Page 10 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
Violet offered him her most winning smile. "I require nothing more than for you to perform the ceremony as swiftly as possible before my future husband or I lose our nerve."
Max clenched his jaw. He looked as though he planned to murder her before their wedding night even arrived. With an exasperated sigh, he turned to the vicar. "Proceed."
And, before either of them could reconsider every decision that had led them to that pivotal moment, the ceremony began.
Chapter Five
To say that Violet had never envisioned her wedding day quite like that would be a rather severe understatement. Not that she had spent much time envisioning a wedding at all—she was far too practical for such foolish daydreams—but if she had entertained the notion at some point in her youth, it certainly would not have included such a reluctant groom who regarded her as though she were a particularly nettlesome splinter lodged in his palm. Nor would it have included the vicar who kept darting suspicious glances between them, as if trying to determine whether this union was a legal requirement rather than a voluntary decision. And of rouse, the pair of witnesses who had been wrangled at the last minute—a butcher and his rather alarmed-looking wife—both of whom appeared deeply uncertain as to whether they were now accessories to a crime were certainly the final touches of farcical ridiculousness. It was like being in the middle of a lurid play, only she hadn’t the benefit of having read the script.
Yes. Altogether less than ideal, she thought, with a furtive glance toward Max.
The Duke of Alstead, her soon-to-be husband, stood beside her, looking as though he were bracing for the gallows ratherthan matrimony. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on some distant, tragic point beyond the vicar’s shoulder, with his entire personage—posture, expression and long-suffering sighs, included—radiating reluctant obligation.
Violet resisted the urge to elbow him once more. It might, she thought, dislodge whatever was sticking in his craw at present.
The vicar cleared his throat.
"If there is any just cause or impediment why these two persons should not be joined in holy matrimony," he intoned, "speak now, or forever hold your peace."
There was a long, excruciating silence.
Violet held her breath, fully prepared for Max to raise a hand and say, Yes, actually. I do have an objection… This woman is insufferable, has the temperament of a rabid badger, and, in fact, the badger might be preferable.
But he said nothing. He merely exhaled sharply, as if he had resigned himself to a lifetime of deep, soul-crushing regret.
"Very well," the vicar continued.
Violet turned to Max then, lifting her chin in a challenge, and whispered, ”You may at least pretend you are not being led to the slaughter.”
His stormy blue eyes flicked to her. "The Lord above might smite me for lying in church—more than we already are. Besides, my ability to feign enthusiasm has its limits.”
The butcher’s wife gave a small, horrified gasp.
Violet smiled brightly. "How fortunate that I require no enthusiasm from you at all, Your Grace."
Max’s mouth pressed into a thin, irritated line.
The vicar coughed awkwardly before proceeding.
"Will you, Maxwell Constantine Able, Duke of Alstead, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Max hesitated. It was only a breath of a pause. A fraction of a second. But Violet felt it like a blade to the ribs.
He did not want this. He had said as much in a dozen different ways, with his clipped words, his exasperated sighs, and his unwillingness to look at her for more than a moment. Of course, she didn’t want it either. But it stung her pride to think he actually dreaded it so greatly.
"I will," he said, his voice low and firm, the words laced with reluctant finality.
The vicar nodded and turned to her.
"And will you, Violet Anne Honeywell, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
She did not hesitate. After all, what choice did she have? ”I will," she said smoothly, as though she had not spent the last seven years telling herself that she loathed him entirely.
There was another long pause, the weight of the words settling between them.
"Very well," the vicar said, clearing his throat. "By the power vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife."
The butcher’s wife clutched her husband’s arm in visible relief.
