Page 84 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
Rebecca looked at her fearfully and retreated the moment she had cleaned the room. No one else dared to enter the rest of the day, likely too afraid that she might not be faking after all. She paid the price in hunger, as no one attempted to bring her any other food or drink, but it was a price she was willing to pay.
At midnight, she stood in the center of her window, looking out. Below, she could see a number of guards patrolling, including two that were stationed directly below her window. She strained her eyes, looking out to the road, and wondered where Felix was and if he was somewhere, thinking of her as she was thinking of him. She thought that he probably was.
* * *
Friday was a stunningly beautiful day. The air was fresh and warm, the sun streaming through all of the windows inside of the Marlow home. The wedding was to be held in London, at St. George’s. As a girl, Sarah had attended beautiful weddings at the church, and of course dreamed of being a bride there herself one day. This was not how she had pictured it.
She was still in bed, though it was late morning, her stomach growling with hunger, since she had not had dinner the night before. She was feeling weak and light-headed, and hoped it would add to her false sickness and they might delay the wedding.
Like a man being led to the Tower, she was desperate for one day more, even just one. But her mother arrived in full force, with three lady’s maids behind her as the clock struck nine.
“We’ve only three hours before the wedding, and still have to travel into Mayfair. There is no more time for you to sulk in bed.” Lady Marlow was cheerful and dressed in her finest gown. She flung the doors to the wardrobe open and plucked out the gown Sarah had embroidered. “There was no time to make you a proper wedding gown, but this one will do nicely,” she said, handing it to one of the unknown maids. “Get her up.”
The two and Rebecca advanced on Sarah. Not wanting to suffer the indignity of being actually dragged out of the bed, she got up on her own, swaying a little on her feet as she stood.
Lady Marlow met Sarah’s eye in the mirror. “We will have a long, lovely meal the moment you are wed. Until then, I think it is best if you are not at your full strength.”
Her mother, always pragmatic. Sarah was tidily tied into her stays and underthings and then whisked to her vanity, where one of the maids began to fuss with her hair.
“And haven’t you found just the kindest gentleman as your husband-to-be?” her mother cooed. “He sent over two lady’s maids this morning to assist you in getting ready.”
Sarah looked listlessly into the mirror, unable to call up the energy to do anything but sit. She was hungry and heartbroken. Feigning illness had been her last call. The only thing she could do now was refuse to walk into the church and be physically carried. It was likely to be unsuccessful, but she would not stop fighting until the very end.
As the maid twisted her hair into a styled bun, teasing curls out and tucking a spray of luxurious feathers along the back, tears slid down Sarah’s cheeks. She watched them fall. When her hair was complete, Rebecca wiped her cheeks and dabbed on the smallest bit of rouge, but the tears would not stop, and only drew thin streaks through the color.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, the rouge won’t work. Pinch her cheeks for color and we’ll do it again right before the ceremony,” Lady Marlow said impatiently. “Sarah, really. Please. Enough of the dramatics. You are hardly being sent to your death.”
But to Sarah, it felt as if she was.
They arrived at the church with minutes to spare before the ceremony was to begin. John, suited in something that looked new and very expensive, got out first, leaving Sarah and Lady Marlow to wait in the carriage.
“Did you invite anyone?” Sarah asked her mother. “Juliet?”
Lady Marlow narrowed her eyes at her. “And have the two of you concoct some sort of plan where you disappear? I think not. No, my darling, your wedding will be a small affair, just John and I as your two witnesses. I couldn’t have members of thetonwitness anything untoward. We shall call your wedding exclusive, and people of thetonwill be jealous they were not included.”
Sarah turned a blank face to the window. She felt dead inside. They were down to the last moment, and there was no sign that she would not end up married to the odious man waiting for her inside.
John appeared in the door of his carriage, his eyes bright with excitement. “Everything is ready for us,” he said, his words tumbling over one another. “Sarah?”
Sarah looked at him and felt a surge of energy return to her. “No.” She looked him dead in the eye, curling her hands so tightly that the nails left small crescents in her palms. “If I am to marry him, you shall have to make me. I will not walk to this fate.”
He frowned and looked to their mother, who sighed. “You know what you have to do,” she said. “Wait!” She leaned forward and pinched Sarah’s cheeks, one after another. “There.”
With a regretful glance, and a quick look on the street to see who was around, John gripped both of Sarah’s upper arms and lifted her from the carriage and onto the street, carrying her like this into the front entrance of the church. At the end of the aisle, Lord Ashton stood tall and proud, dressed finely, his fingers hooked into the edges of his coat as he watched his blushing bride-to-be carried inside.
John looked Sarah in the eye. “Last chance to do this with dignity, little sister.”
She did not hesitate, Felix’s words still ringing in her ears, even though there were but moments left ahead of her.I swear to you, I will not let it happen. You will not be forced into a marriage with anyone.She looked back without blinking. “No.”
With a sigh that told her that he was finding her to be very taxing, indeed, he wrapped one hand tightly around her forearm and dragged her bodily forward. The church was empty except for Lord Ashton and the archbishop who would be marrying them at the front, and a smiling Lady Marlow who had taken a seat in the first pew. She seemed determined to act as etiquette demanded, even as her only daughter was being dragged by her son down the aisle.
“You brought up an interesting point, John,” she said through gritted teeth as her feet stumbled and dragged behind her.
“What’s that?” he asked shortly.
“You said it’s the last chance for me to do this with dignity.” They were halfway down the aisle now, and she was incredibly unnerved by the joyous smile on Lord Ashton’s face. What would that bode for her as his wife, that he took such pleasure in this scene?
“So?” John said.
