Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(77)

“Very well,” she said.

She paused to frown at him a few moments later when he held the drawing room door for her. She opened her mouth to speak, drew breath, and then left the room without saying anything.

It was his wedding day, he thought.

But marriage is forever.

Forever. A lifetime. A long time.

He waited for panic to assail him. But he waited in vain. After a few moments he wandered downstairs to await the ladies. Perhaps John would have some interesting conversation for him.

*

Anna sat beside Elizabeth in the barouche, facing the horses, while Avery sat with his back to them. It was a sunny day, and even when the carriage was moving it was warm. None of them was talking. Elizabeth had looked startled and quite incredulous when Anna had knocked on the door of her bedchamber and asked if she was free to accompany her to her wedding. But it had not taken her long to understand, and she had smiled and then laughed instead of swooning from shock and horror as Anna had half expected.

“But how very predictable of Avery,” she had said. “I do not know why we did not expect it, Anna.”

“He is mad,” Anna had said. “Judging just by the events of today so far, Lizzie, and it is only half past ten—he is utterly mad. I had better go and get my bonnet.”

He had handed them both into the barouche a few minutes later, Anna first. Elizabeth had paused when her hand was in his and her foot on the bottom step.

“How very splendid of you, Avery,” she had said. “Everyone will be incensed.”

“I do not know why they would be,” he had said, raising his eyebrows and looking somewhat bored. “A marriage is the sole concern of two people, is it not? Anna and me in this case.”

“Ah,” she had said, “but a wedding is the property of everyone but those two people, Avery. They will be incensed. Take my word on it.” She had laughed.

Now, though, she was holding Anna’s hand and squeezing it, for the carriage, which was proceeding along a nondescript street—Anna had not even noticed its name as they turned onto it—was slowing as they approached a nondescript church. And it was very clear that this was indeed the street and the church where their nuptials were to be solemnized. A gentleman was waiting outside, and he stepped smartly forward to open the door and set down the steps before the coachman could descend from the box.

“All is in readiness, Your Grace,” he said.

Avery was the first to alight. He helped Elizabeth down and then offered his hand to Anna.

“You make a ravishing bride,” he said, his eyes moving lazily over her as she descended.

He did not sound ironic, though she was wearing her plain straw bonnet with her sprigged muslin morning dress. But, oh dear, she really was a bride, was she not? She had not grasped the reality of it yet.

“Meet my trusty secretary, Edwin Goddard, ladies,” he said when she was down on the pavement. “Lady Overfield, Edwin, and Lady Anastasia Westcott.”

The gentleman bowed to them both.

“Edwin has come to witness the nuptials with Cousin Elizabeth,” Avery explained. “If I had left him at home, he would no doubt have been wasting his time drawing up a guest list for my stepmother, the duchess. She likes to borrow him when I am not at home to protest. Shall we step inside?”

Anna took his offered arm and entered the church with him. It was larger than it seemed from the outside, high ceilinged and long naved. It was dark, the only light coming from a few candles and tall windows with pebbled glass that had probably not been cleaned for at least a century. It was cold, as churches always were, and had the distinctive smell of candle grease and old incense and prayer books and slight damp. A youngish man was striding toward them clad in clerical robes. He had fair hair and eyebrows that were so light they were virtually invisible until he drew close. He was smiling. His face was dusted with freckles.

“Ah, Mr. Archer,” he said, holding out his right hand to shake Avery’s. “And . . . Miss Westcott?” He shook Anna’s hand. “You have the license, sir? I am all ready to officiate for this happy occasion.”

“And Mrs. Overfield and Mr. Goddard as witnesses,” Avery said, reaching into his pocket for the license.

The clergyman smiled and nodded at them before examining the document briefly. “It seems to be in order,” he said cheerfully. “Shall we begin? The nuptial service is very brief when stripped of all the trappings that many people like to add. But it is just as sacred and just as binding. And just as joyous for the bride and groom. Flowers and music and guests are not essential.”

He led the way down the nave. Anna could hear the men’s bootheels ringing on the stones as they walked. Foolishly she found herself trying to work out how many days ago she had received that letter from Mr. Brumford, how many days since she had first set eyes upon the Duke of Netherby, standing indolent and gorgeous and terrifying in the hall of Archer House. Was it only days? Or weeks? Or months? She no longer knew. She thought of Miss Ford and Joel, of the children in her schoolroom, of Harry and Camille and Abigail and their mother, of her grandmother and aunts, of Alexander and Jessica, of the grandparents who had turned her out after her mother died. One’s life was said to pass before one’s eyes when one was dying, was it not? No one had ever said that the same thing happened when one was about to get married.

The walk along the nave seemed both endless and all too short.