Page 111 of A Lady of Means
I don’t have enough good ones to give back to you.But these in our letters, all the ones I gave to you whispered in the dark, they were true.Those written in that book that so many people have read when I didn’t want them to, they were from a different girl.You made me a better one.I’m changed for knowing you, for loving you.
Your Lady
Devyn finally reachedthe conclusion her brother had been leading him to with the book he’d asked his help in returning.
Devyn reached between his mattresses for the pink and black book he’d retrieved the evening before.He had time, he had to get to her.He rose from the bed, throwing on his clothes with a wince at the tightness in his hips and lower back from his still-recovering injuries.
Once dressed, he caught his reflection in the mirror, tying his cravat.This ensemble was something she’d picked out for him once.She probably knew the thread count and where the bloody silkworms who made the pants came from and he’d let her pick out all his damned clothes forever and wear them with a smile…if she’d just stop her foolishness.Call off this blasphemous wedding.
He looked again to the bundle of her letters.Ink and paper were a paltry substitute for a woman, especially a woman as earth-shattering as Moria.
He had told Calum the night before that he couldn’t use the Burn Book to win her back; he’d told her how he felt, she still hadn’t chosen him.
But how was he meant to be inside her and hold her like they were the last two people on earth and then he was just supposed to let her be the property of another man forever?He read her letter back, then pocketed the parchment into his greatcoat pocket.
As he called for a carriage, Devyn decided he calledbullshit.
Not over his dead body was he going to just give up.He had been dead before, but he wasn’t now.Or more accurately, he had never been.
God, maybe he was still drunk.Didn’t matter, he had a wedding to crash.
ChapterForty-Seven
Moria would loveto tell you about the march from her dressing room at the church to the altar where her groom waited, only she couldn’t.
She’d just…walked?
Like it was any ordinary walk, she barely heard music or her brother’s voice, or anyone in the church over how loudly her heart was roaring at her.She couldn’t look at the guests, if she focused on what she had to do, she could almost pretend all these people weren’t there.Or the flowers.Or the candles.
And somehow her feet carried her to him, to the man she loved waiting for her at the other end.
Wait, no that wasn’t right.
This was the wrong church.
That was the wrong man.
He was taking her hand, pulling back her veil with hands that were all wrong.
But surely he wasn’t?He was looking at her with something like love in his green eyes.Perhaps she was the one who was all wrong.
When they turned to face each other, he leaned in to whisper, “You alright?You’re shaking.”
She gave him a smile, hoped it was a good one, and nodded.He squeezed her hands back.
Get it together, woman.He wants you.You love him.
Someone was talking, she should be listening.The Vicar was her friend, she’d had to pull all kinds of rank to get this particular vicar to be the officiant and she should ingest his words.But in her chest, there was a familiar kind of ache that wouldn’t quiet.
Jasper had given her away and sat back down, there was no going back now.Don’t look over your shoulder at-
Bang.
The front door of the church barged open.Her heart ruptured on a tide of collective gasps and clearing throats and shuffling bodies.The sun fell behindhim, rushing to gild his dark hair and scarred face.He didn’t pause, walking up the aisle with determined grace, even with his cane.
“I have a very just cause as to why these two should not be married.”
What was he doing?
