Page 23 of Not his Marchioness
Adding that to Charlotte’s public declaration to refuse to wed Lord Emery in a scarlet gown, the ton had eaten it up.
She and Rhys hadn’t appeared together since the announcement. That had been deliberate. Let the ton speculate.
In truth, Rhys had scarcely seen her in the past three weeks. Their solicitors had handled the settlements. Her aunt and his uncle’s wife had arranged the wedding breakfast. He’d seen her, yes, but they had been formal interactions, nothing more.
He had attempted to call twice, but she had refused to receive him. Whether from melancholy, anger, or something else, he did not know. But so long as she arrived at the church, that was enough.
“My Lord?” Ferris prompted. “Shall I assist you into your morning coat?”
Rhys turned. “No. I’ve had a change of heart.”
“A change of?—?”
“Bring me the purple waistcoat. The one with the gold trim. And the white shirt with the gilt buttons. And the fawn pantaloons.”
Ferris blinked. “But… My Lord, those garments are not quite… proper for a wedding.”
“I’m aware.” Rhys’s smile was faint but genuine. “But the ton expects a spectacle. Charlotte made her statement. I shall make mine. Let it not be said that the bride outshone the groom.”
Ferris swallowed visibly, then nodded and withdrew.
Moments later, he returned with the garments in question. The pantaloons were tight, as fashion dictated. The shirt slipped easily over Rhys’s head, the gold buttons gleaming. The purple waistcoat was a riot of embroidery and confidence, the gold fob watch a flourish.
It was the sort of garments he wore when he meant to be seen, when he meant to stir conversation.
He had wanted to ask Charlotte what she would wear, whether she’d arrive in scarlet once more, but she hadn’t taken his calls. So now, he would act as he saw fit.
And if she didn’t like it? Well, she ought to have received him.
CHAPTER 10
Charlotte stood in the antechamber and stared at herself in the mirror. Her dress was pretty enough. In fact, it suited her well. A masterpiece of ivory silk and lace.
She looked like a bride. Arealbride. Her aunt had even given her a pair of pearl necklaces for good luck. A genuinely heartwarming gesture.
And yet she did not feel bridal. She felt no joy. No anticipation. Nothing.
How could this be her reality? How had she come to this day, to this moment, where she stood waiting to marry a man she could not bear?
True, he had done her no harm. And yes, he had offered her a way out of an impossible predicament. And yet she could not quite forgive that he had informed the newspapers of theirimpending nuptials before she had had the chance to consider the matter properly.
Had three weeks truly passed since that strange evening in his parlor? Evidently so. And yet it felt as though she had merely closed her eyes to rest and awoken in some surreal world, betrothed to a man she barely knew.
“Charlotte. Charlie,” Evelyn called, using her childhood nickname. She stepped up beside her. “You look lovely.”
“I do not feel it,” Charlotte muttered. “I feel nothing.”
Evelyn wrapped an arm around her. “I understand. I was once in your shoes, about to walk down the aisle toward a man who made my skin crawl. But at least in your case, he is not fifty years your senior. And he is handsome. And he has promised you your freedom.”
“Yes,” Charlotte murmured. “He told me he’s already begun setting up a library at his townhouse. Cases of books have arrived from his country estate. Or so I was told.”
“Good,” Evelyn said, nodding. “Then he meant what he said. He has kept his word. That must count for something.”
“Has there been no word from Nathaniel?” Marianne asked.
Aunt Eugenia, who had been braiding Marianne’s hair, looked up briefly, her brow furrowed.
“Nothing since that first letter ten days ago,” Evelyn reported with a sigh.
