“As do I, for I would like to rise in your estimation as my siblings have done,” she said in a tone that was edging on the inappropriate.
Lord Braverman’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a breath, his tone growing colder. “I am certain you will. I do hope you understand that we did not wish to end your friendship with Ophelia but it was necessary.”
“Of course,” Emma replied coolly. “But I assure you, my affection for her has always been genuine, and I’ve wanted nothing more than her happiness.”
He inclined his head, regarding her carefully. “I don’t doubt that. But in matters of family, sometimes intentions are at odds. It is inevitable.”
“Well, we are all glad she made such a lovely match,” Hanna quickly said, inserting herself in the conversation.
He lifted his brows. “Certainly,” he replied firmly. “The Duke is a man of wealth, stature—£75,000 per year, a vast estate, a title. What more could we wish for our daughter?”
Emma sucked in air, ready to make a statement when Alexander grabbed her arm. “That is quite enough.”
“Enough? I think not. I’ve said half of what I intended,” she said.
“You have said quite enough, we are not here to cause a scene,” he said he said and escorted her forward. Just then Henry and Edwin stepped out of the church.
“There you are. We have been here for far too long already,” Henry said. “My uncle is here,” he added. Hanna stepped to his side.
“We can depart if you wish,” she said.
“I think not. We must see one another on occasion, and perhaps this can be the occasion for this year, and we will be done,” he said. “Although the attendees at the wedding are curious.”
As the group chatted, Emma’s fingers closed around the letter in her reticule.
They were but steps away from Lord Braverman and if she hurried, she could give it to him. Looking at her family, she saw them standing together, engrossed in conversation. Now was the time. Now or never.
Thus in a swift movement, she pulled it out, spun around and rushed back to Lord Braverman’s side. His wife glanced at her but was distracted by a just arriving guests.
“My lord, if you truly mean that you care for your daughter’s future, I urge you to read this letter. Before the ceremony.” “
Lord Braverman frowned, taking the letter with evident reluctance. Before he could respond, Emma turned away, giving him no chance to protest, and made her way into the chapel with her family who’d just begun their progress into the interior of the church.
Inside, St. George’s of Hanover Square was grandly imposing. Sunlight poured through the tall, stained-glass windows, casting intricate patterns on the stone floor and filling the room with a soft, ethereal glow. The arched ceiling soared above, echoing the low murmur of guests settling into the pews. Along the walls, gilded sconces held candles, their soft light mingling with the sunlight, and the polished pews gleamed a deep, burnished mahogany under the gentle morning light.
Emma and her family found seats toward the back, where they would be somewhat hidden from view. The rows around them were filled with men in formal attire, their jackets dark and perfectly tailored, waistcoats peeking beneath, while the ladies wore gowns of pastel shades, lace gloves, and delicate bonnets adorned with ribbons and feathers.
Emma shifted in her seat, her gaze scanning the chapel once more, and her mind drifting back to Ophelia. She couldn’t shake the unease that still lingered. She had done the right thing, she was sure of it. Lord Braverman had to know the truth. He had to know what sort of man he was marrying his daughter off to.
And yet, even with this certainty and despite the quiet calm of the chapel, her unease only deepened, an urgent sense that despite her best efforts, she might be too late.
CHAPTER 5
Evan
Evan paced the small, dimly lit room, feeling an uncharacteristic tightening in his chest. The side chamber at St. George’s had been set aside for him, a private place to wait until the ceremony began. He could hear the sounds of the guests filling the chapel just beyond the heavy wooden doors, and the growing murmur of voices seemed to seep through the thick walls, reminding him just how many people were out there.
A soft chuckle came from the other side of the room, where his friend Jonathan lounged against the wall, arms crossed, observing Evan with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t expect the whole of London, did you?” he asked with a grin.
Evan shook his head, exhaling slowly as he glanced toward the narrow window. “This… crowd,” he muttered, almost to himself.“It’s as if every mother in town brought her daughter to witness this farce.”
Jonathan chuckled, pushing himself away from the wall. “Ah, but that’s precisely it, Evan. This is a marriage mart—an opportunity to parade every eligible daughter in the hopes of securing their futures. And when a duke marries, you can count on half of London coming along for the show.” He gave Evan an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “Endure this day, my friend, and you’ll be free of all this nonsense.”
Evan snorted, managing a half-smile. “Free of the nonsense but not of a wife. Who knows if it’ll be better or worse?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Still thinking in terms of duty, I see. No honeymoon plans for you and your new bride I take it?”
Evan shrugged, his expression neutral. “There’s no need for any extended journey. Ophelia will settle at the estate. I imagine she’ll soon want to visit her cousins in Scotland, though since she hasn’t seen them in years.”
