15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
O n the morning of her wedding to an earl, Adelaide awoke in the arms of a blacksmith. Her mouth was dry from the dust of the barn, and she was certain her hair was a tangled mess and her breath offensive, but she didn’t want to move, wouldn’t move until absolutely necessary. Because once she moved, she’d have to start her day.
Her wedding day.
As though he heard her screaming thoughts, Will stirred and pulled her tighter against his chest. The ridge of his erection pushed against her bottom, and she curled her hips back, earning a grumble. “Do you want to destroy me, woman?”
For now, she could pretend it was still the previous night, that her destination wasn’t looming like a storm on the horizon. She giggled, although the tension didn’t ebb from her throat. “I’m doing my best. Is it working?”
He nipped the place where her shoulder met her neck. “There won’t be much left of me after you leave.”
The ache behind her breastbone burst open and burned, but she blinked the pain away while he rolled her onto her back and entered her in one smooth, devastating stroke that pushed the air from her lungs. Will’s breath rattled, indistinct sounds that might have been smothered sobs reaching her ears as he joined with her, clutched her to him. Was he falling apart as well? Was she the only thing holding him together?
Her climax poured over her in a gentle glow, like the first rays of sunshine warming the night-cooled field, evaporating the surrounding mist. She keened, arched against him as he praised her strength, her passion, her beauty. When he came a moment later, pulling out to pulse against her hip, his crisis seemed to tug at his soul, wrenching at the very marrow of his bones before he collapsed at her side, wrapping himself around her as though, if he held her tight enough, he could keep her.
Please, God. Let him want to keep me.
Unfortunately, nature made itself known, and she extracted herself to take care of her personal needs. She dragged on her still-damp and mud-soaked clothing to venture outside, and when she returned, he had dressed and was tying up the bedroll.
He kept his head down. “What time is the ceremony?”
The color drained from her vision. “Half-past eleven.”
He nodded, shrugged on his jacket. “It’s not quite seven, but we should be going.”
Her legs dragged as they helped Phyllis across the field, a distance that seemed rather short when not dodging lightning, and Will hooked the donkey to the cart without speaking.
When Adelaide settled by his side on the bench, he moved as though he would put his arm around her. Instead, he shifted away as he took up the reins. The space felt far colder than the morning air.
In less than an hour, each moment fleeting but also interminable for the strained silence between them, they’d reached the outskirts of Barrington. The high street teemed with people hanging banners from thatched roofs and sweeping the cobbled sidewalks, washing windows, and arranging flowers in boxes. The excitement was palpable in anticipation of the celebration.
Her wedding. A ceremony that would give her the freedom to pursue her writing and enact change, but would bind her forever to a man she respected but didn’t love.
Barrington Hall lay a quick ride up a gravel track beyond the church, and her heart fell at the sight of the stone and ivy-drenched walls, the overflowing garden beds and tidy paths. She would now be mistress of this place. But at what cost?
Anger stormed in her gut, the collective rage of impotence shared by every woman who had been told she was too outspoken, told to hold her tongue because of her gender, who had to cut out parts of her desires to achieve security. She had chosen her path, but did she have any alternative?
As soon as the cart rattled to a stop before the arched stone entry of the estate, servants began pouring out, clearly frazzled by the bride's late arrival. Will helped her down without saying a word. Her nostrils flared as she pressed her lips together to contain her scream. She wanted Will to fight for her, to take up arms and battle to win her heart. Now was the time to ask him, to tell him that he had a chance, that they had a chance if he’d reach out for her.
But she was being rushed inside, and their time was running out. She turned to face him, grabbed for his hand. “Will, I—”
“I probably will never see you again,” he said, his eyes so earnest that the words died on her tongue, “but I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’re going to change the world, and I can say I had a small part in it.” He shrugged, but his tight shoulders turned it into a shudder. “I helped you get to your wedding day.”
“Don’t go yet,” she begged. “Stay, we can talk more, please.”
“I have to get to Saltford if I have any chance of keeping my apprenticeship.” He shook his head, ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “And you won’t need me anymore. You’ll be a countess. Everyone will listen to you.”
Every cell in her body longed to reach for him, to throw herself into his arms. But how could she after he said goodbye?
She opened her mouth to beg him to stay, to tell him how she wanted him to be her groom, but the servants surrounding her had pushed her into the house, already pulling at her hair and clothing, eager to divest her of anything she’d shared with him. The last she saw of Will before the door of the castle shut was his hand, waving a slow farewell.
“… and be faithful to him, as long as you both shall live?”
