He tugged savagely at the tie and, leaving it hanging, swept up the sash windows to allow the warm spring air to enter the room. Even the weather was taunting him with its picture-perfect brilliance. Everything was in flower that could be, and all traces of bad weather had disappeared, leaving sunshine and birdsong and everything else that was Disney and the opposite to how he felt. Was his father organizing things from the grave? Was he taunting and controlling him from another sphere?
Sebastian had taken the principal bedroom, which had sweeping views over the formal gardens with their central fountain and waterway which led to the lake, framed by trees. There were no mountains in Norfolk, only softly rolling countryside criss-crossed with narrow roads, along which only the odd tractor and local farmer drove. It was a pocket of England which had hardly changed for centuries. And, despite his father’s posthumous control, ever since Sebastian had returned here there was a part of him which had instantly felt at peace. Which made him even more concerned, he thought as he returned to the mirror to fight his tie once more, to continue with the wedding, and find a way to make Indra leave.
When at last he’d sorted out his black tie, he stepped back and shook his head in despair. He looked as if he was going to a funeral, not his wedding. For a moment he thought maybe his funereal appearance was appropriate, that he should keep it, but then he thought of Indra and his frustration seeped out of him. He liked Indra. Given different circumstances, he’d have liked her a lot, and he hated that her wedding would be such a grim affair.
He tossed the tie to one side and walked into his dressing room and selected another one—navy silk. Not exactly exuberant, but at least a little less funereal. It worked well with his suit, which had a navy thread running through it. And, together with the white shirt, it would do. He didn’t question his instinct to change, to make the ceremony a little more pleasurable for Indra, because he was afraid it would reveal something he refused to acknowledge.
As he walked downstairs, he hesitated by a bowl of white roses sitting, as usual, on the hall table. Impulsively he plucked one out and stepped outside into the warm sunshine. He snapped off its stem and poked it through the buttonhole of his lapel. Thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets, he walked off by himself toward the church where they’d arranged to have the understated ceremony.
Indra had always known what she was going to wear for her wedding. Whether arranged or a love match, she’d always been destined to wear her mother’s wedding dress. Arranged marriages were customary in her family, but not this kind. Whatever the kind, she was set on wearing the traditional white wedding dress, no matter that she’d be walking to the church alone, no matter that the groom had been conspicuous by his absence over the past few weeks since they’d kissed, no matter that neither of them wished to marry.
She wasn’t wearing the dress for Sebastian, she was wearing the dress for her mother and father and brother—for the family who were no longer with her. She imagined the very different occasion for which the dress had been last worn. It had been on her grandparents’ estate in India, which had been lost to her father’s enemies. But thirty years before, it had been the scene of great celebration. She almost felt as if she’d attended it, having pored over the photos and video of the event so many times with her mother. So wearing the dress felt like a connection—a fragile thread which bound her to her past and her family.
From her window, she watched Sebastian walk across the gardens to the church. He’d been avoiding her, and she’d been forced to come to an unacceptable conclusion as to why. He regretted the kiss and, rather than tell her to her face, he’d decided to simply give her the cold shoulder. And what a shoulder. He looked a part of this estate like she could never hope to become. With his air of complete confidence, he strode across the gardens towards the church looking every inch the owner—an air to which she could never aspire.
It was time for her to follow. She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. She’d arranged her hair in a simple French twist with the short veil fixed into place above it. With the veil folded back, her dark eyes looked huge amid the froth of white lace. She’d expected to look nervous or scared because she felt both. But, instead, she simply looked sad. She’d never anticipated such a wedding and nor, she was sure, had her mother.
She checked on her minimal make-up, making sure everything was as it should be because, today, she had a business merger to finalize. Her mother had always said she’d inherited her business sense from her father, and that was all this marriage was about. Business. Without looking into her eyes again, she left the room.
She left the manor by the rear entrance where people were less likely to glimpse her from the estate offices, and made her way through the woods, where the paths were now lined with bluebells, and filled with birdsong. When she stepped into the clearing of the churchyard she saw the vicar. He smiled encouragingly at her and not without a little sympathy. She lifted her chin. She didn’t want sympathy.
“Thank you for coming, Vicar. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. Please step inside. I took the liberty of bringing the organist with me. I hope that’s acceptable?”
She nodded. She’d have preferred her not to be there, but the situation was strange enough without her complaining. The vicar coughed loudly and the booming sounds of the old organ struck upHere Comes the Bride.
“No!” she said. “Please,” she added to the vicar. “Something quieter, something more understated, please.”
The vicar hurried away and whispered in the organist’s ear, who instantly transitioned to a piece of church music which had a sonorous, poignant beauty which felt far more appropriate.
She stepped inside the stone porch with its medieval carvings and inhaled its musty church smell. One more breath and she clasped the wrought-iron handle, twisted it and entered the church. Sunlight streamed in through the clerestory windows, filling the ancient place with light, highlighting the dust motes which hung in the air, disturbed by the organ’s pipes. Sebastian and the vicar stood at the altar. The only other person was the organist’s husband, who was seated half-way up the church.
She swallowed her sadness. It shouldn’t have been like this. But her step-father had made it so. Again, she asked herself, why?
Ignoring the churning in the pit of her stomach, she began walking up the uneven stone-flagged aisle to the man—the stranger, her betrothed—who didn’t want her. He hadn’t turned to look at her, simply stood with his back to her. He wore a smart, dark suit whose expensive lines were evident in how it hung from his broad shoulders.
She reached him, and only then did he look at her. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. And why should he? No doubt the vicar was aware of the situation.
“It’s a bride’s prerogative to be late,” she murmured, looking at the vicar and giving him a quick, reassuring smile. He looked even more uneasy that she felt.
Sebastian gave a low grunt of amusement and indicated that the vicar should begin the ceremony. He must have been given instructions to keep it as short as possible, because after the briefest of prayers, he went straight to the reason they were there.
“Marriage is a gift of God…” Indra winced and stopped listening. Instead, the blood thrummed in her ears. She managed to avoid most of what the vicar said until he paused and met her gaze. “Marriage is a sign of unity and loyalty which all should uphold and honor. No one should enter it lightly”—he gave another dramatic pause before shifting his gaze to Sebastian—“or selfishly, but reverently and responsibly in the sight of almighty God.”
It seemed this would be as close to a remonstrance as the vicar was going to get. Sebastian scowled, and the vicar continued. The words merged into each other, all meaningless, until Sebastian said “I will”, prompting Indra to answer the vicar’s question to her. Then her hand was taken by Sebastian and they had no choice but to face each other while they repeated the vicar’s words. Then the vicar asked for the ring and Indra had a moment of panic. She hadn’t given it any thought. But Sebastian reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a ring. He held it out to her. It was a plain gold band.
“My mother’s,” he said, by way of explanation.
She was surprised that he should have considered such a thing at all, let alone decided his mother’s wedding ring was appropriate. Indra somehow doubted that either of their mothers would have approved of the marriage.
He slid the ring onto her fourth finger.
“Indra, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage.” And that was it. Suddenly it was real. This was happening. Correction. Thishadhappened. She was a married woman. She looked up at him as he continued to hold her hand.
“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
It was the closest thing to kindness he’d said to her since they’d met, and a lump came into her throat. She forced a smile between trembling lips and turned away to where the organist and her husband were waiting to act as witnesses to the paperwork.