Chapter 6

Aweek passed by in a blur of soaring, optimistic highs and gutting, panic-stricken lows for Lydia, without so much as a courtesy letter or visit from her future husband. All correspondence from him was directed to her father, and even then, it had only been a brief note to say that the license had been obtained and then the date, time, and location of the nuptials.

All of her usual enjoyments were soured by the looming threat of the wedding day to the point where she had given up reading for the first time in her life. There seemed little use in it when she kept reading the same blasted sentences over and over again.

Walking in the gardens was no better, for it served as a reminder that, if her plan was not successful, she would never see these gardens again, save for the occasional visit home. In truth, the only thing that occupied her mind enough to be considered a distraction was when she sat at her writing desk, writing endless notes about her annulment scheme.

But even those could not delay the wedding day.

"There is still time for me to arrange an escape," Emma whispered, squeezing Lydia's hand as the carriage rattled toward the church. "Nora is arriving separately. With one word, she will do for you what she once did for me. She will not even need a word, in truth, just a nod."

Lydia squeezed her sister's hand in reply. "I thank you, but I am… confident in my decision."

"Are you?" Emma smiled sadly. "You do not sound it."

"That is because I must endure the wedding first. You know I do not like to have so many people staring at me," Lydia lied.

Deep down, she was terrified of failing in her plan, for it would prove to everyone that she did not know what she was doing, and she would be enmeshed in a marriage she could not get out of. A trap of her own design, forged from pride and stubbornness.

"Whatever happens, dear sister, I will never be too far away," Emma promised. "Send word to me, and I will come. If he hurts you, humiliates you, imprisons you, or does anything to upset you, you must send for me. I know you find it irritating when I say such things, but I am your big sister—it is my duty to protect you."

Lydia turned her gaze out of the window, so Emma would not see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Of course, Lydia had always known that Emma meant well and that what she had viewed as condescension was nothing more than sisterly affection and a desire to preserve Lydia's innocence.

I should have heeded your advice.

Not that hindsight mattered now. It was over a week too late for that.

The carriage halted. Lydia's side of the carriage faced the road away from the church, which felt somewhat like fate offering her a last chance, while the other side faced the gray stone of the church.

The weather had taken its fashionable lead from the walls and spires of St. John's, as grim rainclouds rolled in, the air thick as honey and just as difficult to inhale. A summer storm was coming.

The door opened, and her father greeted her with a nervous smile. "Good, you are here."

"Did you think I would not be?" Lydia let Emma descend first.

Her father held out his hand to her. "I never doubted you, dear one."

Over his shoulder, Emma pulled a silly face at Lydia, as if to say, Of course, he did not think you would run immediately and never make it to the church, much less the altar.

Lydia hid a smirk and accepted her father's hand, allowing him to help her down from the carriage. Up ahead, positioned by the front doors of the church, she spotted a familiar face. Nora Jessop.

She raised her hand in a wave. "Nora! I am so pleased you could attend!"

"It is a beautiful day for it," Nora replied, tilting her head up at the ominous rainclouds. "Truly, I would not have missed it."

Lord Lambert turned his nose up at the sight of the woman. "You should be inside, Miss Jessop." He glanced at Emma. "Indeed, you should both be inside. We cannot enter until you are seated."

"My Lord, I am acting as guard for this fine occasion," Nora replied with a sly smile. "There have been a number of brokenhearted ladies sneaking around. I have been chasing them away, most diligently, so there is no disturbance to the proceedings."

Lord Lambert sniffed. "I see no one."

"Because I am exceptionally good at my work," Nora replied, grinning.

Brokenhearted ladies?

Lydia did not know how to feel about that or if Nora was merely jesting. Then again, if the old scandal sheets were to be believed, her future husband had not been short of admirers. It was just finding one who would commit to marrying him that had been the problem.

But that will cease when we are married, will it not?

She shrugged away the thought, knowing it would only lead her wayward mind back to the dim library and the press of lips against hers. Indeed, it would not matter if her husband did take lovers; they would not be married for long if she had her way. And she very much intended to.

"Emma, Miss Jessop, please!" Lord Lambert urged.

Emma patted his shoulder. "Calm yourself, Father. We are going. We would not do anything to delay this momentous moment." She shot Lydia a pointed look, letting her know that the offer of escape would be available until the very last second. "You look beautiful, Lydia."

With that, Emma put her arm around Nora's shoulders, and together they disappeared into the church.

Once the doors had closed, Lord Lambert turned to Lydia. "Promise me you will not run, Lydia. I know I should not doubt you, and I do not, but… it would be remiss of me not to say something. I am aware that this has not happened the way you might have liked it to, and?—"

"I have no intention of running, Papa," Lydia assured.

