Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

" E liza, stop fidgeting," her aunt snapped. "You must look perfect. The entire ton will be watching."

The wedding day dawned clear and bright, but Eliza could barely appreciate it. The hustle and bustle around her as she prepared for the ceremony felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else.

She stood in her bridal chamber, surrounded by a flurry of maids adjusting the final touches on her ivory satin gown while Lady Lymington oversaw the process with a critical eye.

Eliza swallowed her unease and nodded. She could not bear to look at her aunt, let alone utter a word in her presence after her cruel scheme.

The reflection staring back at her in the mirror was that of a perfect bride—a beautiful gown, intricately styled hair, and a delicate veil framing her face. But beneath the polished exterior, Eliza felt more like a prisoner than a bride.

Yet, her aunt could not help herself, saying, "It is such a shame you could not abstain from eating these past few days. It would have helped your figure, even just a little."

Eliza could not even muster the energy to defend herself. Even if she had ever thought she would marry, it would not have been like this. Alone, ostracized, and unwanted by her own groom.

Anthony had not reached out once since getting the license.

She felt like a sheep being led to slaughter as her aunt corralled her toward the carriage. Each step brought another snide remark, another disparaging comment. Eliza's only silver lining would be living away from her aunt at last.

St. George's Church, Hanover Square, loomed ahead as the carriage pulled up to the entrance. The church was packed with members of the ton, all eager to witness the union of the Duke of Redfern to the niece of the late Viscount Callwell.

As Eliza stepped out of the carriage.

"Good morning, cousin," her cousin, the current viscount, offered his arm, "and congratulations. What a fortuitous match. Who would have thought that you would do so well?"

Eliza took his arm without a single word; she was in no mood to listen to any more words from her relatives. Not today.

The doors to the church swung open, and all eyes turned toward her.

The air inside was thick with the scent of lilies and roses mingling with the low hum of conversation. She felt their gazes, their scrutiny almost unbearable, and she almost could not breathe.

"Smile, Eliza," her aunt hissed from behind her. "You look like you are attending a funeral."

Eliza forced a smile onto her lips as she walked down the aisle, her eyes fixed on Anthony at the altar. He stood tall and composed, his face a mask of indifference. There was no warmth in his gaze as he watched her approach, only a cold detachment that made her stomach churn.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Eliza recited her vows with trembling lips, her voice barely audible as she repeated the words. When Anthony took her hand to place the ring on her finger, his grip was firm but devoid of any tenderness.

The worst blow came when the bishop said, "You may now kiss the bride."

Anthony bent down, placing the briefest kiss upon her lips, so light she wondered if his skin even touched hers.

The final pronouncement was made, and they were declared husband and wife. The applause from the congregation was polite yet muted.

At the reception in Anthony's townhouse, the grand ballroom was filled with guests, laughter, and music, yet Eliza felt more isolated than ever.

She stood near the edge of the room, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

"Ah, Your Grace, congratulations," came a familiar voice, dripping with false sweetness.

Lady Catherine approached, her eyes scanning Eliza's gown with a critical gaze. "Such a lovely ceremony. I must say, your dress is quite… understated. I suppose simplicity does have its charm."

Eliza forced a smile. "Thank you, Lady Catherine."

"And how fortunate you are to have secured such a match. I dare say, there were those who thought it quite unlikely." Lady Catherine's smile widened, the edges of her lips turning upward with smug satisfaction.

"Yes, very fortunate," Eliza replied though the words felt like ash in her mouth.

She glanced around the room, searching for Anthony, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Of course, one wonders how you will manage. The Duke has such a reputation, after all. But I suppose you will… adapt." Lady Catherine's eyes gleamed with the anticipation of gossip.

Eliza clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I am sure I will manage," she said tightly, fighting the urge to snap back.

Lady Catherine's expression softened slightly though the condescension was still palpable. "Oh, I have no doubt, my dear. After all, you have shown such… resilience. But do be careful. Men like the Duke, well, they require a firm hand."

Eliza nodded curtly, eager to end the conversation. "Thank you for the advice, Lady Catherine."

The woman smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "Of course, dear. Do enjoy the rest of your evening."

As Lady Catherine moved away, Eliza caught sight of Anthony, standing near a window, his gaze fixed on something outside.

Summoning her courage, she approached him, hoping to speak with him, to find some solace in his company.

"Anthony," she began softly, coming to stand beside him, "may I speak with you?"

He turned to her, his expression as cold as it had been throughout the day. "Yes?" he asked, his tone flat.

Eliza hesitated, searching his face for any sign of warmth or understanding. "I just… I thought we could talk. It's our wedding day, after all."

