Page 54 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
A gentleman coughed.
A stab of painful realization hit Charlie. He fingered his Bible. “Suppose I read the passage about the wedding at Cana? Yes, yes. A good story."
He fumbled through his book and found instead another story that to him was definitely more fitting.
He began to read the long passage that told of the day that Jesus had called forth a friend from his tomb. “Though Lazarus had been dead four days, Jesus made him live again.”
But as the words left his lips, those in the church murmured their bewilderment.
“Mama,” said one young girl, “why is he reading that?”
What he heard of that lady’s response was only one word, “Hope.”
But he had none any longer that Esme was on her way.
A breeze swept the chapel.
A hush dropped over them all.
“About time!” someone complained.
The congregation turned as one toward a figure.
Lord Courtland stood upon the threshold. He stared at them, his complexion pale as death, his eyes rimmed in red. A handsome older man, he licked his lips and thrust his arms wide, hands to the pillars as if he needed the old columns to hold him up.
With a groan, he lumbered to the front. He approached Charlie and spun to face those in the pews. His grey hair ruffled, his stock undone, he was a rumpled mess. "My dear family and friends, I regret to inform you we will have no wedding today.”
A gasp went up from the throng.
A few men jumped to their feet.
One muttered a phrase not usually heard in these walls.
Lord Courtland muttered more apologies. Then he disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
Charlie stared after him. But a question in his head repeated, “What will you do for love?”
* * *
Wills was the first to reach the house. The wedding guests lingered at the church. If they hoped Esme would appear, they did so in vain.
As triumphant as Wills was for Esme’s success, she felt gutted too, for her friend’s sadness. For Esme loved her fiancé, the honorable Marquess of Northington, and now they had no hope of living in joy together for the rest of their days.
Why is it that we cannot wed whom we wish?
She picked up her skirts and charged up the main stairs. No one approached her. The Courtland staff had stood at the rear of the church to see their young Miss Harvey marry the man of her dreams. They too had not returned to the Hall in any haste.
She swung wide the door to her suite and searched for her maid. “Mary?”
But got no answer.
Good. The girl was not here, but most likely also at the chapel. Wills would take the opportunity to leave the clothes she’d no longer need in the wall closet in her toilette. Planned that, she had, hoping to be assigned this suite of rooms she knew so well from staying here years’ past. Leaving a few frothy gowns behind where they’d not be found for days was the only way to travel with any speed.
