Page 27 of Not his Marchioness
She knew this wasn’t physically possible, but that was how it felt. The lace chafed at her chest, her ankles, and her wrists. The pearl necklace Aunt Eugenia had clasped around her neck that morning—the same pearls from her own wedding day—felt like a stone against her throat.
Charlotte knew that all of this wasn’t her imagination. It was her body’s way of rebelling against what she had just endured.Standing at that altar for two hours, listening to the vicar speak of… What had he spoken of?
She truly could not remember. She had gone woolgathering, as her aunt liked to say.
She thought of her mother and what she might say about all of this. She had conjured up memories of her parents when she was younger, back when her father was not the wretched creature he had become—when they had been happy.
She thought of summers by the seaside and springs in the Scottish Highlands. She even managed to pull a memory from the depths of her mind of her mother’s singing voice. She didn’t remember the words, but the melody was there. That beloved sound…
Eventually, she had been jolted back to reality when the vicar insisted that she repeat after him the pledge to obey a man she barely knew.
Obey?
Her?
If Rhys thought those were anything other than empty words, he would be sorely mistaken. She would not obey anybody. She had learned that from Evelyn. One did not have to submit to fate.
“… however you please,” Rhys’s warm, deep voice drifted to her ears.
Goosebumps broke over her forearms, and she cursed her traitorous body. He had a pleasant voice—he truly did—but did her body have to react in such a way?
She turned to him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I think that is the politest thing you have said to me since I’ve known you.” He smirked, his eyebrows rising.
“You’ve caught me unawares. I was busy thinking of the future.”
“Very good. That is what I was asking you about. As we agreed, we should stay together at my London townhouse for the time being. I thought you might like my mother’s old chambers. My father’s chambers are also available, if you prefer them.”
“You do not stay in the Marquess’s chambers?” she asked, cocking her head.
“No.” He rolled his shoulders as if they had suddenly become stiff. “It does not feel right. They were not meant for me. I am comfortable in my own chambers. However, you may stay wherever you like.”
She nodded once. “I see. Well, I am certain they will do just fine. The cook has started? And the maids I hired?”
“The maids you hiredwithmy money,” he pointed out with a chuckle.
“The maids I hired with your money, asstipulatedin the contract,” she fired back.
He raised his hands. “Very well, very well. I will not challenge you further. Yes, they have all arrived. You will find a fully functional house; there will be no danger of me attempting to cook anything and setting the whole place ablaze.”
“Good,” she said. “I daresay it would be best if we made it through the first twenty-four hours unscathed. We wouldn’t want the scandal sheets to write about another disaster befalling a Langley sister on her wedding day.”
He laughed. “I’ve heard all about Bertram and the treacherous apricot. Pray, were you present?”
“I was. It was not half as amusing as people make it sound. It’s almost as though people forget that the gentleman died. He may not have been a man of quality, but he still died—in front of many people. There was nothing amusing about it.”
Rhys pressed his lips together and almost deflated, as though she had entirely disrupted his mirth.
“In any case,” she continued, “we ought to try to make it to tomorrow.”
“I think we can manage that,” he conceded. “Although we still have to make it through the wedding breakfast.”
“I hope not everyone who came to the ceremony will be there.”
“I believe we have only fifty people to contend with. And I am pleased to announce that I do know all of them in some fashion or other.”
“I suppose that is… comforting,” she muttered.
