Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

T he weather had decided it was not in a celebratory mood as the day of the wedding arrived. Dense, bruised clouds that drizzled cold rain filled the sky, a bitter wind trying to steal the hats and bonnets of London’s citizens.

All will be well, Amelia repeated over and over as the carriage trundled along the cobblestoned roads to the church of St. George’s. It was one of the closest churches to Mayfair, and though she did not expect much, she braced herself for a crowd. Who would miss the opportunity to scorn the woman who had stolen the Earl of Westyork for herself?

“Your belongings are already on their way to the Earl’s estate,” Amelia’s father said gruffly, adjusting his cravat. “You are due to leave as soon as the ceremony is over. There will be no wedding breakfast or any of that nonsense, for which I am glad. I cannot abide such things. I do not see why anyone makes such a fuss over such an ordinary day.”

Amelia whipped around, her mouth agape. “I am to leave immediately? When was this arranged?”

“They are your new husband’s wishes,” her father replied. “Sensible man. You have finally done some good, Daughter. In truth, I was rather disgusted by the notion that you would end up a mere Baroness. A Countess —perfectly acceptable.”

She stared at him for some time, but he did not seem to notice, too delighted by the fact that he would soon be rid of his daughter. She willed him to say one kind thing, to say that he might miss her a little bit, to say that he hoped she would be happy—one small morsel of affection, after all these years.

He said nothing, smirking like the cat that got the cream.

What do I have to lose? We are almost at the church, and he will not forbid me from marrying now.

“I wonder what Mama thought on her wedding day,” Amelia said, mustering all of her courage. “I wonder if she thought she would be happy. I wonder if she hoped she would fall completely in love with you. I wonder how disappointed she was when she realized that you are incapable of love or affection of any kind. Toward women, at least.”

Her father turned as pale as a sheet, aside from two livid splotches of red on his cheeks. “ What did you just say to me, girl?”

“Or am I wrong?” Amelia went on, trembling inwardly. “ Did you love her? Did you also hope for happiness? Would you have done anything to see her smile or to hear her laugh? Was it the loss of her that made you the way you are? I have often wondered, in truth; whether you were born like this or you became like this?”

The carriage stopped and, before her legs became too shaky to get her down the aisle, Amelia pushed open the door and got out of her own accord.

Stepping down, she glanced back at her father. “I suppose we shall never know. Although, judging by Martin, there must be something in the blood of the male line that makes you so… unfeeling.”

St. George’s was a beautiful creation of sandstone, with a pillared portico and a spire topped with a golden weathervane. A few steep steps led up through the pillars to the main doors, and by the time Amelia reached them, her father had caught up to her.

He grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “You are lucky you are getting married today, or I would smack the impertinence out of you,” he snarled. “I trust that your new husband will not be so lenient when you displease him . Now, get inside. You have been a burden to me since the day you were born. Soon, I shall be relieved of it.”

Wrenching her arm through his, he all but dragged her through the doors and into the church… where the pews were so empty that Amelia wondered if they had gotten the time wrong. Or, indeed, the church.

Her gaze darted to the front of the church, the sight of Martin assuring her that neither the time nor the church were wrong. Her brother was the only one sitting on her side, while Lionel only had the butler as his chosen witness. Amelia recognized the anxious man from the night she had proposed marriage to Lionel.

There was no one else there, aside from the reverend.

Where are Valery and Isolde? She glared at the back of Martin’s head, but he did not turn around.

There was no organist to play her down the aisle, her footsteps echoing eerily through the cavernous building as her father continued to pull on her arm. And it was such a beautiful church, too, with an elegant, vaulted ceiling, gilded around the edges, and mezzanine pews designed for large congregations. Exquisite stained-glass windows would have cast colorful light down onto the space, but the sun had been blotted out by the rainclouds.

Lionel turned at the last moment, his face revealing nothing. A perfect, crushing blank. She could not tell if he was pleased to see his bride or if he could not have cared less; he just stood there, tall and stern and cold, squinting at her.

