Page 60 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
Evangeline wasn’t certain whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the hysterical embarrassment of the situation. Heavens, she likely had a better idea of the process than her aunt, even if her auntwastwenty years her senior.
“Pray do not,” she said, holding up a hand. “There is no requirement to subject either of us to this.”
“I have some notion of what will occur,” her aunt said, flushing to her ears. “I spoke to your mother, and she informed me of the pertinent details should I ever marry, and—”
“Please,” Evangeline begged. “No talk of my parents.”
“Very well, but—”
“I have some idea already,” Evangeline said, wishing she could fall through the floor. “And the Marquess is… kind. He will be understanding, I am certain.”
“If you’re certain…” Her aunt clapped her hands, and her awkwardness vanished. “Then let us turn our attention to other, more pleasant matters.”
Attended by her sister and aunt, Evangeline was dressed in her silvery wedding dress, exquisitely trimmed with lace. Her hair was curled and pinned at the back of her head, and a gauzy veil shielded her face from view.
“Are you happy, Angie?” Emily asked as Evangeline turned away from the mirror with wet eyes. “You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”
“Oh, Emmy—Ifeellike the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. Just for today, I want to bask in vanity, and to believe that Iamindeed as beautiful as I would wish to me.” She took hold of her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “As for you, dearest—I hope you will be as happy as I on your wedding day.”
“I don’t know if I could achieve such happiness,” Emily said, half laughing.
“Mr. Trimly is on the cusp of proposing, I know it.” Evangeline tugged at her veil. “Now Papa is back, there will be little to stop him. You’ll see.”
“I wish that might be true,” Emily said wistfully.
“Oh, my dear.” Aunt Dorothea took Emily’s hand. “I may not have married, but I have had ample opportunity to watch young gentlemen in preparation to marry, and I can say with absolute certainty that your Mr. Trimly is merely awaiting the right moment.”
Emily beamed with gentle, pink pleasure, and Evangeline reflected again how very lucky she was to have her family around her.
“And the Marquess?” she teased, knowing her aunt’s longstanding dislike of him. “Are you as certain of his attachment to me?”
“I am not certain about histemper,” her aunt said, sending her a sharp look, “but I cannot deny hisattachmentis real enough.”
“I will accept that with all graciousness,” Evangeline said with a smile.
After some deliberation, they had elected to marry at home. Zachary’s dislike of crowds and theton, in general, made this a preferable option, and although obtaining a special license was expensive, that was no obstacle for them.
Now, with her father having returned, it seemed as though everything had fallen into place. Evangeline descended the stairs to where her father awaited her, dressed in his finest waistcoat and breeches.
“Evangeline,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “My daughter.”
She accepted his hand and grinned up at him. “You arrived home just in time to give me away.”
“I would not have missed this for the world and all the lures of Italy.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.”
He pressed her knuckles to his lips. “Allow me to tell you how very proud I am of you,” he said. Her aunt and sister disappeared into the drawing room which had been outfitted to accommodate the wedding, including a quartet to play as she walked down the makeshift aisle. “You have grown into a woman I am proud to know. And your mother would be so proud of you, too.”
Evangeline’s throat tightened, and she blinked away tears. “I wish she could have been here to see this.”
“As do I.” He glanced toward the door leading into the drawing room. “But it is time. Are you ready?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” she said, the certainty in her voice bringing a brief smile to her father’s face. He held out his arm, which she took, and they walked to the door.
At a signal from a footman, the music began to play, and Evangeline walked down the aisle.
The only thing she could see was her future husband. Zachary Ranson, Marquess of Harley. He stood just before the priest, his hands tucked behind his back and his body half-turned to her as she approached. A smile spread across his face, wider than she’d seen before, as though he could not contain his joy. She’d never seen his eyes glow like that before, either, gleaming with what looked like tears as she finally reached him and took his hand.
