Chapter 5

CHAPTER5

Joanna had never attended a wedding before, but if she had to speculate, she would have declared hers to be the most miserable that had ever graced England’s fair shores.

A spring storm had rolled in unannounced, bombarding the world below with a deluge that hammered upon the windows of the church as if a desperate crowd was attempting a daring rescue of the disheartened bride. But the windows and doors held against the barrage, the exquisite stained glass did not shatter, and no throng of armed warriors came to her aid as she walked down the aisle toward her husband.

“Do not embarrass us,” her father whispered, gripping her arm as though he feared she might run. She had considered it, of course, but there seemed little use in fleeing when her father would just give Nancy to the duke in her stead.

“Have my skirts hitched up? Has my gown turned transparent from the rain? Goodness, whatever will this vast congregation think of me?” she replied in a hiss, grateful for the veil that hid her sour expression from her father.

He tutted. “That is precisely what I mean. Do not speak at all, if you can manage more than two minutes without opening your mouth.”

Joanna felt a sudden urge to burst out laughing, for the entire situation was increasingly ludicrous. She was being told not to embarrass the family by a man who would have handed over either of his daughters with barely a moment’s hesitation; a man who would have seen his name splashed upon the scandal sheets if he had been a younger fellow; a man who had broken the sacred vows of marital fidelity on more occasions than he had enjoyed hot dinners, yet saw no shame in it. He was the embarrassment, not her.

Besides, she could have danced a jig down the aisle, and no one would have cared, for there were only two guests apiece, excluding her father. Her mother and her sister watched with reddened, watery eyes from the front pew, while two other guests watched from the very farthest pew on the opposite side of the church, as if they did not dare to get too close to the altar: an older lady and a graying man, both strangers to Joanna.

It cannot be his mother; she died in childbirth. And the fellow certainly cannot be his brother or father, for obvious reasons, she mused absently, trying to find some similarity between Edwin and the two guests on his side of the church. But the man could not have looked more different, with dark brown eyes, a thin face, and a decidedly more Roman nose. The older woman could have been a relation of some kind, for though she must have been sixty, at least, she had an elegant grandeur to her posture and features. A beauty, even in her advancing years.

As for Edwin himself, he did not bother to turn around as she approached and might not have known she was beside him at all, if her father had not shoved her hand into his upon reaching the altar.

“Did some invitations lose their way?” she quipped, entirely aware that he lacked any sense of humor whatsoever. Still, it amused her.

Edwin frowned. “I sent none.”

“It was a jest,” she mumbled, picturing the strange life that lay ahead of her. Would she ever get him to laugh at one of her jests? Did he know how to laugh? Thus far, she had not even seen him smile.

Remember, you will not be bound by this marriage—you will be free to do what you will, her mind whispered, but that was utter nonsense, as far as she was concerned. She had spent years secretly, and not so secretly, despising her father for his philandering and the heartbreak it had caused her mother, and no unnerving duke would make a hypocrite out of her. Even if she did not love Edwin, and never would, she would be steadfast in her resolve. After all, it was no different than being a spinster.

“You jest often,” Edwin said, though Joanna did not know if it was a question or an accusation.

“I find it makes the days go more swiftly,” she replied, matching his flat, disinterested tone. “Do you know of any jokes? You should tell me one, so that I can laugh, and those who are watching will believe that we are blissfully happy.”

She did not mean to taunt the duke and had to keep reminding herself of the warnings that had flooded her mother’s writing desk. He is dangerous. He is not to be trusted. He might hurt you if you say something that displeases him. Indeed, in the two days that had passed since she had apprehended Edwin in the entrance hall, all sorts of awful thoughts had plagued her with every waking moment. One thought, in particular: that she would not be free to live as she pleased after the wedding, and his suggestion of that had merely been the setting of a trap.

“I do not know any jokes,” he replied gruffly.

She sighed, puffing out a breath that stirred the delicate lace of her veil. “No, I thought not.”

To her left, she heard her mother sniffle into her handkerchief, and her heart cracked as she listened to Nancy whisper a desperate prayer under her breath, pleading for heavenly protection to keep Joanna safe. If the Good Lord was listening, He would surely hear Nancy in that silent house of worship.

