Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

Let’s just hope he comes this time.

It was the morning of her wedding, again. Eleanor stood before the mirror. Her reflection seemed almost obscured by the intricate folds of her gown. Around her, buzzing like a bee, Beth worked diligently to fit it around her form. The dress, a shade of dark cream, was a bit outdated, but there was no denying that Eleanor glowed in it.

“It’s fortunate that we found this gown,” Beth said as she pulled in a bit of fabric at her waist, pinning it in place as she tilted her head this way and that. “I could not imagine I could’ve done much with the other.”

Eleanor felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “Some gowns are simply not made for horse riding,” she said. She cleared her throat and then shifted slightly to look busy with the gown on her now.

The wedding dress she had worn previously had been completely ruined, though she was quick and smart to blame it on yesterday’s late-night ride to Dayton Hall. If Beth knew otherwise, she did not mention it.

Her hair had been styled, yet again, but this time she didn’t feel a single moment of doubt or worry. Eleanor realized that she was about to marry the man she loved; a luxury she did not know she would be afforded.

Lost in thought, Eleanor hardly noticed her mother standing in the doorway. Turning toward her, she was met with the sight of her tears and her hand covering her mouth.

Eleanor’s brow furrowed as she met her mother’s gaze, tilting her head as she tried to make sense of the emotions on her face. “What’s the matter?”

Her mother stepped forward, her hand reaching out to brush against the fabric of the gown, and a smile slowly spread across her lips. “You look beautiful,” she whispered, her gaze rising to Eleanor’s. “It suits you.”

There was something behind her tone, something far away and yet so present.

Eleanor looked at her mother and then shook her head in disbelief. She had not questioned where the gown had come from. It was clean and in a well-enough condition, and yet she felt she should’ve known.

“It was yours,” Eleanor croaked, trying to hold back her emotions. She glanced down at the dress, seeing it in a new light, imagining her mother once standing in it, as she herself was now. She reached out, taking her mother’s hand. “Thank you, it is perfect.”

Her mother looked tired but happy. It was a sight Eleanor had not seen since her father passed away, so she wasn’t sure what to make of it. But still, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother tightly. A warm feeling filled her chest, and she savored it, as if it was thawing something.

Before she could dwell on the moment further, the door burst open, startling everyone in the room. Celia was the first to step inside, her grin wide and knowing. She looked over at Eleanor with an approving nod.

Right behind her, Diana, Grace, and Violet entered the room. Each was dressed charmingly, and Eleanor noted that the colors seemed to match and suit them individually. She could do little more than smile.

“You look beautiful,” Violet praised, almost in a daze, her eyes flickering in a way that suggested she was memorizing the scene to include it in her novel.

Eleanor turned to the mirror, taking in her appearance. She agreed. She did look beautiful, and she felt it entirely. With a smile, she turned her focus back to her friends, all of whom were gawking at the gown and its wearer.

Beth’s skilled hands had worked wonders with the sudden alterations, and now she stepped back to admire her handiwork. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing as she searched for any hint of flaws. With a nod of approval, she was done, and Eleanor was ready.

A knock on the door drew her attention. Her brother’s voice drifted through the wood as he called out to her from the other side.

Eleanor turned around excitedly and moved for the door without a moment of hesitation. Opening the door, she nodded to her brother. “I’m ready.”

Dorian’s gaze darted nervously between the passing landscape and the looming silhouette of the church in the distance. The carriage trundled down the road, each bump seeming to send a jolt through him. He was nervous, but not for the same reasons that most men might have on their wedding day.

“No one will stop you this time,” his mother said, reaching out and taking his hand in her own. With a squeeze, she smiled at him reassuringly.

He had not taken his eyes off the streets since they left Dayton Hall. He was watching for any hint of danger or trouble, though he tried to convince himself that there was no reason to worry. After all, he had left much earlier than he had initially planned, hoping to arrive there before Eleanor.

“Have you heard anything?” Dorian asked, his mind drifting back to Nicholas. He envisioned the Earl of Amsbury rotting in a filthy prison cell, and that alone brought him some comfort.

His mother hesitated but then nodded. “He has confessed to… to…”

Dorian felt a pang of guilt. “Forgive me, I did not consider⁠—”

“No, no, Dorian. I am pleased to know,” his mother sighed, though there were tears in her eyes. “But today, today is yours. Let us not think any more of the Earl of Amsbury, but of this day.”

His heart raced as the church came into full view. It was not the one they had initially chosen. In fact, it was Philip who had managed to find it. No doubt, he would’ve had to make a generous donation to secure it. But there was no one else there. The doors were shut, and a sign had been hung on the front door.

