“I will.” The answer in his baritone resonated in her chest, but when she glanced at him, he’d clenched his jaw so tight the muscle stood out against his skin.
Perhaps he wished for support too. Daring much, she laid a hand upon his arm. His muscles flexed and jumped beneath her fingertips. All too soon, Vicar Baring addressed her.
“Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Some of the words stuck in her mind. She would only obey and serve him as long as his temper stayed in check, and she had no guarantee that it would. But the vicar waited for an answer. She squeezed Andrew’s arm. “I will.” A fair amount of breathlessness accompanied the answer, for she wasn’t entirely certain this wasn’t the biggest folly she’d ever committed.
We don’t love each other.
The vicar instructed Andrew to take her right hand in his right hand. He held so tight that she peered into his face, and only then did she see the signs of an impending attack. His lips were slightly parted. He took small, panting breaths. Sweat beaded at his temple. Sarah leaned into him and whispered, “Breathe, Andrew. You’re not going to the gallows.”
He grunted. “That would, at least, cause my demons to quiet.”
Poor man.She feared he would break, and soon. How can I reach him when he refuses to acknowledge that the struggle is part of living? Absently, she pushed her spectacles back into place.
“Is there an issue?” Vicar Baring asked as he darted his gaze between them. When Sarah shook her head, he cleared his throat and continued. “Lord Hadleigh, please repeat after me.” The words the vicar said blurred together while Sarah worried over Andrew’s health. They didn’t make an impression until the earl repeated them as he faced her.
“I, Andrew James Storme, the Eighth Earl of Hadleigh, take thee Miss Sarah Elizabeth Copeland to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love,” he choked over that word, “and to cherish, ‘till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.” He gasped for breath as he squeezed her hand hard. “And thereto I pledge thee my troth.”
Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. He both wished to wed and dreaded it, for he couldn’t see a way out what he considered a morass of the title. She patted his hand, hoping to give him a modicum of comfort.
They were directed to release hands, and Sarah was told to then hold Andrew’s right hand with her right hand. Vicar Baring addressed her while she stared into the earl’s eyes. The anger and resentment that roiled in those stormy depths cramped her stomach. “Miss Copeland, repeat after me.” He gave her the words, and she nodded.
There was no calling it off now. “I, Miss Sarah Elizabeth Copeland, take thee Andrew James Storme, the Eighth Earl of Hadleigh to my wedded Husband.” Her hand shook, both in anticipation and fear. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, ‘till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.” She didn’t care that a tear fell to her cheek. Would she come to love Andrew over the course of their union? If she did, would he return the sentiment? At the vicar’s prompt, she rushed onward. “And thereto I give thee my troth.”
Dear God, please let this not show as a mistake.
They were instructed to again release their hands. Then Vicar Baring asked Andrew if he had a ring.
“Yes.” The earl dug a finger into his waistcoat pocket and procured a thin plain gold band.
“Very good. Repeat after me while putting the ring on her hand.” He said a string of words that flew right out of Sarah’s head.
He slid the band onto the fourth finger of her left hand where it bumped snugly against the emerald engagement ring. “With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow.” A series of gasping breaths followed the statement. With effort, he continued in a tight voice. “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Excellent. Shall we pray over this new union?” The vicar directed this question to the room at large.
Another tear fell to her cheek. Where was the joy that a wedding should have brought? She kneeled the same time that Andrew did, but she clung to his hand as hard as he clutched her. Could he not at least pretend he was pleased?
As the words of a prayer went on and Vicar Baring closed his book, Sarah leaned into the earl. In a barely there whisper, she said, “I know you aren’t delighted with this arrangement, but I hope you’ll see life will turn out better than it is currently.”
Did she truly believe that?
The earl didn’t answer, merely stared at her with an intensity that had her trembling. What did he think right at his moment?
When the prayer ended, she and Andrew stood. Vicar Baring said, “I now pronounce thee husband and wife.”
No longer was she unwanted, undesired, unwed Miss Sarah Copeland. Now she was the Countess of Hadleigh—still unwanted, but desired. Perhaps. Only for him to alleviate a physical need or beget an heir. Not for herself and not because he cared. The urge to retch rose in her throat. She swallowed the hot saliva a few times to stave it off.
“Congratulations, Lady Hadleigh,” he whispered. Though he drew her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon her middle knuckle, there was no fondness in his eyes, but his lips lingered a heartbeat too long. What would they feel like when he employed them on her body later? “You’re no doubt quite pleased.”
“I’m sorry you aren’t,” she shot off before thinking. “I can only be who I am.” There was absolutely no difference in how she felt now than she had before. If anything, she’d contracted more unease, but there was no time to analyze her thoughts, for the servants gathered around, offering blessings as well as introductions.
As they filed out, her great uncle and aunt signed official documents as witnesses. Then her Aunt Maria kissed her cheek and offered empty promises of visiting often. Soon after, they left the room.
Vicar Baring followed with his congratulations, and she was alone with her husband.
It had happened so quickly that her head buzzed with the events of the afternoon. She glanced at him. Desolation lay stamped on his face and he held himself as if he would flee momentarily. “What now?” Her stomach let out an unladylike growl. “Shall we attend to luncheon?” Not that it would be a splendid affair. There were no revelers, no family members, and no richly decorated cake to mark the occasion.