The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(74)
However, what was worse, she might have to forgo raising Bennett. If society shunned her presence, then by association, Bennett’s future could be tainted. If teased by classmates or deemed unacceptable by his peers, his life would be miserable. Her sisters might reject her if their husbands insisted there was to be no further contact or communication with their eldest sister.
She closed her eyes to tamp down the onslaught of nausea. There was no other conclusion she could draw—she was ruined.
“Would you mind if I have a moment or two in the church by myself?” Weakened with pain, she barely recognized her own whisper.
“Take as long as you need.” Mr. King stood and escorted her to the sanctuary.
After taking his leave, March studied her clasped hands. Indeed, as long as she stayed inside, her old identity was still hers to possess.
Chapter Eighteen
The dull gray of day lost its battle against the cold black night. A chill swept through the sanctuary as if seeking refuge, and the wind howled and rattled the windows with a woeful dirge. With her life forever changed, convoluted thoughts and questions preyed upon her.
She had stolen from her siblings.
Her parents’ signature in the register meant even more destitution. As a bastard, she lost any right she had to her trust funds. The documents stated that those moneys were marked only for the legitimate children of her father.
Her father had specified that for whatever reason, if a child couldn’t claim their money, then their portion would be divided between the remaining children. He was far too intelligent not to understand that such a statement meant the funds weren’t rightfully hers. The only way he could’ve provided for her was by a special bequeath of money.
Why had her father even bothered with a trust that provide for her as his legitimate daughter? If she was born out of wedlock, why didn’t he provide for her under her mother’s maiden name of Featherston?
March Featherston—just thinking in those terms caused her to shrivel inside the shell of her previous life. However, logically, she hadn’t changed. She still loved her siblings, Hart, Lawson Court, and everything she’d been fortunate enough to have in her life. Including Michael.
The greatest change would be how society would perceive her from this day forward. The illegitimate daughter of a viscount wasn’t that much of an oddity, particularly when her mother had married her father. What truly made her unique was the fact that Rupert claimed she had stolen from her siblings’ trust funds. As soon as her illegitimacy came to light, she’d lost all rights to her fortune.
The wood floor creaked, sounding the alarm she wasn’t alone. She turned in the pew, expecting to find the vicar asking her to leave.
Michael stood at the back of the sanctuary with his feet shoulders-width apart, exactly like Michelangelo’s David preparing for a mighty conflict. If he expected her to be his opponent, he would soon be disappointed. She didn’t have any fight left.
He deposited his black gloves and elegant beaver hat onto the back pew. He resembled a dark panther and never took his eyes from hers as he prowled toward her. Like a trapped animal, her heart pounded at the inevitable surrender and destruction that awaited her. Whether she faced her demise here or outside in the elements made little difference. She didn’t care at this point. It would be so easy to give up all hope and stay in this drafty building for eternity, locked in a perpetual purgatory just like the portraits and paintings hanging in the vicar’s office.
“Once again, I have to retrieve you like an errant child.” The raw sound of his words betrayed his mood. His jaw tightened, and the muscles of his cheeks rippled in consternation. “When will you learn to trust me?” He continued stalking her with his gaze never leaving hers. His eyes roamed over her face as he took inventory of her features. “Enough of your half-cocked travel escapades.”
She smiled at the tenderness that escaped through his rough-as-barnwood voice. By the appearance of his pursed lips and narrowed eyes, he was angry. The lines shadowing the corner of his eyes revealed the extent of his worry.
He’d come for her. He must still think she was his responsibility. The only appropriate thing was to tell him that Rupert’s hurtful statements were true and release him from any obligation to her. A sudden stabbing pain ricocheted around her chest as she realized that once they walked out the church entrance, she’d truly be alone. “How did you find me?”
“Bennett.” He slid next to her in the wooden pew.
His long legs resting against hers resulted in a reassuring, radiant heat. The fresh scent of pine made her relax. He was a real man, and this wasn’t her imagination run wild. She leaned closer. He was a magnet and she couldn’t resist his pull.
“You’ve worried the devil out of both of us.” Michael pulled one of her loose curls toward him.
It didn’t hurt, but the movement caused her to turn toward him. His gaze captured hers. She could drown in the ocean-color of his eyes and never seek any rescue.
She exhaled to break the spell between them. “Bennett is becoming as fretful as Julia. I’ve tried to instill a sense of security to our … home.” Was it still her home? She dismissed the thought. No, she wouldn’t allow what she’d discovered in Chelmsford to upset her siblings sense of safety and stability. “He must be worried beyond all reason.”
“Let’s leave this drafty pile of stones and go home,” he whispered. “I haven’t eaten, and I expect you haven’t either.”