“Let us pray,” the reverend began, and as Joanna dipped her head in respect and pressed one hand to her chest, her other hand loosely draped upon Edwin’s, she decided to send up a prayer of her own.

If I cannot be happy, let me at least find peace in my new life, she begged. If I cannot be happy, at least allow Nancy to be happy. Let her find her longed-for love, and I promise that I shall endure with a contented heart.

* * *

Joanna had expected to feel different after the vows were spoken and the reverend announced them to be “man and wife,” but as she walked back up the aisle alone, while Edwin marched on ahead, she felt just as terrified as she had when she walked down the aisle to marry him. Her uncertain future made her legs shake and her stomach roil, and though he had insisted she would be free, she felt the weight of invisible shackles upon her wrists and her heart. She had sold all hope of love, and though she had never thought it to be a likely outcome for her anyway, the realization that it was now impossible hit her like a gust of icy wind to the face. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she would dance naked in the streets before she allowed Edwin to see her cry.

“Shall I journey back to Tillington House in my family’s carriage or is it customary for me to ride with you?” she asked him, pretending to rub her eye as if some grit had snuck into it. “I have never been married before, you see, so I do not know what is expected.”

He clambered up onto the back of his beautiful stallion and frowned down at her. “We are not returning to Tillington House.”

“Pardon?” she rasped, her lungs squeezing tight as a fist of panic closed around them.

“We are journeying north,” he half-explained.

“But… are we not supposed to enjoy a wedding breakfast? I must… pack my belongings. I am not prepared to journey to your residence yet. I… have letters to write and…” she trailed off, her throat clogged by a painful lump. The prospect of sharing another day and night with her mother and sister had been her greatest source of strength, and she had drawn from that dwindling well since dawn, when she had awoken in a cold sweat, dreading the day to come. To discover that it had been drained dry before she could slake her thirst with one last mouthful was almost enough to buckle her.

Edwin shrugged. “It is not necessary.”

“Then, you may journey ahead of me,” she insisted, her voice catching in her strangled throat. “I cannot leave until I have everything prepared, including my horse. I will not depart without my beloved companion.”

A vague expression of interest crossed Edwin’s handsome face. “A horse? What manner of horse?”

“A white stallion. Of course, he is not a true white, but he is the closest I have ever beheld,” she explained, hoping to maintain his interest so he might allow her to remain a day longer. “He is my wedding gift from my father, though he has been mine for several years. No one else can ride him.”

In truth, her father’s willingness to grant her request of taking Pegasus with her had been a welcome surprise amidst the chaos and uncertainty of the wedding. Perhaps, he understood that keeping the stallion with her would be like keeping a piece of home close by… or maybe he was not so foolish as he seemed and knew that she might need a swift mount to escape on if the rumors turned out to be true.

Edwin’s eyes widened. “You ride a stallion?”

“I do, and very well at that.” Joanna forced a smile. “Do not feel jealous, Your Grace, but Pegasus is the love of my life.”

His eyes widened further, his lips parting in a look of astonishment. “The stallion’s name is Pegasus?”

“Alas, he has no wings, but when we ride, it does feel as if I am flying,” she confessed, wishing the horse were there at that moment, so she could make a dramatic bolt for true freedom.

The corner of Edwin’s lips twitched, but no smile came. “Interesting,” he paused. “Very well, you may fetch your horse and pack your belongings. I will send the carriage for you in two hours.”

Joanna’s heart fell. “Only two hours?”

“Or we can depart now?” he challenged, his expression darkening.

“Two hours,” Joanna agreed hastily. “I will be ready.”

But nothing could have been further from the truth. Even if she had been given weeks to prepare, she would not have been ready to journey north, away from her family, away from her friends, away from everything she knew, to live the rest of her days in an unknown house with an unpredictable, potentially violent husband who may or may not have laid a trap for her.

What have I done? Turning away from her husband, a tear escaped her eyes, falling onto her cheek, where the cold, driving rain pitied the heartbroken bride, and washed it away in the downpour.