Mismatched eyes held the sort of wariness he so often saw in her. She did not wish to marry him, that much was certain, but even in the face of such strident opposition he could not be kind. He would drag her to the altar voiceless if he needed to and the vicar had been in his employ long enough to understand the implications of ruin for a woman.
He would prevail because he was the Lord of Atherton and because the tithes he paid to the church were generous and frequent. He would insist on the ceremony because without it Aurelia St Harlow would be lost to the vagaries of law.
‘The family chapel is just through here.’
Aurelia took in a breath. She had slept right through the night and felt more able to cope with everything this morning. On waking she had found the dress borrowed from Lillian hanging before the wardrobe, carefully cleaned and pressed. She left the sling on the chair.
As Hawkhurst opened a set of double doors behind him, Aurelia saw the polished brown wood of pews with their velvet inlays and prayer books neatly stacked in front. The ceiling was vaulted and the windows were drawn in lead and coloured glass, the Christ child on Mary’s knee, His head garlanded in flowers.
Standing at the top of the aisle was an old clergyman, whitened eyebrows and hair attesting to an age well reached.
‘I will begin when you are ready, my lord.’ He rearranged a few papers on the pulpit before him.
Hawkhurst did not even look at her as he bade her forwards and Aurelia felt as though she had stepped into a travesty she could not stop, the parts of a marriage laid out in a cold-blooded fashion and only for the reason of pretence.
‘I do not think…’
The minister stopped momentarily to observe her, his piercing eyes daring her to speak further. ‘You are a child of God and as such you deserve the sanctity of a union which is the most joyous of all His celebrations.’
Joyous? She remembered her last wedding with a shudder. Field flowers now waved their heads in a vase on a table and a number of the servants of Atherton had filed in behind her to sit quietly.
Witnesses.
The contrast to her marriage to Charles with all its pomp and circumstance could not have been greater.
Already an organ had begun to play, soft music filling the chapel, the only thing that was beautiful. The lump in her throat thickened at the purity of the notes.
He wished his uncle could have been here, standing beside him, or Lucas or Nathaniel, but there was nobody save the rows of servants, hair tidied and hands washed. His mouth was dry and the blisters on both palms from long days of riding stung with the salt of sweat.
His marriage day—his first and his last. He wanted to lean over and take Aurelia’s hand in his own and hold it tight in an effort to tell her that all was not lost and that although she felt the farce of it keenly, to him it was…perfect.
The very word made him smile. Perfect implied a consent that was without compromise. Perfect implied compliance and sanction and a God-given need of the union they were about to enter into. Perfect presupposed a sense of history behind them that had reached up to this moment. The frown on his bride-to-be’s face etched a heavy line into her forehead, negating any such acquiescence.
‘We are here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’ Johnathon Cattrell’s voice was low and even, the pledge of for ever well formed. When Stephen glanced down he saw that every knuckle on Aurelia’s hands was stretched white.
His parents had been married here and his grandparents and all the other Hawkhursts before him. He felt the rightness of it settle in his bones.
Protection was only a tiny part of why he was standing here. He knew that with a blinding honesty. When the minister asked for a ring he drew the Atherton signet from his own hand. The circle of gold was far too big, but it was all he had. Aurelia could not offer any token, but Johnathon Cattrell ignored such an omission in the face of everything else that was strange.
Then it was finished. Man and wife. For ever.
He took her hand and she did not pull away. The smiling, clapping servants followed them out.
The wedding breakfast was sumptuous, the top table in the room flanked by at least ten others, the same wild flowers she had seen in the chapel in vases on each one.
Every manner of meat sat on large plates carved into succulent-looking pieces, plus vegetables, fruits, sauces, shellfish, savouries and a selection of iced cakes.
Large jugs of wine and smaller ones of orange water were scattered between the food. The glasses were all crystal and the plates a fine white china.
When Hawkhurst stood as they were all seated a hush came over the room.
‘Welcome to Atherton, Lady Hawkhurst. I hope you might come to love this place as much as I do and that all the years of our life here will be happy ones.’ Raising his glass, he offered a toast. ‘To Lady Aurelia, the most beautiful bride any man could want.’
Her name echoed across the room, and in the eyes of those around her she saw a genuine and warm welcome. Sipping at the wine, she felt herself relax. The most beautiful bride any man could want. Not tarnished, second-hand and a traitor? Not a woman he had had to marry under duress because of politics?
She had not seen Stephen in a setting like this before, surrounded by his workers and staff. Here, he did not seem so much the lord, but a part of a great estate that required much co-operation and respect. She wondered how many other men of London society could have made the transition so easily.
She also thought of the time after the feast, the time when they would be alone. A rush of heat fanned through her body, fierce and possessive, and when she felt his arm against Her own she did not move away, but stayed still, enjoying the tiny contact.
Her husband. Her lover. For ever. She took one sip of wine and then another.
Aurelia was leaning against him and he liked the feel of her beside him. Today there was something different about her, some quieter acceptance that was seen in her eyes and in her laughter. Mrs Simpson was regaling her with various accounts of family life when he had been a child and his wife was listening with intent.
A new beginning for Atherton. Another chance at normal.
‘Did you have brothers and sisters yourself when you were growing up, my lady?’ He could hear the interest in his housekeeper’s voice.
‘Not really. My half-sisters are much younger than I am, you see, and my mother had left.’
‘Then you’ll be needing a large family here to take away the loneliness.’
The laughter accompanying this remark brought a blush to Aurelia’s cheeks and Stephen stepped in. Perhaps now was a good time for them to withdraw. Already the tables were becoming rowdier, the treat of a holiday and good food having their effect.
The room was Hawkhurst’s. She could tell it was from the books and the writing desk and a wardrobe with clothes that looked exactly his size.
‘I have not stayed here much over the last years so the room is full of things from the past.’
She crossed to a globe on the table, the brass holder it sat in carved with the figure of a dragon.
‘Like this?’
Aurelia spun the countries around, the colours of oceans, lands and rivers melding into one.
He laughed. ‘I always found travel fascinating. If you look closer, you will see the marks on all the lands I wished to visit.’
‘And have you?’
‘Most of them.’
‘And what about the pocket watch?’
‘It was my brother’s. I never wound it again after he died.’
‘“Time