevieve,” she said.
“That’s right.” Genevieve knelt so she could look Frances in the eye. “How do you feel about that?”
“Papa says it means you will stay and never go away.”
“That’s right.”
“I like that. I want you to stay.”
“I want to stay as well. And I wanted to tell you something. I would never try to take the place of your first mama, of Harriet. If you want to keep calling me Miss Genevieve, that’s perfectly fine. I suppose we had better dress and have our hair done for the wedding.”
Frances put her hand in Genevieve’s. “I’m already dressed,” she said, indicating the brown dress she wore to play outside.
Genevieve gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid you’ll need to put on one of your frilly white dresses.”
“The ones I must be careful not to stain?No.”
Genevieve laughed and pulled Frances upstairs with her. After two hours of poking and prodding, Genevieve’s hair was tight enough to make her head ache. She’d changed into her Pomona-green dress, the one she wore when she came to apply for the position of governess. Molly had pinned her matching hat into place, and then she was led to the chapel. She’d thought she would have time to settle her nerves on the walk, but somehow the distance passed in only a matter of steps. Then she was walking down the aisle, with Rory and the vicar she’d known since childhood waiting for her at the front of the church.
Genevieve had barely a moment to lock eyes with her mother, but it was enough time for Mama to raise her brows and give her a look that Genevieve knew meant,If you want to run, I’ll be right behind you.
She tried to give her mother a reassuring smile, but her mouth felt as wobbly as her legs. And then she was standingacross from Rory. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and her legs felt even weaker. This man was about to be her husband. This man would be hers. He was far too handsome to be marrying someone like her—someone with unruly red hair, freckles, an imperfect figure, and more experience below stairs than up.
And yet he was looking at her as though he was quite satisfied with his choice. His expression mirrored a cat’s after he’d lapped all the milk from a bowl. Genevieve tried to focus on the ceremony, but it took all her focus to keep her legs from turning into jelly under her skirts. She had to be prompted to say her vows, and when she’d finished, she was propelled out of the chapel on what seemed like a waterfall of lilac flower petals. At least she had someone to support her. Rory had taken her arm, but when she stumbled, he put his arm about her waist.
“Are you well?” he asked, putting his lips close to her ear as they exited the chapel and began to walk back to the house.
“My legs haven’t stopped trembling,” she said.
“I know the feeling. I have you. You may sit down as soon as we finish with the receiving line.”
*
Later, Genevieve didn’tremember the receiving line. She might have attributed that to the fact that they didn’t have many guests to receive, as the majority of those in attendance had been staff. The only problem was that she didn’t remember anything else about the day either. She must have eaten something, but she had no idea what it was. She recalled her mother pulling her aside, but Genevieve didn’t know what they’d discussed. The vicar and several of the prominent people from the village had come to offer her their wishes for her happiness, but thoughshe’d known them all her life, their faces were a blur when she tried to remember them.