It was not at all what she had conjured in her imagination, where he had smiled at her and welcomed her with some romantic French words, and asked if she had awoken from her curse at last.

“Well met,” he said flatly, taking her hand from her father’s vengeful grip.

Amelia peered up at her betrothed. “Where is your family, My Lord?”

“My grandmother is suffering from a nasty cold,” Lionel replied. “My sister is tending to her.”

“Oh…”

Lionel nodded to her side of the church. “And your guests?”

“I do not know.”

Although, she had a very good idea of where they might be. They were likely at their homes, oblivious to the fact that their friend was getting married at that moment. She had trusted Martin and her father to send the invitations but, evidently, they had decided, one last time, to control who she could and could not have at her wedding.

And as she had not known the exact time and location until late last night, there had been no opportunity to invite them herself. She was beginning to think it had been orchestrated that way.

“A pity.” Lionel looked to the reverend and gave a small bob of his head. “Let us begin.”

Amelia had been assured by her beloved books that she would feel different once she became a wife. She had never known what ‘different’ meant, precisely, and she was still waiting to find out. As far as she was concerned, she did not feel any change at all, not unless she counted a pervading sense of numb shock.

She had mumbled her vows in that cavernous, empty church, and then she had been swiftly escorted out and into a waiting carriage. She had not even said farewell to her brother and father, which did not bother her much, but the realization that she had not been able to see her friends and bid them a farewell was a terrible blow.

Now, her husband was asleep on the opposite squabs of the carriage, they had been on the road for what seemed like an eternity, and her buttocks were as numb as her heart and soul.

Yes, but just imagine if it was Baron Hervey in this carriage instead, she told herself, clinging to the most filament-thin thread of hope for the sake of her sanity. It could be worse.

But it could also be better. Or it could have been, if she had taken more time to think of a wilier escape strategy. She had panicked, she had acted rashly, and now she was stuck with the consequences.

“Lionel?” she whispered, to see if he was really asleep.

He did not stir.

“Lionel?” she tried again, louder this time.

His eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright. He gripped the edge of the squabs so tight that his knuckles whitened, those astonishing green eyes staring at her as if she were a complete stranger. As if he did not recognize her.

A moment later, almost as if she had imagined it, the expression vanished. His body relaxed, and he covered his mouth as he yawned loudly.

“Have we arrived?” he asked.

“I would not know, Lionel,” she replied. A shyness came over her, for speaking his name while he was fully awake was not at all the same as speaking his name while he was mostly asleep. It felt too intimate, somehow.

But what else can I call him? He is my husband, even if I do not feel married yet.

Lionel rubbed his eyes, and peered out of the window. “Not yet,” he mumbled. “Not too far, though. You should rest.”

“I have never been able to sleep in carriages,” she said, hoping he would not fall back asleep straight away.

Aside from the vows, he had barely said a thing to her, beyond, “I am going to sleep now.”

He frowned as if that were strange. “The rocking does not soothe you?”

“On the contrary. As a child, I would become rather unwell,” she murmured, splitting her attention between the carriage floor and her new husband, unable to look for too long. “My father was terribly embarrassed.”

Lionel stretched out his arms, the powerful muscle causing the seams of his tailcoat to strain. Amelia immediately dropped her gaze again, her cheeks flaming, her mind causing mischief as it began conjuring up those daydreams of summertime picnics and poetry on the riverbank.

“I suppose his solution was to prevent you from riding in carriages at all for a while?” he said, his eyes creasing at the corners as he proceeded to stretch out his legs, as if there was an ache that needed attention.

Amelia shook her head. “Goodness, no. He made me ride in the carriage for hours and hours until I no longer felt sick with the swaying and rocking. It took months.”

For a while, Lionel did not respond, and Amelia did not feel sure enough to raise her gaze to him. Maybe, he had not heard her. Maybe, he had fallen asleep again. Maybe, he was deciding how best to tell her that he did not care for her childhood stories.

