Chapter 22

"You look so beautiful, sister." Lily's voice was quiet with awe. "Just like a princess."

Anastasia felt her heart twist. She gazed into Lily's hazel eyes, her heart so full of love that it ached in her chest. Soon, she would be at Ridley Estate and she would likely not see Lily often. Ridley was not far from London, just a few hours by coach, but something in her told her that Lord Ridley would not take kindly to visitors.

"Thank you, sweet Lily," she murmured. "You are the dearest, dearest sister." Her eyes were wet with tears. She looked at the ceiling. Her face was white with fear, and she knew that the tracks of tears down it would spoil her appearance. At the very least, she wanted to be proud of how she looked. She gazed at the looking glass critically. Lily's words lifted her heart, making her see herself, for a moment, as she did.

The long white dress was silk, the sleeves translucent puffs of fabric. The neckline was oval and low, and the dress fell from the fashionably high waist to below her ankles. Her hair was arranged in a low chignon, the ringlets she usually wore at the front tighter than usual, hanging in formal rows. The silky fabric of the dress, gauze-covered, shimmered as she moved. It was a beautiful dress, and her face, above, was a solemn, long oval, her high cheekbones and slight features not as obvious as her wide, sorrowful eyes.

"I must fetch something," Lily said, running to the door.

"You look beautiful," Anastasia called to her as she paused in the doorway. Lily wore a white dress of finest muslin, decorated with a pattern of roses in pink. Her long hair was ringleted. She looked gentle and pretty. Anastasia's heart ached so much that she was sure she could feel no more sadness. She would miss Lily.

"Thank you, sister!" Lily called back. She did not look as sad as Anastasia had thought she would. She was grateful. She did not want Lily to be sad for any reason at all. Lily understood to some extent the horror of what Anastasia faced, and Anastasia was glad she did not understand it entirely.

She gazed at the looking glass. Rachel had done her hair silently, knowing how desperately Anastasia longed to run. She had said nothing, other than to compliment how she looked, and then she had gone out of the room. Anastasia felt her heart twist. She would miss her too—terribly much.

"Here we are." Lily returned, carrying a bouquet of pink and white roses. "They're from the garden, mostly. I had to pick them." Lily passed the bouquet to her, which was tied with a pink hair ribbon. Anastasia blinked, knowing she would cry and not caring if it showed. The gesture moved her more than anything else could ever have done. She lifted the bouquet, the beauty of the roses matching the sisterly love that they symbolized.

"I will keep it always."

"It will dry out," Lily protested.

Anastasia chuckled. Only her sister could bring a smile to her face in such a situation. "Then I will put it in a big, big book and press it, so that I have it always. It means the world to me."

"You have such a big book?" Lily looked unsure.

Anastasia laughed. "I will find one," she promised. She clutched the roses, knowing that she truly would keep them forever, even if she had to find some other way to press them. They were precious.

Lily just gazed at her and Anastasia cleared her throat. She would cry more if she remained in the room with Lily and so she tried to sound happier. "Shall we find out where Mama is hiding?" she asked.

"No need," Lily said. "She's in the room next door. Shall I call her?"

Anastasia was about to say that Lily need not trouble herself, that she would go out and down the stairs to wait for the vicar, but Mama appeared in the doorway. Her face was red, and she wore a blue dress. She walked to Anastasia and hugged her, crushing her to her chest.

"Daughter. I am going to miss you so much."

Anastasia shut her eyes, knowing that she was going to cry and cry. She tensed, trying to fight the tears as she smelled the familiar scent of her mother—floral perfume. She clung to her and fought her tears and wished that she could stay in the bedchamber with those two forever.

"The vicar is here, sweetling," her mother told her. "His cart just rolled up now."

Anastasia took a deep breath. She looked at Lily, whose big hazel eyes were confused rather than sad.

"Let us go," she said, trying to sound lighthearted. "It shall be interesting—I've never seen a wedding."

