"Thank you, Mary," Evangeline interrupted gently, sparing the girl further embarrassment.
Whatever awaited her in the morning room, she was determined to approach their wedding ceremony with the dignity befitting both their stations, regardless of the unconventional circumstances that had brought them to this moment.
The morning room had been transformed during her absence into something resembling a proper wedding venue, though the hastily arranged flowers and hastily assembled witnesses could not entirely mask the improvised nature of the proceedings. Lucian stood before the makeshift altar that had been created near the tall windows, his imposing figure clothed in formal morning attire that emphasized both his impressive height and the military bearing those years of civilian life had not entirely erased.
He had clearly taken as much care with his appearance as she had with hers, his dark hair styled to minimize his scars and his linen pristine despite the early hour. Yet even dressed as befitted his rank and station, he could not entirely disguise the tension that held his powerful frame rigid or the wariness that flickered in his dark eyes as he awaited her approach.
The vicar—a nervous little man who had clearly been roused from his breakfast to perform this unexpected duty—clutched his prayer book with hands that trembled slightly as he prepared to unite two strangers in holy matrimony. The handful of servants who had been summoned to serve as witnesses stood along the walls with expressions that ranged from curiosity to concern, their presence lending an air of formality to proceedings that might otherwise have felt more like a business transaction than a sacred ceremony.
When Evangeline entered the room, Lucian's gaze fixed upon her with an intensity that made her stomach clench with sudden anxiety. His dark eyes swept over her transformed appearance with an expression she could not read, his scarredfeatures revealing nothing of his thoughts as he took in the sight of his bride approaching their improvised altar.
The prolonged scrutiny made her acutely conscious of every detail of her appearance, and she found herself wondering if the late Duchess's gown was perhaps too much for someone of her humble origins, if the ancient pearls looked presumptuous upon her throat, if her efforts to appear worthy of his rank had somehow fallen short of the mark. His continued stare suggested displeasure of some sort, though she could not determine whether he found her wanting in beauty, elegance, or simple appropriateness to her new station.
"Miss Hartwell," he said finally, his voice carrying no warmth or approval as she took her place beside him.
"Your Grace," she replied with equal formality, though she detected something in his manner that suggested he was not entirely pleased with what he saw before him.
"I trust Mrs. Cromwell made the arrangements to your satisfaction?"
"The gown is exquisite, Your Grace. I confess myself surprised by your generosity in allowing me to wear such precious family heirlooms."
"They are yours by right now," he replied curtly. "The Duchess of Ravenshollow has always worn them. I merely follow tradition."
His dismissive tone stung, though she kept her expression carefully composed. "Of course. I would not wish to presume upon sentiments that were not intended."
"Presumption seems to be a talent of yours, Miss Hartwell."
"As does harsh judgment seem to be one of yours, Your Grace."
The sharp exchange drew curious glances from the assembled servants, though neither bride nor groom appeared to notice their audience's discomfort. Lucian's jaw tightenedvisibly at her retort, while Evangeline lifted her chin with the defiant pride that seemed to emerge whenever he attempted to intimidate her.
"Perhaps we might proceed with the ceremony," he said coldly. "I have estate business that requires my attention this afternoon."
"Naturally. I would not wish to inconvenience you further with the tedious necessity of acquiring a wife."
"You seem determined to make this as difficult as possible."
"I am merely matching the tone you have set, Your Grace. If you find my manner disagreeable, perhaps you might consider adjusting your own."
"I find your manner exactly what I expected from a woman in your circumstances."
"And what circumstances are those, precisely?"
"Desperate ones, Miss Hartwell. Otherwise, you would not be standing here accepting charity from a man you clearly consider beneath your notice."
"I have never considered you beneath my notice, Your Grace, merely challenging to endure."
The barbed exchange might have continued indefinitely had not the vicar cleared his throat with obvious nervousness, clutching his prayer book like a shield against the tension crackling between the prospective spouses.
"Perhaps, Your Grace, if we might begin the ceremony?" the vicar ventured with the sort of careful diplomacy that suggested he had presided over difficult unions before.
***
The sight of Evangeline Hartwell entering the morning room struck Lucian with the force of an unexpected blow, though he was careful to keep his expression impassive as she approached their improvised altar. The transformation was so complete, soutterly stunning, that for a moment he forgot to breathe, forgot to maintain the careful emotional distance that had served as his primary defense against the world's cruelties.
His mother's gown seemed to have been created specifically for her slender figure, the ivory silk turning her skin luminous and bringing out depths in her dark eyes that he had not noticed during their previous confrontations. The ancient pearls at her throat caught the morning light in a way that made her seem almost ethereal, like some medieval saint stepped down from a cathedral window to grace his dark world with impossible beauty.
She was magnificent, and the realization filled him with a complex mixture of pride, despair, and something approaching panic. This exquisite creature was about to become his wife, bound to him by law and sacred vow, yet she might as well have been a star for all the hope he had of ever truly possessing her affection. The very beauty that made his chest tighten with unexpected emotion would be wasted on a man like him, squandered on someone whose appearance inspired revulsion rather than desire.
