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Chapter Eleven
The sun was still shining brightly when she made her way to the waiting carriage. By Patricia’s side stood Margaret, dressed in a peony pink silk slip of a gown with matching pink silk ribbons in her fair hair. Her sister was holding both of their bouquets, and her eyes gleamed with excitement.
And then the driver cracked the whip, and they were on their way to the church, travelling through the busy London streets. Another carriage trailed closely behind them carrying her parents.
Patricia gazed out the carriage window, still feeling sick to her stomach. How on earth was she going to go through with this?
Please,she thought desperately. Let him understand, when I finally tell him.
She was so lost in her anguish, that she didn’t even realize they had drawn up outside the church. The footman opened the carriage door to assist her out. She blinked rapidly, taking it all in, feeling as if she were in the midst of a strange, unsettling dream.
It was a small Gothic-style church, nestled back from the busy street. Ladies and gentlemen walked briskly past, intent on their business. There were a few wooden carts set up on the street that were selling flowers and pork pies. Just a normal Monday morning for most people, she supposed.
It was anything but normal for her.
Her parents were suddenly by her side. Lady Hunter fussed with the train of her gown for a moment, before pulling her aside.
“The moment has arrived, dearest,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming. “You shall do us proud. Do not forget that you are saving your family from ruin. I always knew that you were a dutiful and a clever girl.”
Patricia’s lips tightened. Why must her mother remind her of this on the church steps? Wasn’t it enough that she was doing this?
Her father stepped in. “We must not tarry, ladies. The Duke is awaiting us.” He held out his arm towards his daughter. “Shall we, Patricia?”
She gazed at her father for a moment and was filled with a shocking loathing. She had always loved her feckless father, even though she knew her mother often despaired of him. He had always been a gambler and a risk taker. But now, it was his recklessness that was making her do this to an honourable man. It was his actions that had turned her mother from a caring woman who wished her daughters to marry for love to a shrewd, mercenary fortune hunter almost overnight.
She didn’t know how she would ever forgive him for it.
She forced a smile onto her face. Now was not the time to tell him of the bitterness she carried within her heart. That could wait for a better time.
And so Patricia took her father’s arm. Together they walked up the steps and into the church. She blinked rapidly, as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, after the brightness of the day outside.
The Duke of Merriweather was standing at the altar. By his side was a small man, who looked a trifle uncomfortable, in his best clothes. The Duke’s best man? It would seem so. The reverend was standing to the right, clutching his prayer book, his face impassive. There were no other people in the church.
Her heart twisted. It was not unusual to not have many people at the actual wedding service. Only close family. And, of course, this wedding had been rushed. Perhaps the Duke had relatives who lived away from London who may have come if they had been given more notice. She would hardly know. They didn’t know much about each other.
The Duke was a virtual stranger to her.
Patricia’s heart raced frantically as they started the long walk down the altar towards him. Her mother and sister had already taken their places in a front pew, gazing back at her, with wide, admiring eyes. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped her bouquet.
Desperately, she focused on him. Her husband to be. How handsome he looked today, despite the scar. Tall and impressive, with his broad shoulders and raven black hair. His green eyes seemed to gleam like emeralds in the dim light as he gazed upon her.
Patricia suddenly felt acutely awkward. She fervently hoped that she pleased him – that all the effort that had gone into making her the bride she was met with his approval.
She wanted to be beautiful for him. More beautiful than she had ever been before.
Her mind flashed, remembering their kiss and that dream. Those aching, bewildering sensations he had evoked within her. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Finally, they arrived. Her father took her hand and passed it to the Duke before stepping aside. They slowly turned and gazed into each other’s eyes.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever.
And then the reverend opened his prayer book and started to speak.
* * *
Jackson took Patricia’s hand as they stepped into the carriage, brushing grains of rice off her shoulders. Her mother had showered them in it, on the steps of the church, before bursting into noisy tears.
He still couldn’t quite believe it. She was now his wife.