“It is little compensation, and perhaps too late,” Lionel said at last, “but you never have to ride in a carriage again if you do not want to. Now that you are my wife, you can do as you please. Once the month of our honeymoon has passed, of course. And please, do not keep staring at the floor like that. You are a Countess. I do not know of any Countesses who bow their heads.”

Encouraged, Amelia lifted her head and glanced at him. To her surprise, and to the detriment of the shade of her cheeks, he had removed his tailcoat altogether, as well as his cravat and waistcoat. He sat there in naught but his trousers and shirt, his collar open, his sleeves rolled up, looking so cavalier and handsome that her throat threatened to close entirely.

“You say I may do as I please,” she croaked, concentrating on a sparse hedgerow that passed by the window. “What does that entail? My duties, I mean. What are the things I should do in order to pass the time?”

He swept a hand through his mahogany brown hair, eyeing her as if he did not understand the question. “I have no expectations. ‘Do as you please’ means exactly that. My grandmother still runs the household matters at Westyork, and if you choose to retire to London, the townhouse staff are very capable. You will be at your leisure.”

He had not spoken unkindly, but his words pricked like a pin popping a bubble. She had not left one household where she had no say in anything just to join another. Did he not think she was capable? Did he not want anything to change, her presence an afterthought?

“But I must do something . You said it yourself; I am a Countess now. I should learn how to run the household at least,” she protested mildly, hesitant to cause any sort of disruption before they were out of such a cramped space.

Lionel shrugged. “If that is what you want, do that. The staff will inform you of any requirements, and you can act from there. Indeed, once we reach Westyork, you should converse mostly with them. They will take care of anything you need.”

Perhaps she was too used to the household she had just left, but it sounded an awful lot like he was trying to dismiss her already. Discreetly telling her that he would not be troubling himself with her too much.

To punctuate her fears, he shuffled over to the corner of the squabs and leaned back with his tailcoat folded into a pillow. His eyes closed. He was going to sleep again, done with the conversation.

But I am not…

“And what of children?” she blurted out.

He opened one eye. “What of them?”

“Well… how many do you want?” She could hardly squeeze the words out, her face ablaze with embarrassment. “Are you eager for us to have them sooner rather than later? Was that the purpose of marrying quickly?”

Isolde had informed her of how children came to be, for any books containing that sort of information had not only been taken from Amelia, they had been burned too. As such, she had a relatively good idea of what had to happen.

“It is customary to begin such… activities on the wedding night,” Isolde had explained. And if that were true, then the first occasion was not far off at all.

Lionel’s other eye opened, his expression darkening. “You need not worry about that, Lady Amelia.”

“Oh?” she squeaked.

“I want no children. I married quickly because I needed to marry, and so did you,” he replied sternly. “The wedding was just a formality. The rest of it is too.”

Amelia frowned, struggling to keep her chin up. “The rest of what?”

“Marriage.” He sighed, sitting forward for a moment. “Lady Amelia, you assured me that you understood what a marriage of convenience meant.”

“Well, I do, but?—”

“Then, this should not be a surprise.” He sank back again, closing his beautiful green eyes. “You will be my countess and my wife in name only. The title of countess is yours to do with as you like, however, after our honeymoon is over. You do not need to reside with me, you do not need to interact with me, you do not have to speak to me and pretend this is more than it is. This is your freedom, Lady Amelia. I would urge you not to waste it because, perhaps, you thought the terms might change. They will not.”

Amelia observed him in abject dismay, realizing that he really was finished with the conversation this time. His cold tone commanded it.

While she had agreed to his wishes for the union, she had not thought the terms might change; rather, she had not understood them correctly. To her knowledge, a marriage of convenience was a marriage arranged for practical or financial gain, or for the purpose of creating alliances. Yet, also to her knowledge, most marriages of convenience still produced children.

She turned her face to the window and watched the winter world of browns and grays and the occasional burst of red or green pass by, just in case he was not asleep. She did not want him to see her devastation. What good would it do, now?

I have been robbed. I have been robbed of the one thing that I still hoped for. Something that even the Baron of Hervey would have given her, without doubt: the gift of becoming a mother.