Page 48 of His Haunted Duchess
Caroline looked into Frederic’s eyes. They were so blue, like a crystal clear morning. Frederic indignantly realized he was holding his breath. She took his other hand in hers.
“I will.”
Relief flooded through him. He fought the tides like a man with one oar. Of course, she would say yes. Both of them came to this church and this altar to be wed, without any doubts—or at least, none that they had expressed.
He couldn’t go back—-could he, in fact, go forward? He looked deeper into Caroline’s eyes. Mr. Kirkham was asking him the same question to which he replied with the same answer, pleased to hear his voice steady and unwavering.
“I will.”
To his shock, when he thought the world ought to have stood still, it continued. Mr. Kirkham turned to the congregation.
“Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”
Felicity clenched her jaw. His mother, Philip, and the rest of the congregation answered in chorus.
“We will.”
Once the ceremony had concluded, Frederic and Caroline proceeded Mr. Kirkham to the vestry. Writing the wedding lines took but a moment. Philip and Lady Olivia served as the two witnesses. Lady Caroline signed her name with due flourish which the phlegmatic clerk noticed with pleasure. He presented Caroline with her copy of the marriage documents with a benevolent smile.
The wedding breakfast was a whirlwind. Carlyle bustled with all the importance of the day carried in his bearing, serving petit fours as if he had been called to do that very task by an angel himself. Esther’s ostrich feather flitted to and fro among the guests, greeting all in turn. Lady Caroline smiled and spoke to everyone in a low, but measured, voice—even the less-enthused with equal harmony and welcome.
It was done. Frederic felt as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders. The damage he had caused was finally—and, he might flatter himself, happily—mended. He met his peers and acquaintances with a composed face and, if not settled, contented heart.
Finally, Esther clapped her hands.
“A dance, my friends! Let’s have a dance to honor the married couple! Your Grace,” she turned to Caroline, “what would your preference be?”
Caroline looked at him, searching his expression. He smiled down at her, enjoying the delicate lines of her face.
“A quadrille,” she said, finally. Frederic nodded his approbation. There were few things, in this moment, of which he did not approve.
Caroline was grateful they had practiced. The steps of the quadrille weren’t complicated, but she could pace them with her head held high. It felt surreal, dancing at her own wedding, like the secret song of her heart heard in concert.
She curtsied as the first few notes of the refrain began. Everyone’s eyes were on them. She stepped towards Frederic. As their hands met, her hand trembled. He took it tenderly in his.
“Are you nervous?” he whispered as she passed him. She blushed and shook her head. She was, of course, but nothing that would be out of the ordinary for a woman in her situation.
He waited until the dance brought them together again.
“Are you certain?” he coaxed. “I can pretend I’m holding a blanket for you, ready to jump.”
He pretended to hold the edge with his hands. She smiled.
“I’m only a little nervous,” she admitted. “This is the most—seen I’ve ever been, duchess or not.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. He put his hand around her waist as they passed each other. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”
She looked at him in surprise. He was being—kind. Not just polite or civilly asking after her interests—he honestly cared about her well-being and was reaching out to comfort her. She smiled at him shyly.
The rest of the set passed by in a blur, linking arms first with Frederic then with Philip. Then, everyone was clapping pleasantly. Before moving on to greet other guests, he stepped forward and pressed her hand. The warmth of his smile bathed her in sunshine. The words tangled somewhere with the butterflies skipping around her stomach; before she knew it, he had passed into the crowd.
Several bright-faced ladies demanded her attention, and she turned to them with a smile.
Not once, during the wedding ceremony or activities, had he shown disdain for her or for the mutually helpful promise into which they both were entering. On the contrary, he seemed—almost glad, happy even. The thought cheered her heart.
Aunt Olivia met her somewhere near the piano in the drawing room.
“Ah, my dear.” She kissed her cheek. “We are so happy for you, darling. What a beautiful day!”
