Page 56 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Agnes took the small circled band of delicate white flowers and set it atop Harriet’s head. The veil hooked onto the back of the band and fell across her shoulders and down her back.

“Oh Harriet,” her mother said, her voice full of emotion. “You look so beautiful, my dear.”

All the girls agreed, handing out compliments as if they were a mandatory part of the day.

She was pleased they thought she looked good. Despite her feelings about her pending nuptials, she wanted Oliver to find her beautiful. It was a foolish wish, one built on the childish fantasies she’d crafted after watching her sister and brother-in-law fall in love.

She felt the prick of tears gather at the corners of her eyes, and she clenched her jaw tightly to will them away.

“He will grow to love you,” her mother said.

She shook her head but said nothing.

Justine put her hand on Harriet’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “I should think marrying someone who doesn’t love you would be infinitely preferable to…” She paused. “To plenty of other things.”

Harriet glanced at Justine’s reflection in the mirror. She knew what went unsaid. They all did. Justine was in love with the man who had married her sister. Unrequited love of the worst kind.

She reached up and squeezed Justine’s hand. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself. It served no purpose. This was her lot, and she would accept it.

She stood and eyed her reflection. Ready or not, she was about to become the Marchioness of Davenport.

…

Oliver had done his level best to keep away from Harriet the last day and a half. With their mothers convinced he was in love with Harriet, he’d needed to pull back from her. He knew what he felt for her was nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Yes, it was a desire he’d never experienced with any other woman, but that did not make it love.

Now that he knew she’d be his, keeping his hands off of her had become a significant challenge. So he’d kept to himself under the guise of making arrangements.

She stood before him at the front of their small village church. Her beauty was blinding. He’d been right in his estimating her measurements, and the gown he’d ordered fit her perfectly. For a moment, he wished they were in one of the bigger churches in London so that more people could see how stunning she was.

He’d heard some of the other girls talking, the night of their engagement ball, about Harriet’s figure. The lush curves he so wanted were evidently not at the height of fashion. He suspected much of this was what lay at the bottom of Harriet’s unwillingness to believe he didn’t truly find her desirable.

They had the rest of their lives together for him to show her precisely how much. To the devil with the rest of those fools who couldn’t see her one-of-a-kind beauty.

He looked into her eyes and repeated ancient words to love and honor her.

His bride looked up into his face and repeated her vows.

To love him.

To honor him.

Something broke loose in his chest as if her words alone could put a chink in the armor he’d built around his heart. No, not merely her words, but the expression on her face. Her eyes shimmered with something that felt dangerously close to love. And it made him hope, damn her, that she would love him.

Then he remembered his request at the party. He’d asked her to do this. Pretend so that others didn’t think she was marrying a monster. He knew what people said about him. He might be crippled, but he wasn’t deaf. He’d seen the way other girls looked at him, fear barely contained in their prim little faces. Not Harriet, though. She not only wasn’t afraid of him, she fought back. She told him how she felt and how wrong she thought he was.

He smiled. She didn’t love him any more than he loved her. That was all a bloody illusion. He certainly couldn’t expect or even want her to love him knowing he couldn’t return the feelings. No, he knew she wanted him, or at least her body responded to his touch. That was all he needed.

“I present to you Lord and Lady Davenport,” the priest said.

The small church cheered.

She was his. Though he was ready to pull her into a closet and claim her body as his own, he knew he’d have to wait, endure the rest of the day’s festivities, the people who had stayed to celebrate with them. Tonight, he’d have her. He’d take his time and explore every inch of her.

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