“My darling girl.”
“Stop it, Andrew, you are going to make us cry. And crying is never good for Dahlia’s complexion,”
“Allow a father to indulge in the last few moments of his daughter being his.”
“Oh, Papa, I shall always be yours.”
“Stop it, the pair of you!” Teresa sniffed and wiped at her eyes.
The Marquess held out his hand to his wife and gathered the two ladies in his arms.
A few minutes later saw the family waiting by the front door as their carriage arrived. Snow had been falling steadily since before daybreak and had covered London in a thick white blanket.
“Should we wait for the snow to stop? Are the streets safe?” Teresa asked worriedly as the front door was opened.
“It not showing any signs of letting up, My Lady,” Mr. Tipping said.
“If we wait any longer, we risk being late,” the Marquess added. “As it is, we must travel slowly.”
“Biddy has readied the footwarmers and the blankets in the carriage, My Lady.” Mr. Tipping motioned towards the carriage.
Dahlia forced a smile. “Let us just get this over with please.”
“The snow is falling harder! At this rate, the carriage shall not be able to traverse the streets, and we shall be stranded! What are we to do? Heaven above, is my daughter destined to remain unmarried?”
Lady Teresa, who had been wringing her hands since their carriage was forced to slow down due to the heavy snowfall, craned her neck to look further down the street. Her countenance, reflected on the glass, showed her anxiety.
“Teresa, you will injure your neck, my dear,” her husband said, looking up from the paper he had been reading during the carriage ride to gently chide his wife.
“Oh, how can you stay so calm, Andrew?”
Dahlia, her hands clasped together, spoke in an agitated manner, although slightly less so than her mother, “We are extremely late. Whatever shall we do? The Duke will think that I have jilted him!” She leaned to look out the window as well. “Oh bother, perhaps it is for the best.”
Is this a sign? Perhaps it is fate telling me that I am making a mistake in agreeing to marry the Duke!
“Will both of you please calm down,” the Marquess said folding his newspaper. “I will see if John can walk ahead to the church to let the Duke know of our predicament.”
“Oh no, Papa, he cannot! The conditions are?—”
But before Dahlia could finish, they felt the carriage come to a full stop. Already tense, Dahlia whirled to the window to see what had caused the carriage to stop.
“There are men on horses approaching. What is happening?” Dahlia could feel her frayed nerves. “This cannot possibly be another hijacking!”
“Hijackers! Dear God!” Teresa exclaimed, reaching out to her husband.
The Marquess looked at his wife and daughter in exasperation. He was about to berate them for their dramatics when Dahlia gasped.
“What? What is it? Heaven help us!” the Marchioness cried.
Was she imagining it? The lead figure on horseback was unmistakably familiar in his silhouette and the stubborn set of his shoulders.
“Is that Peter?”
Both her parents looked out the carriage window. Although the thick snow slowed them, they made good progress, and before she had time to recover herself, the carriage door opened. Benson stood outside with a relieved look on his face.
“M’Lord, rescue has come! ’Tis the Duke and some men with him.” He moved aside to reveal Peter, Matteo and a few servants on horses.
“My Lord, I assumed that the snowfall would prove a challenge for your carriage.” He bowed to the ladies. “We have come to escort you to the church. We have brought horses.”