Anthony's gaze flicked around the room, avoiding hers. "There's nothing to discuss. The ceremony is done, and the guests need attending."

She felt a pang in her chest at his dismissal.

"I see. You know, it's a shame that Diana and Edward could not attend, no? It's understandable, with the babe just about to arrive. Still, I would have loved to—" she tried to ease them into a conversation, but Anthony cut her off.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but I do not wish to chat right now," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "We've fulfilled our obligations. That is all that matters."

Eliza stared at him, her heart sinking with each word.

"Yes," she whispered, stepping back.

He gave a brief nod and turned away from her, effectively ending the conversation. She watched him walk off, his back rigid with tension. The loneliness she felt earlier deepened, and she found herself standing alone once more.

As the day wore on, Eliza tried to engage with the guests, to distract herself from the gnawing emptiness inside. But every congratulatory remark, every well-meaning smile only served to remind her of the coldness that awaited her.

She desperately wished that Diana could be there so at least she could have someone who cared for her. Alas, Diana had stayed home to rest, expecting to give birth any day now.

Keep your chin up , she told herself. Once the breakfast is over, it'll be easier to talk with Anthony.

So, she exhaled quietly, and moved along.

Anthony barely noticed the laughter and clinking glasses from the reception behind him, the sounds blending into a meaningless hum.

"Brother," Phoebe called softly from behind. She approached him cautiously, sensing the tension in his posture. "I've been looking for you. I wanted to congratulate you."

"Thank you, sister," Anthony replied curtly, his eyes still trained on the scene outside the window in front of him.

He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. The bitterness in his voice was impossible to mask.

Phoebe hesitated, clearly taken aback by his cold tone.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," she continued, "I am happy that William and I were in London already upon getting the invitation. Though I must admit, once we return to Rutherford, we are definitely going to get an earful from your niece."

Anthony couldn't stop the corner of his lips turn up at the mention of his niece, Violet. He adored that little creature. Of course she would complain about not being at her favorite uncle's wedding.

At that thought, Anthony realized that now, Violet had an aunt. Aunt Eliza.

He felt strange. Though, a part of him felt like Violet would really like his bride.

Anthony shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts out of his mind.

"Well, the wedding was a hasty affair. I am sure she'll understand that she could not be brought to town in time," he replied.

"She will. But do not think she'll let you off the hook that easily when you see her next time," Phoebe teased, her eyes scanning his face.

"I know. She takes after her mother," he said, feeling as though his sister were trying to pierce through his skull with her stare.

"And that shall benefit her greatly," Phoebe said and he looked away, trying to evade his sister's questioning eyes.

But his sister persisted with the conversation.

"The breakfast is lovely. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," Phoebe added.

"At least someone is," Anthony muttered under his breath, the words escaping before he could stop them.

"There it is. I knew something was the matter. Go ahead, tell me," she touched his cheek gently, making him face her.

The frustration boiling over inside of him, and he knew Phoebe would not stop until she got an answer.

"This wedding was nothing more than a trap," he admitted, taking her hand off his cheek, "A well-laid plan by that damned aunt of hers. I never wanted this."

Phoebe withdrew with a frown, "I understand the wedding may have taken place sooner than you wished, but surely, that is no reason to be so grim. You were going to marry Eliza anyway, weren't you?"

"I…" he sighed, not knowing whether it was time to tell his sister the truth.

But as he looked around at the crowd, he realized it was not.

"Yes," he responded. "But I was maneuvered into this, Phoebe, like a pawn in some twisted game."

"Yes, that was uncalled for on Lady Lymington's part, but the outcome is the same, no? Chin up then, old boy. Enjoy your lovely bride," Phoebe encouraged, nodding toward the place Eliza stood.

Anthony clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him as he took in Eliza. God, she was a vision; were it not for her aunt's schemes and all these watchful eyes, he would have slammed her up against that wall and ripped that silk off her. Perhaps he could use the torn pieces to tie her hands behind her back as he'd?—

Damn it, Redfern. Stop.

Phoebe took a step closer, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm, snapping him out of the lustful spiral he'd almost fallen into.

She squeezed his arm gently, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "You're not alone in this, Anthony. Eliza is your wife now. Talk to her about this. Since you both care about each other, I am certain you'll manage this new chapter together perfectly fine."

Anthony looked back at her, his expression conflicted. "I need some air," he muttered, turning away from Phoebe.

Phoebe touched his arm again, stopping him, "This is something that could be truly good for you, brother. Do not let it slip out of your fingers."

Without another word, he yanked himself out of her grip and headed toward the door.

He paused at the threshold, her words lingering in the air like a challenge.

He pushed open the door and stepped outside, the breeze washing over him like a balm.