Page 17 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Chapter Six
There wasn’t going to be a wedding breakfast. Neil had insisted on that.
Part of him felt guilty, but truly, what was the point? He had few, if any, friends that he would want to invite, and anyway, the scandal sheets had had a lot to say about his engagement and upcoming marriage. None of it was very pleasant.
Harry had told him to leave the scandal sheets alone, to let those bitter, trouble-hungry scribblers write whatever they chose and just leave it at that, but of course Neil had never been good at making sensible choices. He’d read most of the articles containing his name. Some articles seemed to consider that Neil and Miss Marshville were as bad as each other – the Mad Marquess and the Spinster, both desperate to marry and make something of their failing lives – and others painted her as a damsel in distress, forced into marriage.
In reality, she was neither. Or so he thought, at least. Miss Marshville and he had not spoken much since that day in her father’s study. She hadn’t seemed upset or disappointed when he’d told her that, instead of a wedding breakfast, they would go straight back to his estate.
The truth was that extended periods in new places made Neil anxious. He hadn’t had too many fits lately. Three more fits were recorded in his book, which he had duly shown to Mr. Blackburn when the man visited. More remedies were prescribed, but the physician’s face was heavy with worry.
There was no need to say what everybody was thinking – things did not appear to be going well for Neil. His health seemed to worsen by the day, energy draining from him like ale from a cask.
Enough of that,he scolded himself.You are getting married today. You have already ruined Miss Marshville’s life enough; do not ruin her wedding day by looking sour and miserable.
The church was full. He did not recognize most of the guests, but it was possible that they were friends of the Marshvilles.
None of the Marshvilles were here yet, of course. Part of him wondered whether Miss Marshvillemight withdraw her initial acceptance and abandon him, succumbing to her trepidation and forsaking him at the altar. It would be humiliating, to be sure, but he would recover. Probably.
His mother sat in the front pew, with Cynthia at her side, smiling encouragingly at him. Harry stood beside him, serving as his best man. Clayton had sent Neil a note full of thinly veiled outrage at being passed over as best man for aservant.
Mean wordsas if Harry were not related to them both.
Clayton was not there, claiming business further north. Thomasin was there, however. His aunt sat a few pews back, not with her family. She looked regal and icy, which was probably her intention, and did not smile at anybody.
“Is she late?” Neil murmured, turning to Harry.
“Only by a few minutes. Nothing to worry about.”
“Not yet, at least.”
Harry pressed his lips together. “Have a little faith, Neil. The family wants this marriage just as much as you do.”
Neil was about to say something caustic and probably uncalled for when he heard the rumble of carriage wheels outside. He stiffened, and half of the congregation twisted around to stare at the closed chapel doors.
They heard muffled voices and footsteps. The door opened, and Lady Marshville strode in, flanked by her two youngest daughters. They kept their heads high and their gazes straight ahead and did not smile. They took their places on the front pew, opposite the one which Neil’s family had commandeered.
There was only a short pause before the door opened again, this time revealing Lord Marshville and his daughter.
To his horror, Neil’s breath caught in his throat.
She looked beautiful, so beautiful. Her ivory gown suited her perfectly, the subtle embellishments catching the light as she moved. She held no flowers, but let her free arm hang by her side, the one that wasn’t looped through her father’s elbow.
They walked quickly, not seeming to look at anyone, and before he knew it, the pair were at the top of the aisle.
Lord Marshville pressed a quick, tearful kiss to his daughter’s cheek, and then left her. Left her with Neil.
The pair glanced at each other, and he wondered, not for the first time, what Miss Marshville saw when she looked at him.
“Dearly beloved,” the rector began, voice carrying easily through the quiet chapel. “We are gathered her today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman…”
Neil turned to face the rector, trying desperately to swallow down the sudden feelings of nausea and dizziness.
Oh, no,he thought frantically.Not here. Not here!
He closed his eyes, barely listening to the rector’s sermon. When it was time to exchange the vows, he had to be prompted twice by the rector.
When the exchange of rings came, and Harry handed him the ring he was meant to put on Miss Marshville’s finger, his hand shook so badly that Neil was sure that he would drop the ring and have to spend an agonizing few moments scrabbling around for it.