Dorian stepped out of the carriage and onto the street. Glancing around, he took in the scene with a frown. As he had expected, he was the first to arrive. He walked up the stony path leading to the church. It was a tall building, but narrower than most, old as sin but with a strange charm. Ivy climbed up the walls, tangling over the stained-glass windows.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, he was greeted by a hushed stillness. Sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the interior in various shades. His mother entered after him, and he was sure she would turn her nose up at this place.

As he walked along the worn wooden pews, he couldn’t help but think the scandal sheets would run rampant if word about their rather rushed union got out.

He was not one to enjoy gossip, but he was curious about what had been said over the last few days. The scandal sheets must have been in a frenzy once again. His staff knew, his mother knew, but he had remained happily and willingly oblivious.

It didn’t matter, and it would soon be forgotten and replaced by another fresh scandal anyway.

“Your Grace.” An old man with a beard as white as snow, dressed in black, approached. He nodded to them both.

Dorian smiled. “Father, thank you for your assistance with this.”

The priest waved a hand dismissively. “You are not the first couple that I have joined together before the Lord in a rushed state, and you will not be the last. But you are early, Your Grace.”

“I wanted to ensure I was not late,” Dorian admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was sure it wouldn’t be long until Eleanor arrived, along with the others, and he couldn’t help but steal glances toward the doors.

Each sound, each flicker of light, built up his anticipation.

Sometime later, the doors opened, and the Dowager Duchess of Berkley entered the church. She paused immediately and quickly glanced around, an incredulous look on her face. Her gaze settled on Dorian, and she nodded.

She’s here.

Slowly, one by one, the other guests entered and found their seats. The Duke and Duchess of Barlow, Lady Grace, Lady Celia, and Lady Diana. Somehow, Dorian had miraculously managed to recall their names with minimal effort. He watched them passively, though it was clear who he was waiting for when his gaze returned to the doors.

A moment felt like an hour.

She is likely making me wait as a form of revenge.

The very thought made a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, threatening to spread across his face. He deserved it, he knew, but he was still tempted to punish her for it later.

“It is rare that the groom is left waiting.” The priest chuckled.

Dorian impatiently shifted from foot to foot, his hands behind his back, as his eyes remained fixed on the closed door. The wait was agony, and he was struggling to suppress his annoyance, which was etched on his features.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and there she was.

Eleanor.

She walked gracefully toward him between the worn, wooden pews and those who had gathered before them. Dorian could not tear his gaze away from her, as he took in just how stunning she was.

She was on the arm of her brother, who was meant to give her away. Dorian was all too aware of the glare Philip was shooting him, but he found he did not care. No one else seemed to exist aside from her and him, the entire world blurred and faded.

He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“You will take good care of my sister, duke.” Philip’s voice carried a hint of warning—a hushed reminder and a threat. Despite his words, he placed a firm hand on Dorian’s shoulder and patted it, before stepping aside.

Eleanor was before him now, a vision in her wedding gown.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took her in. Her glow, her radiance was like a beacon in the dark. She wore her spectacles, with her hair down around her shoulders. It suited her, and he was captivated.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to gather her into his arms right then and there, but he somehow managed to maintain a sense of composure—barely. As much as he wanted to give in to that temptation, he knew that now was not the time. Soon, he would have every opportunity to kiss her as much as he wished to.

So, he held back, his hands itching to touch her.

The priest, who was standing at his side, coughed, alerting him to his presence.

Truthfully, Dorian had forgotten all about him—about everything.

“Shall we begin?” the priest asked, his voice tired and raspy.

Dorian held Eleanor’s gaze, his eyes urging her to answer.

In her eyes, he saw his emotions reflected back at him—hope, excitement, and a desperation for it all to be over and done with.

Eleanor nodded, her attempts to stifle a smile in vain.

Dorian turned to the priest. “Yes, let us begin.”

And make haste so I may do what I wish to my wife even sooner.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of…”

As the ceremony unfolded, Dorian found himself lost in a world where there was only the two of them. There was nothing else, and he savored it entirely. This woman owned him. His mind, body, and soul were hers to claim and hers alone. Dorian would not have it any other way. He was hers, just as she was his.

The priest turned toward Dorian. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Dorian stared at Eleanor, smiling. “I will.”

Her eyes reflected everything he felt, and she repeated the same answer when prompted, without a breath of hesitation. As the priest continued speaking, she did not take her eyes off Dorian. Even when he slid a silver band on her left ring finger, she did not tear her gaze away from him.

It was as if they were there in body but not in spirit.

When the ceremony had ended, he was left standing there across from her with a newfound realization.

Eleanor was now the Duchess of Dayton. She was now his wife.