“Oh…”
Lionel nodded to her side of the church. “And your guests?”
“I do not know.”
Although, she had a very good idea of where they might be. They were likely at their homes, oblivious to the fact that their friend was getting married at that moment. She had trusted Martin and her father to send the invitations but, evidently, they had decided, one last time, to control who she could and could not have at her wedding.
And as she had not known the exact time and location until late last night, there had been no opportunity to invite them herself. She was beginning to think it had been orchestrated that way.
“A pity.” Lionel looked to the reverend and gave a small bob of his head. “Let us begin.”
Amelia had been assured by her beloved books that she would feel different once she became a wife. She had never known what ‘different’ meant, precisely, and she was still waiting to find out. As far as she was concerned, she did not feel any change at all, not unless she counted a pervading sense of numb shock.
She had mumbled her vows in that cavernous, empty church, and then she had been swiftly escorted out and into a waiting carriage. She had not even said farewell to her brother and father, which did not bother her much, but the realization that she had not been able to see her friends and bidthema farewell was a terrible blow.
Now, her husband was asleep on the opposite squabs of the carriage, they had been on the road for what seemed like an eternity, and her buttocks were as numb as her heart and soul.
Yes, but just imagine if it was Baron Hervey in this carriage instead,she told herself, clinging to the most filament-thin thread of hope for the sake of her sanity.It could be worse.
But it could also be better. Or it could have been, if she had taken more time to think of a wilier escape strategy. She had panicked, she had acted rashly, and now she was stuck with the consequences.
“Lionel?” she whispered, to see if he was really asleep.
He did not stir.
“Lionel?” she tried again, louder this time.
His eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright. He gripped the edge of the squabs so tight that his knuckles whitened, those astonishing green eyes staring at her as if she were a complete stranger. As if he did not recognize her.
A moment later, almost as if she had imagined it, the expression vanished. His body relaxed, and he covered his mouth as he yawned loudly.
“Have we arrived?” he asked.
“I would not know, Lionel,” she replied. A shyness came over her, for speaking his name while he was fully awake was not at all the same as speaking his name while he was mostly asleep. It felt too intimate, somehow.
But what else can I call him? Heismy husband, even if I do not feel married yet.
Lionel rubbed his eyes, and peered out of the window. “Not yet,” he mumbled. “Not too far, though. You should rest.”
“I have never been able to sleep in carriages,” she said, hoping he would not fall back asleep straight away.
Aside from the vows, he had barely said a thing to her, beyond,“I am going to sleep now.”
He frowned as if that were strange. “The rocking does not soothe you?”
“On the contrary. As a child, I would become rather unwell,” she murmured, splitting her attention between the carriage floor and her new husband, unable to look for too long. “My father was terribly embarrassed.”
Lionel stretched out his arms, the powerful muscle causing the seams of his tailcoat to strain. Amelia immediately dropped her gaze again, her cheeks flaming, her mind causing mischief as it began conjuring up those daydreams of summertime picnics and poetry on the riverbank.
“I suppose his solution was to prevent you from riding in carriages at all for a while?” he said, his eyes creasing at the corners as he proceeded to stretch out his legs, as if there was an ache that needed attention.
Amelia shook her head. “Goodness, no. He made me ride in the carriage for hours and hours until I no longer felt sick with the swaying and rocking. It took months.”
For a while, Lionel did not respond, and Amelia did not feel sure enough to raise her gaze to him. Maybe, he had not heard her. Maybe, he had fallen asleep again. Maybe, he was deciding how best to tell her that he did not care for her childhood stories.
“It is little compensation, and perhaps too late,” Lionel said at last, “but you never have to ride in a carriage again if you do not want to. Now that you are my wife, you can do as you please. Once the month of our honeymoon has passed, of course. And please, do not keep staring at the floor like that. You are a Countess. I do not know of any Countesses who bow their heads.”
Encouraged, Amelia lifted her head and glanced at him. To her surprise, and to the detriment of the shade of her cheeks, he had removed his tailcoat altogether, as well as his cravat and waistcoat. He sat there in naught but his trousers and shirt, his collar open, his sleeves rolled up, looking so cavalier and handsome that her throat threatened to close entirely.
