CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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“I never would have believed the annoying little mouse that nipped at my heels would one day turn into . . . you,” Rafe said as she descended the stairs in her gown an hour later. A poet, he was not. However, his smile was genuine. When she took his proffered hand, he leaned in close. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word. I’ve ordered my carriage to follow, just in case.”
If she weren’t so shocked by the offer, she might have cried. For the first time, she realized how difficult this must be for him. Not once in the past weeks had she recalled the event that had changed him forever. Now, she knew how difficult it was for him to make that offer. After all, six years ago he’d been the one standing alone at the altar. His bride-to-be had fled without a word, leaving him broken in more ways than just his heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the amount of tenderness she felt for her brother. “But I want this—for Rathburn’s sake.”
He arched a brow at her hasty correction. “Then for Rathburn’s sake alone, we should get you to the church.”
When he laughed, the tenderness she felt evaporated in a rise of annoyance. Really, this was no time to tease. However, by the time she was in the carriage with her parents beaming at her as if still delighted by this deception, she realized her brother had done her a favor in stealing away some of her nervousness. She quickly forgave him.
It was a short drive to St. George’s. Perhaps even too short. Her friends were all waiting for her on the stairs in front of the cathedral, each of them beautiful in her rose muslin gown. From the corner of her eye, she watched Rafe exit his carriage and say a few words to the driver. When he caught her gaze, he touched his fingers to the brim of his top hat and gave her a nod. The driver was at her disposal.
She swallowed down a tide of emotion, but held on to her composure as he quietly escorted their mother up the stairs.
Vaguely, Rathburn became aware of a twinge in his neck and the sound of hushed voices nearby. Not only that, but someone was kicking his foot. “Wake up, princess.”
Danvers. He’d recognize that taunting voice anywhere. “What are you doing here?”
“I’d ask the same of you, if my sister weren’t on the steps outside this very moment.”
Rathburn’s eyes flew open. He jolted forward, nearly toppling from the bench. The familiar walls and dark wood furnishings of the vestry came into focus. Only now did he remember arriving at the church before dawn. Everything had to be perfect. Just in case . . . she still wanted to marry him after he told her everything.
Wait. What time was it? “Emma. Here? Already?” He must have fallen asleep. Apparently, the long hours from the past few days had taken their toll.
He hadn’t seen Emma for days and wasn’t certain of her frame of mind. Therefore, he had no idea how she would react to what he planned to tell her.
However, by the time he’d arrived at Danbury Lane last night, her parents had said she’d retired. That was when he’d come up with the brilliant—ha!—plan to speak with her this morning. Only this morning had already gotten away from him, too.
“Ready for the ball, princess?”
Straightening his cravat, Rathburn glowered.
Danvers laughed. “You know, I think I’m going to like having you for a brother.”
“Which isn’t likely to happen unless I can steal your sister away, for a moment, before the ceremony.”
“And why is that?” He arched a brow, but his amused speculation quickly turned into irritation. “Bugger! You haven’t told her yet, have you?”
“There wasn’t time.” Rathburn was an idiot to have left the truth of his inheritance unsaid this long. But each time he’d thought it was the perfect time to tell her, something always pulled him away. Now, this was his absolute final chance.
“You think the dowager will let you cause a scene by speaking to the bride before the wedding?”
They both knew the answer to that.
Danvers was pacing now, raking a hand through his hair. “Give me a note and I’ll take it to her.”
“That won’t do.” He shook his head. “This is too important not to be said directly.”
“Too important!” His friend scoffed at him. “This from a man who waits until the bells are ringing?”
“Point taken.”
“Here’s what you do,” Danvers said, gesturing with his hands in a way that looked as if he held an invisible bowl between them. “The moment you see her, the instant before the ceremony, you tell her. She’ll still have time then.”
Incredulous, Rathburn stared. “Tell her? How the bloody hell am I going to tell her in front of everyone?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “Just . . . let her know that the original purpose for your mock betrothal is no longer a factor. Let her know this is real for you.”
“No longer a factor . . .” Rathburn nodded. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it could work. She would still have time to make her choice. “You’re brilliant.”
The man he’d always considered a brother let out a breath that eased the tension in his expression and then grinned at him. “It took you this long to figure that out?”
Emma turned to Penelope, Merribeth, and Delaney while her father waited a few steps away. Having forgotten their gifts at the last needlework meeting earlier this week, she presented them now, handing over three narrow boxes. The morning light shimmered over the slender strands of pearls and was accompanied by excited praises as they were admired.
While Merribeth and Delaney fastened each other’s necklaces, Penelope stepped forward, and took her gently by the shoulders. “Emma Danvers,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Stop, or you’ll drive yourself mad.”
“You’re a bit too late on that account.” Emma tried to laugh, but failed miserably. “I was mad to agree to this in the beginning. It was never supposed to get this far. Now, I expect the ground to start quaking at my feet. In the very least, the walls of the church will collapse on me.” The words were supposed to come out as a joke. Instead, they came on a river of panic.
“I know it might feel that way, but you took a leap of faith in the beginning, not a leap of insanity.” She offered a reassuring smile. “The most important thing to remember is the reason you trusted Rathburn enough to agree in the first place. That reason is still with you, inside your heart.”
Yes, the reason filled her heart now. Her love for him. She trusted Rathburn to know what he was doing. As soon as he received his inheritance, they would get an annulment. Simple as that.
No. Not simple. She didn’t want an annulment.
She wanted to mean more to him. She wanted her friends to be right about the way they said he looked at her and teased her. She wanted to give herself over to the dream of what their lives could be, without fear of her heart shattering to pieces. She wanted . . .
Emma sighed and gave Penelope a nod of understanding. For Rathburn’s sake, for the sake of his father’s memory, and for the sake of the hospital, she would tuck her own yearnings for this to be a true marriage away, adding another secret to the monstrous pile. She had to see this through.
Climbing the stairs with her friends, her father met them halfway. Then, one by one, Delaney, Merribeth, and Penelope walked into the church. As Emma walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, sunlight streamed in through the arched stained glass windows, blinding her to everyone around her. She feared she would faint. It was only when she neared the altar that she saw Rathburn clearly. Her gaze fixed on him as if he alone could see her through this.
Instantly, she felt herself relax.
He was quite dashing in his dark blue morning coat, silver satin waistcoat and gray breeches. His eyes gleamed like emeralds in the light. The grin he flashed matched the whiteness of his cravat and gloves as he lifted a hand to take hers. She drew in a deep breath that settled her nerves.
Her father took his cue and relinquished his hold, offering her into Rathburn’s care—for the time being. When she felt the warmth of Oliver’s palm beneath her fingers, every concern she had melted away.
“I want you to know,” he whispered, holding her gaze with his intensity, “that the original reason for why we are here, in the church this very moment, is no longer a factor. This is real for me.”
A nervous laugh nearly bubbled out. She had no idea what he meant, but it sounded lovely. “Yes, quite real for me, as well.”
He seemed inordinately pleased—and relieved—by her response. His breath stirred the veil against her cheek. “Then, shall we dive off this cliff together, Emma-mine?”
She was surprised at how eagerly the perfect—and most foolish—response floated from her lips. “Headfirst.”