Page 80 of Royally Wed
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Amelia had a whole new respect for Cinderella and fairy-tale princesses everywhere after being in the glass coach for less than a minute.
The carriage was wobbly, which was probably to be expected since it was more than 135 years old. The fact that it was being pulled by four white horses through Buckingham Palace’s cobblestone quadrangle didn’t help matters. The coach lurchedand dipped with every trot of the horses’ hooves. Amelia felt sick before they even reached the east gate that faced the Mall.
“I don’t feel well,” she said. “It’s hot in here. Are you hot?”
“That’s because there’s no air in this bloody thing.” Her father rolled his eyes. “But the glass coach paints a pretty picture. You look lovely, Amelia.”
“Thank you, Dad.” She didn’t feel lovely. She couldbarely breathe.
The coach was smaller than it looked, and her tulle skirt filled most of the small space and overflowed onto her father’slap. From the outside, they must have looked like they were sitting on a cloud.
The clip-clop of horse hooves slowed to a stop when they reached the gate. Uniformed palace guards moved from their stations to unlock the massive iron fence, and the horses prancedin place, tossing their heads. Sunlight glinted off the gold hardware on their bridles.
“Dad.” Amelia swallowed. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, Amelia. What is it?” He collected a pair of white gloves from the pocket of his uniform and began pulling them on. They had nearly a mile of royal waves ahead of them.
Am I doing the right thing?
She couldn’t force the words out.Her mouth was dry as a bone.
She took a deep breath and licked her lips. But before she could speak, the carriage lurched forward and crashed into a wall of sound.
The roar from the crowds lining both sides of the Mall was deafening. Officers from the Queen’s Guard, dressed in crisp red coats and their famed bearskin hats, formed a protective barrier. But beyond the impossibly long line of familiarguards, it looked like the entire population of the United Kingdom had turned up to see her off for her wedding.
It was a sea of people. Amelia had never seen anything like it. Not even when her brothers got married. Then again, she’d ridden to the Abbey hours beforehand on those occasions—in the sedate interior of a Rolls Royce rather thanthe ceremonial pomp and circumstance of a glass coach.She’d also been heavily into the champagne by the time the weddings began. Princess Naughty always managed to live up to her reputation.
“What?” her father yelled, cupping his ear.
Amelia shook her head. This wasn’t the time or place for a heart-to-heart. She couldn’t hear herself think. Besides, the time for making decisions had passed. She was marrying Holden. The millions of Union Jack flagswaving as far as she could see were a very real, very potent reminder. The wedding was happening.
The ride to Westminster Abbey passed in a blur of patriotic red, white, and blue. Even once the glass coach rounded the corner onto Dean’s Yard and the church came into view, all Amelia could see were its spires. The streets overflowed with happy, cheering Brits.
What would they think if they’dknown what a farce all of this was... if they’d known that the night before, she’d given herself to Asher? There would be riots. They’d probably storm the gates of Buckingham Palace. It wouldn’t just be the end of the Amcotts, it would be the end of the monarchy altogether.
The coach door opened, and an attendant in military dress greeted her with wide grin. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Um.” Shecouldn’t seem to make herself get out.
“Amelia,” her father prompted.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go outside and face all of those jubilant people. This was a lie. All of it. And she was so tired of pretending. Tired of denying the truth. How couldshe stand at an altar and tell the biggest lie of her life in front of the entire world?
Worst of all, how could she exchange vows with Holdenwhile Asher sat just mere feet away?
The guard cleared his throat. “Take my hand, Your Royal Highness. I can help you.”
No, you can’t. Couldn’t he see that? No one could help her now.
Her father gave her a nudge, and she took the officer’s hand as if she were in a daze. The only way she would get through the ceremony would be if she could put herself in some sort of trance. She did her bestnot to focus on anything in particular—not the wide red carpet that led to the front door of the church, not the roar of the people as she stepped into view, not even the archbishop himself as he walked toward her in a shimmering gold cloak. Maybe if she stared hard enough, it would all blend together in a spectacularly terrible blur and she could somehow get through the day and never remember anyof it.
But it was no use. She was already noticing tiny little details—the archbishop’s shiny black shoes peeking out from beneath his robes, the sickeningly sweet smell of the hyacinths in the flower girl’s baskets, the way seeing it all through the weave of her veil made it seem like a fever dream. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t block anything out. She was going to have to experienceevery excruciating moment as painfully as if she were going into surgery without anesthesia.
Edward and Jane’s children—Amelia’s page boys andflower girl—led the way into the church. Up ahead, in the shadows of the sanctuary, Amelia could see Jane motioning to them to be quiet and behave, just like they’d practiced.
