“But?” Amelia prompted.
Valeria shook her head. “I am nervous, that is all.”
Her mind drifted back to the dressmaker’s shop. Her heart raced, remembering how it had leaped when she had seen Duncan standing there, looking so handsome, so perfect, so… out of her reach. His blue eyes had shone for her, twinkling with a feeling she did not dare to place, for it would only torment her further. Yet, his expression had been cold, distant.
Nevertheless, her mind had stored countless memories of his warmth, his humor, his passion, and the regret that she had seen on that handsome face when she had told him, vaguely, of her circumstances. She thought of how he had held her gently by the meadow, the scent of lavender in the air. She could almost feel the press of his brow against hers, and the promise of a kiss that had never been fulfilled.
Enough!she chided herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror until she felt calmer.He does not want me. Roger does. That is all I need to know.
“There is still time to steal you away,” Beatrice said, smiling sadly.
Amelia nodded. “Say the word, and we will take you back to Skeffington.”
“Yes,” Isolde added, frowning in confusion, “of course we will do that, if that is what you want. Between us, we can easily protect you from scorn, if you have changed your mind. Although, nerves are perfectly natural.”
Rather than their sympathy, it was exactly what Valeria needed to hear to bolster her resolution. Skeffington was the reason she had to do this. For Skeffington and her father, and for the cook and the butler, whom she missed terribly.
She took a steadying breath, fixing a smile onto her face. “No, thank you,” she replied bravely. “I am ready to go and become a wife.”
Even if it is not to the man I wish was waiting for me at the altar…
Dreams of love were a luxury, reserved for the likes of Beatrice—young ladies of merit and wealth, who had everything ahead of them. And for the likes of Amelia and Isolde, who had already found it.
“You look pale, dear girl,” Aaron whispered, holding tightly to his daughter’s arm. “Have you slept? Have you eaten? We could fetch you something now, if you like?”
Valeria smiled at him, clinging on just as fiercely, fearing that if she loosened her grip her feet might be compelled to run. “I am perfectly well, Papa. You are making me nervous.”
“Apologies… apologies, I… Goodness, I did not expect to be so anxious,” her father replied, taking a breath. “Are you certain I cannot get you anything?”
She nodded. “There is no more time, Papa. I would not be late to my wedding because I decided I would like some tea or something to eat, five minutes before.”
They were standing in the vestibule outside the main doors of the church, waiting for the music to begin that would signal the bride’s entrance.
Valeria could hear the babble of chatter coming from within, knowing that the pews would be full to bursting. Rogerhadcombined the wedding with the house party he had been so determined to have, and judging by the number of people who had been arriving to Campbell Hall over the past couple of days, at least half of society had come to bear witness.
I just need to keep walking. Do not look at the congregation. Do not let your nerves get the better of you. Do not think of?—
The music began, and Valeria’s stomach lurched, sparking a wave of dizziness that threatened to topple her. She clasped a hand to her chest, forcing herself to breathe, concentrating on the slow inhale and exhale as she fought down the rising prickle of nausea.
“Are you ready?” her father asked.
Closing her eyes, puffing out a breath, she nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
He opened the door for her and, scared of tripping over, she made herself open her eyes. Roger stood at the end of the aisle, his expression neither thrilled nor dismayed, just… neutral, as if he were waiting for his carriage to arrive.
She blinked, and it was Duncan standing there, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, and grinning with utter delight. She imagined him holding his hand out to her, or running toward her, too impatient to wait for her to come to him. She pictured the passion in his gaze, the hunger in his eyes, the way he made her feel as if she was the most precious thing in all the world.
Just tricks,she tried to tell herself, but her heart refused to listen, yearning regardless.
Aaron tugged gently on her arm, ushering her forward as a sea of glittering eyes stared at her, whispers causing her ears to burn. By the force of sheer willpower, she managed to get herself to put one foot in front of the other, dropping her gaze to the floor, concentrating on that slow, steady rhythm of her feet carrying her forward.
Before she knew it, she was at the altar, and her father was passing her hand to Roger. Giving her away.
No… no, no, I cannot do this. I cannot. I cannot.Her hand very nearly recoiled, her heart attempting to escape from her chest as she glanced around in a panic, searching for the faces of her friends and her cousin.
Beatrice frowned, mouthing,Shall we go?
It was so tempting, her dread becoming a living, breathing thing that sank its claws into her, robbing her of her ability to think or breathe.
