Tempest(13)
“Bloody?” she echoed weakly.
“That’s right! You are sacrificing your virginity after all. You’ll have to endure anything he insists on doing to you, not only that night but for the rest of your marriage. It is your duty as a wife, and that pertains to his behavior outside of the bedroom as well. A man of his appetites is bound to have mistresses!”
Just then, there was a knock at the dressing room door and Julies Parrish peeked in, his face wreathed in smiles. “Ah, there are my girls! How fares the bride-to-be?”
Cathy looked at her philandering father and then at her mother, who had just delivered the most horrifying speech she’d ever heard. Somehow, she pasted on a shaky smile and answered, “I’ve never been better, Papa.”
As Adam Raveneau and Byron Matthews tried to make their way anonymously through the crush outside St. Thomas’s Church, people demanded to know their identities.
“Are you royalty? Someone from England?” yelled a reporter.
Byron shouted back, “We’re just normal Americans. Nothing special!”
The police intervened at that point, parting the crowds, and the two men ran under the long, striped awning that led into the church, their tailcoats catching the fall breeze. A different kind of madness awaited them there. Never had Raveneau seen and smelled so many hothouse flowers, not even at the grandest balls at Buckingham Palace. Masses of bride roses and orchids trimmed the pews and adorned the alter, where the bishop was pacing to and fro. A symphony orchestra tuned their instruments while a choir of fifty assembled in the chancel.
“Excuse me, sir, are you the Viscount Raveneau?” inquired a soft female voice. “The bridegroom?”
He turned to find a saintly-looking old woman smiling at him. “Yes, madam, I am.”
“Let me show you to the rooms we’ve set aside for you and your best man.” She toddled off into the shadows, chattering constantly. “Are you nervous? I suppose so. I must tell you that all of us think it is wonderfully romantic that you are marrying dear Catherine instead of that duke. He wasn’t right for her at all. Everyone is saying that this is a love match. Not at all the usual situation with American heiresses, you know. Is that true?”
The trio had reached the dark, stuffy anterooms where Adam would wait to be led to his uncertain future. He went past the old woman, then took a deep breath before turning back to give her a smile of irresistible charm.
“Madam, I can assure you that I am not a fortune hunter.”
“How lovely.” She beamed at him. “Congratulations, my lord. We’ll send someone for you when it’s time.”
“I appreciate your assistance.” As soon as the door closed behind her, his smile vanished. “It sounds as if I’m being taken to the gallows, don’t you agree?”
“Condemned men don’t wear formal dress,” said Byron. “Care for a last smoke?”
“God, yes. You haven’t got any champagne, have you?”
“I think you had more than enough last night.” Walking over to push the leaded-glass window open, Byron lit a thin cigar for his friend and then one for himself “Why are you so down at the mouth? Your future wife was looking lovely at supper last evening and you two seemed to be getting along very well. If that’s the case, you ought to be singing for joy. You’re getting a charming bride and, perhaps more importantly, a couple of million pounds.”
Raveneau cringed and took two steps backward. “Don’t speak of it. The very thought of that money makes me sick. I couldn’t have sold my soul any more certainly if Satan himself had been one of the attorneys.”
“Would you really walk away now if you could, or are you just behaving this way for effect?”
“I’m being paid an obscene amount of money to marry a woman I barely know. It seemed a lark in the beginning, when we made the announcement and watched her mother turn green, but it’s not. This is the only future I’ve got, and I’m selling it off today as if it were no more valuable than this bloody signet ring.” For emphasis, he tried to yank the ring off, but it was stuck. “Yes, I’d damned well walk away if I could!”
“It would break Catherine’s heart.”
Outside, they could hear carriages and motor cars rolling up in front of the church. Voices began to drift down the corridor as guests spilled into the sanctuary, accompanied by the lilting strains of Mozart.
Raveneau met his old friend’s gaze, his own marbled eyes eloquent with regret. “What worries me more is the damage I may do in the years to come...”
