Page 55 of The Lover's Eye
He did not realize what the butler had been staring so doggedly at until hours later, when he rose to retire to bed.
As the lightweight papers had burned, a corner had lifted from the flames and floated to safety, just out of reach of the coals.Its edges were charred black, and while the closing words were perfectly legible, the final line of the message had been severed.
The effect was uncanny.
I shall return—
Yours forever,
Aurelia
20
Marriane begrudgingly accepted the wedding was to be a quiet, simple affair, but that did not stop her from arranging a lavish wedding breakfast.She prattled on about it the entire drive from Shoremoss to the chapel, and Isobel closed her eyes to the noise, fighting for calm.She was almost relieved when the vehicle stopped and the door opened.
Sea breezes threatened the carefully wound plaits on Isobel’s head and slipped between the closures of her pelisse, through the sheer cotton ivory dress, and straight to her skin.The first flush burned deep in her cheeks.
It was one of Marriane’s old dresses, taken in by a local dressmaker.Even though it now fit Isobel’s body, it still felt unsuitable to her, made daring by its low neckline and close clinging skirt.She reached out to take the footman’s proffered hand, but it vanished.
He had been edged aside, and now Giles stood in his place, hand extended.Morning light canted under the brim of his hat and illuminated his eyes, drawing out the deep patterns of his irises, the tanzanite blue.
He looked happy.Calm.Confident.Traces of those feelings seemed to pass from him into Isobel as she took his hand and they hurried through the chapel doors.
“Lord Trevelyan, Miss Ridgeway,” said a disembodied voice.“I trust you had safe travels.”
Isobel’s pupils strained to adjust to the dark surroundings.She smiled into the shadows, blind.As Giles was answering the greeting, the reverend’s form came into view.His langoustine and peach dusted hair was almost gold in the soft light of the stained-glass windows.He was facing her.
She saw the incongruous spray of freckles across his complexion, and a sedate smile.The only feature she could not discern was his eyes—light trapped in the lenses of his spectacles, creating blinders of white glass.Isobel did not know where to look when she spoke to him.“It is a pleasure to see you, Reverend,” she said lamely.
The doors thrust open behind them to admit Pemberton and Marriane.Her sister was trembling from the cold, and Pemberton was grumbling on in monotone.“It would be a damned good morning for sailing, only imagine what fun—”
Marriane’s glove beat a tattoo on his arm.“Martin,we’re in church!”
“The vicar knows it would be capital fun, too, don’t you good man?”Pemberton said breezily, clamping a hand over Reverend Gouldsmith’s shoulder and shaking him roughly.
“Lord Pemberton,” Reverend Gouldsmith said, bowing, but his smile had broadened to show teeth.“I do appreciate a day with the sea.”
Isobel was taken aback by the degree of familiarity the two men showed each other; she hardly imagined Pemberton to be a devoted attendee of services.
The men moved toward the front of the chapel, but before Isobel could question the nature of their acquaintance, Marriane swept her into the vestry and began unfastening her pelisse.
“Do you think anyone saw us arrive?”Isobel asked, her fingers kneading together.
“It is nine o’clock, not midnight,” Marriane said, toying with her sister’s dress as much as Betsey, who had insisted on coming to ensure her mistress was made a beautiful bride.“Of course they did.They won’t disturb a private ceremony, however, and you shouldn’t let it distress you.”
“I’m not distressed.”
Marriane rose to full height, which was still half a head shorter than Isobel.She put cool fingers on her forearms.“Dearest, you are trembling.But you needn’t worry.Trevelyan is a good man.Anyone would be proud to become his wife.”
Isobel nodded reflexively.Anyone, anyone.Why had she felt like an adulteress since stepping into the chapel?Like she was betraying someone she had never met?She tried to blame the foolish notion on the fact that Reverend Gouldsmith was ministering their wedding.
“One final embellishment,” Marriane said, signaling for Betsey to draw something out of a hatbox.The sweet floral scent reached Isobel’s nose before she saw the crown of flowers.
She gasped.“Oh, Marriane, how gorgeous.”
A delicate arc of snowdrops, aconites, and hellebores had been woven together.Betsey was already placing them atop Isobel’s head and tying the white ribbon behind her ears.
“This must be the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me,” Isobel breathed, reaching up to lightly touch the fresh blooms.“How did you know to pick my favorites?I feel positively Grecian.”
