Page 24 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
Owen stepped up and swung inside and the coach set off.
The woodlands flashed past, but Owen hardly noticed. All he could think about was that he was inflicting himself on a woman who barely knew him. And he was doing it only for the estate.
He stared out of the window and tried not to feel too awful.
Soon they were heading down the streets of London. They drew up outside a tall townhouse. He walked up the steps and went to the door, barely glancing at the place.
“Lord Ivystone?” A man in black uniform asked Owen where he stood on the steps.
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“This way, please.”
The man walked with Owen to a door on their right. It led into a garden, and then across to a low-roofed building. Owen stepped inside and, for a second, forgot how to breathe.
Miss Worthington was at the altar, and she took his breath away.
She was taller than he recalled, or perhaps it was just thatshe stood with beautiful poise. Her long hair was raised off the back of her neck into an elaborate chignon, topped with a veil so filmy he could see her long, slender neck through it from the back. Her gown was white silk, floor-length, and the long skirt hung from a high waist that emphasized her graceful figure. Her skin was pale and lucent in the candlelight, or what he could see of her through the veil, and her lips seemed peach-pink against it. The only thing that was utterly at odds with the beautiful, gracious setting was the expression in her eyes—as he got closer, he could see them clearly. They were utterly empty.
Owen swallowed hard where he stood at the front. He was aware of two people standing off to the right of the tiny chapel—Lord Walden stood there, a smug grin on his face, Lady Walden standing beside him. She was beautiful like her daughter, but her expression of sorrow tinged with joy struck him as if it was intended to make a certain impression.
“Good morning.”
Owen blinked as a voice disrupted the silence, but it was a clergyman, coming up the aisle to join them. He was dressed in his official robes, and he smiled at them with genuine warmth.
“Good morning, my lord; Miss Worthington. I’m Reverend Grayling. Delighted to meet you.”
“Good morning,” Owen greeted him. His voice was barely audible.
Miss Worthington greeted the reverend, and Owen heard the door opening behind them and he turned to see Leonard in the doorway, holding it open for a young woman with reddish hair. Owen frowned, thinking he recognized her. As the reverend started to speak, he recalled the day he’d met Miss Worthington in the library. The young woman who’d just walked in had been with her then. Her expression was angry. She glared at Owen and went to stand beside Leonard, ignoring Lord and Lady Walden. Owen felt a glimmer of amusement. At least someonethere was bold enough not to hide their true emotions. The girl clearly hated Owen and he couldn’t be angry—at least someone was honest.
The reverend was going through the ceremony, but Owen could barely concentrate. All he was aware of was the young woman with the veil drawn over her face who stood beside him. She was looking at the reverend with the same empty stare he’d noticed earlier, as though she was facing certain death and had gone entirely numb.
I suppose that’s how she feels.
Owen pushed the thought, and the massive weight of guilt that settled on him with it, away as best he could.
He was doing this for a good reason. Maybe he could make sure it wasn’t too terrible for her too.
“...and do you, Owen Alfred Matthew Beckworth, Earl of Ivystone, take thee Miss Ophelia Emma Worthington...?”
Owen blinked, surprised for a moment, then tried to answer.
“I do.”
He had to cough to make it possible to speak—the tightness in his throat almost made it impossible.
“And do you, Ophelia Emma Worthington....” He repeated the question to Miss Worthington. Owen focused on the fact that he knew her middle name, and he rather liked it. Emma was a pretty name.
“I do.”
Her voice was hard. Owen blinked.
The reverend continued, and then suddenly, without him being ready for it at all, they were at the part of the ceremony that had worried him and had kept him from sleeping that night.
The kiss.
What should I do?He asked himself the question he’d tormented himself with a thousand times that night, feeling his stomach twist with nerves. If he didn’t kiss her, it would beinsulting. At the same time, if he did, he’d feel like he was forcing a kiss on her. He stared down at her helplessly, and slowly lifted her veil.
