Page 7 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
No name had been used, yet none had been needed. The moniker had followed him for many years, though seldom in the presence of ladies. It had begun as a jest among men; a harsh epithet masked in mockery. Now it had wrapped itself around her name as well, threading through the hurried vows and fastening itself in ink on the register. She would become the Countess of Mountwood by law, but within society she would be viewed altogether differently.
The maid placed the final pin and then stepped back.
“Shall I fetch your gloves, milady?” she asked.
Genevieve nodded. Her hands had turned cold again.
***
The drawing-room offered no warmth. Although a fire crackled behind the vicar, it gave off little heat, and none of that warmth reached Gabriel. He stood near the hearth with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, his shoulders squared beneath the burden of formal attire that he had not worn since his father’s funeral. The cravat scratched his neck. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, though he had not looked down at them since his arrival.
The room contained only a handful of people. There were more than Gabriel would have preferred and fewer than society might deem acceptable for such an occasion. The vicar stood in position, silent and watchful. Sophia remained nearby, composed as ever. James occupied a position just behind him, his presence an anchor upon which Gabriel had grown to trust. Lady Victoria moved as though preparing for a theatrical performance. She greeted each guest in turn, her speech smooth and her smile guarded. Richard Harrington, cousin to his bride and a rather questionable businessman, lounged in a corner, his posture relaxed, as if he found the proceedings mildly amusing. Gabriel ignored him.
He had not requested any form of ceremony. A mere signature would have sufficed; however, the rules had to be observed, even for a matrimony arranged in haste and under the cloud of duty. The room quieted, and Gabriel felt the presence of his bride before he saw her.
Genevieve entered alone. And he did not turn. He could hear her approach with the faint tread of her shoes against the carpet and the unnatural stillness that followed her passage. He sensed the change in the room, the manner in which even Lady Victoria held her breath. His jaw tightened. He kept his eyes fixed on the vicar, unwilling to glance at her expression, unwilling to acknowledge that she had been forced into this union as much as he.
She stopped beside him. The scent of lavender reached him faintly, too subtle to be deliberate. His fingers curled into his palm behind his back as the vicar began to speak.
Gabriel heard every word, yet they passed over him without meaning. He had studied the service before, many times, in books that exalted the union of souls. This was no such union. This was a necessity. This was a name, and a title bound to a ruined future, a shield against scandal, and nothing more. Thus, he did not look at her. He could not.
The moment arrived. The vicar spoke the words which, under the circumstances, appeared just as hollow on the clergy’s expression as they felt in Gabriel’s heart. Then, he turned toward Gabriel, and he recited his vows, calm and precise as though articulating strategy before a campaign. His voice did not waver. There was no tremor in it, no hesitation. He reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were so warm that it startled him.
She did not look at him nor flinch at the contact, but her hand remained steady as he took it. A flood of memories from their fateful encounter in the library passed through him with sharp suddenness as he slid the ring over her finger. The band appeared too plain upon her hand, too final in its simplicity. There had been no time to commission anything finer, nor would it have mattered. No jewel could alter the nature of this bond.
The vicar then turned to her. Her speech, soft yet firm, filled the space. She did not falter. She gave no sign of fear, only the smooth precision of a young woman educated from birth in yielding without protest. When it was done, he released her hand. A silence prevailed, and then the final declaration was pronounced that the couple were now man and wife, and the earl and countess of Mountwood.
Gabriel exhaled slowly. There was no applause and no congratulations. The gathering shifted uneasily. Lady Victoria stepped forward, her smile brittle. Genevieve moved away from him before Lady Victoria could reach her, and she advanced toward the refreshment table with the vacant calm of one compelled to obey fate. He should have felt something, whether it be triumph or guilt. Instead, there was only a hollow tightness in his chest, a pressure that would not relent.
Sophia spoke beside him, but he did not catch her words, and she did not repeat them. James placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. The gesture was familiar and provided grounding, and he gave James a solemn nod.
“You acted with propriety,” James whispered when they were less surrounded by uncertain guests.
Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a scoff. I believe that killing an innocent man in war would have been right before this ever would be, he thought. Outwardly, he held up his head, nodding once more at his friend.
“At least she will not suffer alone if I had not,” he said.
The gathering resumed murmurs. A servant passed discreetly with a tray. Mr. Harrington wandered to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy withtheatrical indifference. Lady Victoria whispered to a guest. Sophia drifted toward the fire. James remained close, and Genevieve stood alone. She had not touched the tea. Her eyes rested on the silver tongs and the China cup beside them, yet her hands remained at her sides. Gabriel stepped back from the hearth and advanced toward her. Even if he did not love her, he was now her husband. It was his duty to show comfort and support, even if only because of expected propriety.
She stiffened at his approach but did not retreat. He halted at a respectable distance. Her posture remained erect, and her profile appeared to be completely composed.
“You may retire, if you desire to do so,” he said.
She did not look at him.
“That would be rather foolish,” she said. “We will be departing for Mountwood shortly, I presume. It would be senseless to retire here, as though I still belong in this household.”
Gabriel offered a single nod and then returned to the center of the room. She had not raised her voice, nor given him any sign of disdain. Yet she had not softened. He could not blame her, but nor could he help the guilt that filled him as he watched her. Though she was composed, she was clearly uncomfortable and unhappy.
What had appeared to be a calm gaze from across the room now showed him that she felt apprehensive and ready to flee the party, which was clearly unwelcome by all, as quickly as possible. It was marginally refreshing to know that she seemed to feel the same as he did about unpleasant social situations. However, he knew that would never be enough even to start a conversation with his new wife, let alone build any common ground for her sake. Had he done the right thing?
Chapter Four
The dining room, though elegantly arranged with spring flowers and polished silver, felt more like a chamber of quiet exile than a place of joyous celebration. Despite the careful attention given to every detail, nothing could disguise the heavy atmosphere pervading the room. The quiet strain lingered in the air like an oppressive fog.
Genevieve lowered herself into the chair prepared for her beside Sophia, her posture impeccable, her hands lightly clasped in her lap. She moved as expected, observing the rules of etiquette as convention dictated, yet her heart felt strangely distant from the moment. Across the table, Gabriel sat like a statue carved from dark marble. His expression was unreadable as was his presence which was a steady force.
Each polite address directed his way was met with the same restrained brevity he had employed at the altar, his responses being neither warm nor entirely cold. There was simply the absence of anything truly revealing. He looked nowhere, acknowledged nothing, yet his presence commanded every corner of the room. He might as well have been a specter haunting the occasion rather than an active participant.
