She looked every bit the bride.
But inside, she felt like a ghost walking through someone else’s dream.
Cecilia’s head turned sharply then as her frustration reached the tipping point. “Please, Papa,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t need comforting. I didn’t object to this, but the least you can do is allow me to feel what I feel.”
A shaky breath left her lips. Her shoulders slumped, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though to keep the ache from spilling out.
“She was supposed to be here today,” she whispered. “On my wedding day. We used to talk about it all the time. She was there for Emma’s. Even when Aunt Marianne didn’t come, Lucy showed up. All on her own.”
Howard stepped toward her, but she turned back to the window, blinking fiercely. If she cried now, there would be no hiding it.
“Come. It’s time,” he said to her. “Compose yourself. In a matter of minutes, you will be walking down that aisle. What do you suppose people will say if the bride does so with tears in her eyes?”
Cecilia blinked rapidly, willing her tears away before they could fall. She nodded, stiffly at first, then more resolutely as she slid her hand into Howard’s waiting arm.
The heavy doors of the drawing room swung open, revealing a modest gathering. Cecilia could count the number of familiar faces in that room on her fingers. It was a small gathering of some of Howard’s friends, her siblings…then about three other people in the room that she had not seen before. Among them was a little girl, seated near the front. She remained in a posture straight, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Unlike the others, she didn’t turn to look at Cecilia when she walked into the room. She just stared ahead.
Valentine stood at the end of the aisle. As composed as ever. He was dressed typically in a dark formal coat that fit him too well. He didn’t wear a smile on his face, or a frown. He wasn’t even looking directly at her.
He was staring past her. Through her, almost as if his body stood at the altar, but his mind was elsewhere, far removed from the moment. Detached. Unbothered.
Then, as though he had heard her unspoken thoughts, his gaze shifted and landed squarely on her. His eyes didn’t merely settle, they assessed. They trailed from the crown of her carefully styled hair, down the slope of her shoulders, the fitted bodice of her gown, and lower still, with a slowness that felt far too deliberate for her comfort. Cecilia couldn’t tell what he was searching for in that moment, but the look on his face unnerved her.
For some inexplicable reason, her heart gave a jolt.
A quickened beat. Then another.
It had to be irritation. That had to be the reason her heart was suddenly pounding the closer she got to the altar. This man, with his inscrutable stare, infuriated her. She was angry at everything. Angry that this was it. She would be spending the rest of her life with this callous man.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a complete blur.
She remembered the words being spoken, vows and blessings, and the applause as the guests rose to their feet, but they did not quite register in her mind. Somehow, it all felt distant, muffled, as though she were watching her own wedding from a glass pane. Her responses were mechanical, her smile practiced.
In no time, the officiant had declared them husband and wife. She did not look at Valentine as they turned to face the small crowd; instead, she focused on the sound of her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the ache forming behind her temples.
Cecilia took her seat by Emma’s side, despite the obvious expectation for her to sit by her new husband. But Valentine hadn’t made any move to suggest he wanted her by his side, and she was in no rush to share a chair with someone whose presence still made her pulse stumble for all the wrong reasons.
“Your Grace,” came a voice behind her.
Cecilia turned, thinking the man was speaking to Emma, but when she saw his eyes on her, she let out a small gasp and nodded. “Oh, that’s me now.”
She rose from her seat, only to find herself looking at a man who bore enough resemblance to Valentine that the relation was unmistakable.
“I hope I’m not too late to offer congratulations,” he said with a half-bow that bordered on theatrical. “Norman Price. Brother of the brooding one.”
Cecilia let out an instinctive giggle. “The brooding one?”
Norman nodded. “You don’t agree?” he questioned, tilting his head sideways. “Tall? Scowling? Believes silence is a virtue and smiles are a scandal?”
Her eyes sparkled. “That does sound familiar. But if he’s the brooding one, then what are you, Lord Norman?”
“I thought it was obvious,” he answered and took a step back. “The handsome one.”
Cecilia laughed, almost too loudly, and nodded. “I won’t argue with you on that,” she said and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Norman.”
It was truly a pleasure. More like a breath of fresh air. Cecilia had been worried that Valentine’s family would be just as cold and dismissive as he was. But Norman seemed warm, disarming, and so completely at ease. It was a relief, however small, to know that not every corner of her new life would feel like a drawn curtain or a locked door.
“It’s mutual, Your Grace,” he said with a grin. “Might I say, I had my doubts when I heard Valentine was remarrying. But seeing you now…I’m starting to think the man might actually have some taste.”