"Me, too." Lily sounded interested. Anastasia's heart lifted. She wanted Lily not to suffer. She did not want her to think marriage was tragic and about sorrow and pain. Lily deserved better. And if she already believed the worst, she would not look for anything more.

She walked forward, going into the hallway and down the stairs. Lily hurried after her. Mama walked at a steady pace. Anastasia drew a breath, her heart thudding.

"Daughter. There you are. The vicar is here. We must hurry. Lord Ridley arrived ten minutes ago." her father sounded worried.

"Men are supposed to wait," Mama said lightly.

Papa shot her a look, but he did not argue. He seemed in a good mood, if a little agitated, and was wearing a gray velvet jacket and pale trousers. He was a good-looking man, if a little angry seeming. Anastasia gazed at him and wished that she could feel something besides a vague sense of pity. He was so lost. He would throw away everything that mattered in exchange for a good investment, a prize to be won. And what was worse, he would not even be aware that he had already lost. All that mattered to Papa was what other people thought—and that made him the slave of everyone he met.

Anastasia gazed at Lily. She wished she could tell Lily those insights—she had just noticed them. But then, she thought with a smile, Lily might already be aware of all of that. She noticed more than people thought she did.

They hurried towards the drawing room.

Anastasia tensed as they went inside. Camilla was already there, and Camilla's parents. They were to be the only guests, besides Mama and Papa and Lily. Anastasia took a breath, but then her gaze focused on the man at the small altar that the vicar had set up, and she could not make herself go over.

Lord Ridley stood facing the vicar, his back straight, his posture almost defiant. He wore a dark blue coat and navy-blue trousers, and the high-necked shirt was embellished with an elaborate cravat.

She felt her legs tense and she forced herself to take another step, and then another. Her father walked by her side. She had to keep up.

Lord Ridley did not turn around until she got to the front of the room. He turned and gazed at her briefly, his eyes widening as he took in her appearance.

Anastasia's stomach roiled.

The appraising look that he leveled at her nauseated her. He never looked pleased or caring or even interested—not really. His eyes always calculated, always measured.

I do not want him to like what he sees. I would rather he ignored me for the rest of my existence than admire me in the way that he does.

She turned away.

The vicar, a young man with a thin face and big, serious brown eyes, smiled bemusedly. He looked a little unsure of why everyone was so tense, and why Anastasia and Lord Ridley seemed indifferent...to say nothing of why she had tears down her cheeks.

He gazed at them, gave an uncertain smile and then began the ceremony.

Anastasia felt her legs turn into stone. She was standing stiffly, unable to move even if she wanted. It was true. She could not run away. She was in the room and the vicar was there and he was speaking, and it was about to happen. Within less than an hour, she would walk out of the drawing room and her entire life would have changed.

God, she prayed silently. Help me. Strengthen me.

She gazed up at Lord Ridley, but he was watching the vicar with the same disinterested boredom with which he watched everyone—disinterested boredom or cold amusement or that unwelcome, discomforting interest he had shown in her as she stood beside him. Those three emotions were all the man seemed to feel.

She shuddered. Her gaze moved to the vicar.

He was speaking, and with horror, she realized that every word was one word closer to her walking out of the door with Lord Ridley. With each word he uttered, her time of freedom ran out.

"And does anyone know of any lawful impediment..." he began, clearing his throat.

Anastasia prayed. Please, she said silently in her heart. Please. Let something happen.

The vicar left the traditional pause, inviting anyone in the congregation who knew of some reason why she could not wed to speak out. It was tradition, only. There was no reason why they should not, and nobody was going to speak out. The vicar cleared his throat, and readied to begin.

Just as he began the next phrase, there was an almighty crack and, as Anastasia whirled around in shock, the door of the drawing room burst open, and a breeze drifted through.

"I do!" a voice shouted. "I know an impediment, Vicar."

Anastasia's legs wobbled. It was the Duke of Willowick. And he was walking towards her.