Page 17 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
Veronica glided past her sharpness. “Well, yes. But we all know he is something of a rake.”
“Do you really think I would stoop so low?”
“No,” Veronica admitted. “But I also know you've not been yourself these past few days. And I cannot help but wonder if?—”
“What is all this chattering about?”
Gemma let out a sigh of relief at their grandmother's interruption.
“Nothing, Grandmother.” Veronica smiled.
“Veronica, dear,” the Dowager Marchioness nudged her toward their father, who was badgering a group of peers with what appeared to be a story involving very elaborate hand gestures, “do go and save those poor gentlemen from your father. Try and prevent him from making more of a fool of himself than usual.”
Veronica gave Gemma one final probing look, before darting obediently off toward their father.
The Dowager Marchioness put her hands on Gemma's shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye. “Are you unwell, dear?” she asked. “You look terribly flushed.”
“No, Grandmother. I am not unwell.”
The Dowager Marchioness clicked her tongue. “It would do you good to get out of this sun for a while.” She nodded toward the ribbon of shade behind the chapel. “Go and rest for a few moments. I shall call you when the bride arrives. And put your pearl necklace back on!” she called after her.
Gemma nodded and hurried toward the shade behind the church, grateful for the excuse to escape her grandmother's company and the whispers that seemed to follow her every step.
Wyatt's mother and grandmother were slowly driving him mad.
“Oh goodness, my dear. I am ever so proud.” His mother readjusted his cravat for at least the sixth time. “How I wish your father were here to see this day.”
“If his father were here, he'd be horrified,” said the Dowager Duchess, pacing back and forth outside the chapel, the butter-yellow feathers in her hair flapping wildly. “To see him marryingher. How could you have?—”
“That isenough,” snapped the Duchess. “This is hiswedding day. You have made your thoughts blatantly clear. But nothing is going to change. Do you understand?”
The Dowager Duchess huffed, and mercifully, fell silent for a moment. She folded her arms and stopped pacing. “And devilled eggs for the wedding breakfast,” she said. “What in heaven's name were you thinking?”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. He had hoped they might put their differences aside, on today of all days.
Today of all days.It was hardly a day for celebration. Wyatt felt more like a man about to be led to the gallows than a man about to approach the altar. Being goaded into marriage was bad enough, let alone to a young lady who had such vicious designs on his family. For not the first time, he wished he had found the strength to do as his grandmother wished, and ended the betrothal.
But it was far too late for regret. Far too late to change his mind. In minutes, Miss Henford would be here. And she would leave the chapel as the Duchess of Larsen. The two of them would be tied together for life.
The thought made something tighten in Wyatt's chest, and a wave of dread threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Nothing needed to change, he reminded himself. Henrietta knew well of the kind of man he was. He knew she had no expectations of his faithfulness, or indeed, of any kind of affection at all. Neither of them had any illusions of this being more than a marriage of convenience. Through theirunion, he would get the heir he needed. And she would have the honor of becoming a duchess.
Wyatt turned his head to see a pink-clad figure disappearing into the shade behind the chapel. Gemma Caster. In spite of himself, he had been acutely aware of her from the moment she and her family had arrived. Had had to force himself to keep from glancing her way.
The two of them had not spoken since she had rushed from the music room two evenings ago, tearing out of the place as if it were on fire. No doubt it was for the best. Wyatt knew that, once again, he had gone too far. He had not meant to offend her; could not make sense of why he kept doing so.
He watched her lean against the cool stone of the chapel and close her eyes.
She looks upset.
He felt an overwhelming urge to seek her out. Apologize once again. Ensure she was all right. A foolish idea, to be certain, but Wyatt knew he owed her as much.
He made his way toward the back of the church, hoping his mother and grandmother would be too entrenched in their bickering to notice his absence.
His mother snatched his wrist. “Where do you think you're going?”
Wyatt shook free of her grip. “I shall be back in a moment. I just need to cool off. It's dreadfully hot out here.”
A faint smile flickered in the corner of his grandmother's mouth. Wyatt decided to ignore it.