Chapter 9
Cathy’s heart was banging like a big bass drum as she knelt beside Adam on scarlet velvet cushions. Behind her was spread the entire length of her five-yard train.
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” intoned Bishop Potter. His voice sounded very far away.
In a daze, her eyes drifted down over her exquisite gown. Ordered by Hermione in Paris, before they had even journeyed to England to meet the Duke of Sunderford, it was a dazzling full-skirted Worth creation fashioned of ivory satin trimmed with Brussels lace, pearls, and orange blossoms. Adam was reaching for her hand, which was trembling. His fingers were dark and strong holding hers, prompting her to steal a peek at him through her veil. No fairytale princess had ever married a more devastatingly attractive male than Adam Raveneau— and none had known her prince any less well than she knew hers...
Hundreds of people filled the church, watching them, consumed with curiosity.
When they rose together and he squeezed her hand slightly, she felt her new wedding ring. It was a little too big. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, burnishing Cathy’s gown. They bowed their heads for the blessing as the bishop intoned,
“Forasmuch as Adam and Catherine have consented together in holy wedlock... I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
The strains of the symphony orchestra swelled around them. Cathy felt faint and giddy and numb as her husband turned her toward him and drew back her veil. He gently took her elbows and gave her a dry, proper kiss, and then Elysia put the trailing bouquet of orchids, roses, and lilies into her hands.
“Congratulations, my lady!” she whispered, blushing at the sight of Raveneau, while the other four blue-and-white-clad bridesmaids beamed from a distance. “You’re a peeress now!”
The recessional began, and Adam tucked Cathy’s free hand into the crook of his arm. She hurried to keep pace with him as they traversed the long aisle, nodding and smiling at the sea of blurred faces. Finally, for a brief moment, they were alone in the narthex and she held her breath, praying that he would reassure her with a private kiss or even a few whispered words or a smile. Instead, he released her hand and went to greet the bishop as he emerged from the nave.
Bishop Potter shook Adam’s hand, then turned to Cathy. “So, my dear, how does it feel to be Lady Raveneau?”
The guests had begun to pour into the nave, surrounding them. Speechless for once in her life, Cathy whispered, “It feels... fine.”
The rest of the Raveneaus’ wedding day passed in a blur. Somehow, Cathy managed to make proper replies to all the well-wishers who grasped her hand in the reception line. She and Adam traveled by carriage to Sherry’s restaurant for the formal wedding breakfast, but there were so many people calling from the sidewalks that they had little chance to converse.
Suddenly, it all seemed like a mad, mixed-up dream to her. How could she be married to Adam Raveneau? When guests addressed her as “Lady Raveneau,” she couldn’t take it in.
And Adam behaved nothing like a newlywed husband. At Sherry’s, over mousse of lobster with champagne sauce, he stood up to toast his bride.
“No man could be luckier than I am today. God grant me the wisdom to realize just how fortunate I am.”
What did he mean by that? she wondered. She’d expected her twinges of uncertainty to be erased by the actual wedding. She’d thought that the sight of her handsome groom, standing beside her at the altar, would banish her doubts, but instead they had multiplied. Had he looked her in the eye since they’d said their vows? Had he touched her since that chaste kiss before the bishop?
Jules Parrish was making another toast. He looked as if he’d drunk a bit too much champagne and Cathy held her breath as he said, “I want to propose a toast to the happiness of my darling daughter, Catherine. I hope that she’ll know the marital love that our son Stephen was denied. Life is unpredictable, as we now understand, and love is immensely valuable. Just because we can’t put a price on it, that doesn’t mean it comes cheaply...”
“My dear, do sit down,” Hermione murmured loudly enough for many guests to hear. She tugged at his cutaway coat. “We haven’t all day, you know.”
“Will it ever end?” Cathy’s voice broke the silence that filled the plush carriage and spilled out into the dark evening.
“Hmm?” Adam murmured at length, his tone absent.
“Nothing. I was just speaking to hear my own voice.” In the shadows, she tried to measure the distance between them. Half-an-arm’s-length, at least. “It’s over, isn’t it? I thought it would never end.”