He smiled and exhaled deeply. "I knew you would not disappoint me, dearest one."

I might yet.

Lydia smiled back, putting one foot in front of the other, walking toward her fate, which, with any luck, would be very fleeting indeed.

William was the last to look in her direction as she entered the church on her father's arm. A little rude, she thought, but then she was not marrying him because he was courteous and kind. She was not even sure if he liked her, and she certainly did not like him very much.

Yes, he was obscenely handsome and looked doubly so as he stood in a haze of rainbow-fractured light that streamed through the stained-glass window above him as if he had paid the heavens to shine on him at that exact moment for dramatic effect.

His dark curls were rakishly tousled, falling over the left side of his face in a manner that made her fingertips itch to brush them aside. And his wolfish gray eyes were breathtaking to behold, when he finally deigned to look at his bride, while his seductive lips curled into a half-smirk. Perhaps he was as surprised to actually see her there as her father.

You need personality to go with those fine looks if you want to sway me, she told herself as she began to move toward him, urged by the light tug on her arm.

The congregation stared as she had known they would. There were whispers and snippets of gossip, and not all of them were kind.

"She must be with child," someone remarked in a hushed tone. "There is no other reason for such a hasty wedding."

"She does not look with child," another voice replied.

"It is a simple thing to hide in the early days."

Lydia's face throbbed with embarrassment, uncertain of whether to put her bouquet away from her belly or over it or if it would make any difference at all. Gossips would still gossip, and she could not deny that such a rushed marriage looked suspicious.

Her father seemed to relax once she was past the halfway point of the aisle, his posture straightening, his grip on her arm loosening. He even wore a smile as he led her the rest of the way to William, who seemed to have invited a gaggle of former conquests. The farthest three pews on his side of the church were filled with women, some weeping, some muttering to their companions, all of them trying to catch his eye.

"I thought you said you could not find a bride," was the first thing Lydia said to William as her father passed her hand into his. "We are not yet wed if you would prefer to choose from that veritable crowd of willing alternatives."

William's smirk faded, his hand tightening on hers. "I have chosen."

He turned to face the reverend, and as the clergyman welcomed the congregation to the "wonderful celebration" and moved swiftly through the vows, he did not look at her again. Not even as she recited her oaths, and he recited his, as if she were not worthy of addressing.

In many ways, the entire ordeal felt like it was happening to someone else. Lydia was physically in the church, standing by the altar, her hand in her betrothed's, but it was more akin to something out of a strange dream. Maybe she would awaken at any moment and find herself on the lawn beneath her favorite yew tree, a book open on her lap, grateful to discover that this had all been her vivid imagination and nothing more.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the reverend said, snapping her attention back to him.

In matches of love, she had witnessed husbands taking this opportunity to kiss their wives. In matches of convenience, the husband usually kissed a cheek or a hand. William did neither, choosing that moment to brush a stray petal off her shoulder, as if the sight of it offended him.

Polite congratulations and applause accompanied the newly married pair back up the aisle as William led her by the hand. A tight hold, like she might still decide to run.

So, that is it?

Lydia felt like someone had just hollowed her out.

This was her wedding day, the day she had dreamed about since she was a little girl, and… that was it. It did not matter that she intended for the marriage to be quickly undone, for he had arguably stolen the most important day of her life from her, just as he had stolen her first kiss from her.

"I think you were supposed to kiss me then," she muttered.

He glanced down at her. "After the last time? I think not." He lowered his voice. "I do not need to be slapped in front of a congregation."

"I would not have slapped you this time." She glowered at him. "I would have been polite. And I am not talking about… what you did in the library. Indeed, I never wish to speak of it again. I meant a chaste kiss on the cheek or the hand."

He leaned closer to her ear. "But you have thought of it, have you not?"

"What? No! Certainly not. I have tried very hard and very diligently to forget it." She balked.

"Good. Expect nothing," was his unsatisfactory remark. "You cannot say you were not warned."

As they headed out of the church together to where the carriage awaited, Lydia would have done anything to slap him a second time. But her gratification would have to come later, when he would not see the strike until it was too late and she had her freedom back in her own hands.

Play games with mylife, Your Grace, and you shall lose as you have never lost before.

For she drew her ideas from her beloved books, her library a vast arsenal just waiting to be plumbed for war, and she was prepared to use every weapon in it until she got him to submit.

Every time he rankled her, it would only be fuel to her fire, making her all the more determined that he should rue the day he decided to force her into marriage.