A relentless hammering filled my ribcage, a primal cadence demanding of me to run. To run and to never look back. But the last six months had been so wonderful. I owed it to Thomas to give him a chance, didn't I? He had been so attentive, affectionate even. Last night, he told me that he loved me. Loved me! How could he love me and still plan on having me delivered to St. George's Fields? No, there was no way he would do that now. He must have changed his mind.Imust have changed his mind. I had done my best to be the bride he was looking for. Thanks to Prudence's endless lessons, I hadn't made a mistake in etiquette in months. Wherever Thomas took me, I entered with my head held high. I entered like I had a right to. Like I belonged.
And I would.
In a few hours, I would be a countess.
This would work. It had to.
And if it didn't, I had a backup plan. Most of my expensive jewelry was hidden at Abbie's place, where it would stay until I was sure Thomas wouldn't put me away.
"Just get pregnant as soon as possible. Once you have a bairn in your arms, Thomas won't even think about putting you away. He's just scared is all," Abbie had assured me.
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But she hadn't been there when I overheard him and Henry talk. She hadn't seen the expression on his face, hadn't heard the way his words came out of his mouth. I still shuddered at the memory of it. When I closed my eyes and relived that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing would stop Thomas from discarding me that way. Only when I was with him did I dare to hope that it wasn't so.
"Are you ready?" Prudence asked.
I resented her being here. It should have been Abbie. She was my best friend; she was supposed to be at my side. Unfortunately, both my father and Thomas had strictly forbidden it. Abbie wasn't even allowed in the church—a church filled with Thomas' friends and relatives. The only people I knew were my father and Prudence.
"I am," I inclined my head just the way Prudence had taught me. Nervous giggles from the other women in the room grated on my nerves. I had met them before of course, they were the daughters and younger sisters of England's nobility, here to bring back juicy gossip to their older sisters and mothers. Not to be my friend. No, they were only here to spy on me, to see me fail.
I spent many hours at tea parties with them and their ilk. Each one of them thought they were better than me, thought that they had actual blue blood running through their veins instead of red like mine. This was the world I had been thrust into, a world I wanted to make my own. I didn't know why I so desperately tried. They didn't mean anything to me, but there was an inexplicable drive inside me that wanted them to like me. Or at the very least, respect me.
The organ commenced playing the wedding march as soon as the usher by the door signaled my arrival. I heard the rustling of clothing as people rose.
"You make me proud today, darling," my father said. It wasn't an encouragement; it was an order, a warning.
"Yes, Father," I placed my hand on the crook of his elbow, and he led me down the rows and rows of pews filled with every noble England had to offer. Nobody wanted to miss a party or the opportunity to watch an Earl getting married.
Thomas stood proudly, flanked by Henry and his other best friend, Edward Hawthorne, the Earl of Wintermere. He looked so handsome in his dark suit, raising my pulse.
His blond hair was slicked back, and his thick lips curled in a wide smile as I walked toward him. From the moment Thomas took my hand, blood rushed through my ears, making it hard to hear anything as the priest began with the ceremony.
Abbie and I had dreamed of our weddings for so long, I knew all the words by heart, and I thanked God for that because my brain automatically knew when to nod and what words to repeat, even while my ears refused to hear.
So far, I had been successful in hardening my heart against any feelings I might develop for my groom, but ever since he told me he loved me last night, my walls had been crumbling. I wasn't in love with him, but I was beginning to love the idea of us.
Suddenly the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and everything around me became crystal clear. My nose picked up the scent of candle wax and perfumes, I saw every speck of green in my groom's eyes, my heartbeat slowed, and any trembles left me. The priest's words, "If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now, or else hereafter forever hold his peace," were loud and clear to my ears.
I stood at the altar, perfectly composed, my hands steady, my voice even. I had made my choice.
Silence.
Relief washed over me.
No one spoke. My father stood rigid beside me, his pride evident in the slight upward tilt of his chin. The Earl was already half-smirking, as if he'd known all along that no one would dare object.
The priest turned to me.
"Do you, Roweena Wellington, take this man?—"
The church doors exploded open with a thunderous crash.
A gale of wind and rain roared into the sacred space, snuffing out candles, sending a ripple of gasps through the pews. The doors, heavy oak and iron, shuddered against the force, swinging wildly as a dark figure strode forward, framed by the storm behind him.
My breath caught in my throat.
He was massive, towering over the nearest men like a god of war stepping out of a forgotten age. His clothes—if they could be called that—were soaked through, clinging to broad shoulders and powerful limbs. His arms, bare save for leather wrappings, were corded with muscle; his face sharp as a blade.
But it was his eyes that stole the air from my lungs.