Adelaide’s tongue was too large for her mouth, so dry and heavy she wondered if she’d ever be able to speak again. Her ears had taken in the vicar’s words, and she recognized the murmurs of the parishioners gathered in the ancient chapel in the center of Barrington, but made no move to speak.
The hours since Will left had been a blur of activity, so fervent she hadn’t realized how her ears buzzed with static, her mind replaying Will’s departure in a ceaseless litany of torment. A week ago, she’d been so excited about the wedding she’d been unable to sleep, but now she had to dig her fingers into the silk ribbon holding together her posy of roses to keep from tugging her veil from her hair and screaming in protest.
But could she throw away her dreams when Will had given no sign he wanted her in return?
“Adelaide,” Lord Clements—John , her fiancé, whispered under his breath, and she jerked, blinking at his befuddled expression. Light streaming in through the stained-glass windows caught on his silver hair, the glint of his blue-gray eyes. He would be a kind husband, support her writing and allow her to find her voice. That alone was far more than most women enjoyed in their marriages. She should be grateful, and yet she found herself desperate to flee from his presence.
After a minute of her gawking, her fiancé sighed and turned to the vicar. “Might I have a private word with my betrothed?”
The vicar gaped, and, as John had not bothered to keep his voice down, the congregation burst into scandalized whispers. Without waiting for the clergyman’s approval, John took her hand and led her into the sacristy, closing the door behind them.
“What are you doing?” Adelaide managed, still unsure what had just happened.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He leaned against the vicar’s desk and crossed his arms, and when he spoke, his words were gentle. “Have you changed your mind about our marriage?”
Yes! “No!” If only her voice hadn’t cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No. I—I haven’t.”
John’s lips flattened. “When you wrote to me last month, you were still keen on this.”
“And I still am.” There, that sounded more confident. “I want to write for you, and together we can get this act passed.” She attempted to smile, but its fractured edges cut into her cheeks. “I—this is what I want. I’m certain.” Tears burned and her voice gave a dangerous bobble.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
A tear broke free, streaked down her cheek, followed by several more. Those traitors. “I p-promised you,” she stammered, swiping furiously at her eyes. “I promised we’d marry, that I’d help you honor your late wife’s wishes.”
He pushed off the desk and caught her hands. The tears fell unencumbered now, the ache in her chest so ragged each inhalation scraped and tore at her insides.
“Forgive me if I’m reluctant to take a crying woman to wife. Please tell me what’s changed.”
Everything . She gave him a wobbly smile. “I met someone, someone who…”
For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had no words. Nothing captured what Will meant to her, what he might mean to her in the future if they were given the chance. The few tears she’d managed to push back returned with a vengeance.
John passed over his handkerchief and waited until she regained enough control to meet his gaze. “Someone special,” he finished for her, and she nodded her gratitude. He gave a knowing hum. “Do you love this someone special?”
She sniffed. “I think so. It all happened quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“He’s the blacksmith who drove me here.”
John’s brows shot up. “That is rather quickly. Impressive.”
Adelaide laughed and found the fist around her throat had loosened a bit. “Yes, I do love him.”
“Did he treat you well? Perhaps love you in return?”
An image of Will’s face the night before as she climaxed on top of him flooded her mind, the pride and desire and love in his expression palpable, even in her memory. “Yes.”
A wistful smile pulled at John’s lips. “I was blessed with thirty-two years with my someone, and that wasn’t enough time. Finding another person whom you can love is a tremendous gift, and if fate has handed it to you…”
Her heart clenched at the word fate. Perhaps the universe wasn’t working against them.
“… you don’t want to waste a moment of it.”
She tilted her head. “Are—John, are you saying we should—”
“Call this off? Yes, with certainty.”
How could he be so cavalier? She gestured towards the sacristy doors and the increasing rumble of the congregation beyond. “But what about the preparations? All of your guests?”
He shrugged. “I’ll still have the party. And perhaps I’ll get another chance at a wedding in the future.”
“But what if I’m wrong? What if I don’t want to take the chance that he might love me back?”
“Then we go out there and finish our vows. The choice is yours. Whether you’re my wife or my friend, I expect you to keep writing. You could act as my political advisor, although you’d have to do so in secret.”
Her fingertips tingled with the possibility. But what if Will didn’t want her in return? Could she take that risk?
John tipped up her chin and met her eyes. “So, Adelaide Kimball, what do you want to do?”
After a warm embrace, more tears from both of them, they exited the sacristy hand in hand. John nodded towards the vicar, who turned to face Adelaide. “Miss Kimball, are you ready?”
She glanced at John once more as he squeezed her hand, then released it.
Thank you , she mouthed, and he grinned.
Adelaide grabbed the skirts of her wedding dress and ran out of the church as quickly as her legs would carry her.