“Don’t be silly,” she said, forcing the words past the sudden ache in her throat. “I’ve always fancied myself as a countess.”
Theo gave her a reproving glance. “You always taught me not to tell plumpers.”
“So I did.” She feigned a smile. “Don’t mind me, love. I’m the one who is being silly. I suppose I am suffering from bridal nerves. They are quite common, I understand.”
“Well, if you must marry, I think Wycliff is a good choice. He seems a capital fellow.”
“You only say so”-Brynn tried to feign a teasing tone-“because he has bribed you with promises of fresh supplies for your laboratory.”
“He has also promised that I may visit you in London on my first holiday from school. Is that all right with you?” Theo had chosen to attend Harrow and would soon be leaving for the start of the term.
“Of course it is all right! I would like nothing better than to see you,” she said fervently. “I am sure to be lonesome in London. I know no on
e there except Meredith, and she repaired to her husband’s country seat for her confinement. Even when she returns, she will doubtless be busy with her new baby.”
The look her young brother gave her held wisdom far beyond his age. “I don’t want you to be sad, Brynn.”
She swallowed hard. “I won’t be sad in the least. Not if I know you are happy.”
Gathering Theo to her, she gave him a fierce hug, unmindful of her gown. Yet she could feel the tears threatening.
With fierce determination she compelled herself to release him and step back. “Now go away,” she scolded, “and let me finish dressing in peace. It would be ill-bred to be late for my own wedding.”
Fearing she would break down, she pressed a motherly kiss on his brow and ushered Theo forcefully out the door.
Shutting the door behind him, Brynn pressed her forehead against the oak panel, trying desperately to hold back tears. After a moment, she managed to regain control of herself. She would not wallow in self-pity. She had made the decision to wed Wycliff for her family’s sake, and she would have to live with it.
Lifting her chin, she took a steadying breath, grateful for the cold sense of resignation that crept over her as she turned to finish dressing.
Even so, the numbing chill couldn’t deaden the pain in her heart at leaving the family she loved, or the dread she felt about the future.
Chapter Six
The church was filled to overflowing. Many of the attendees were friends and well-wishers. Some were merely curiosity seekers, eager to see a peer of such exalted rank take a bride of such dangerous repute. All of the guests, Brynn reflected as she stood before the vicar with her intended husband, doubtless believed she had enticed the Earl of Wycliff into matrimony with her unnatural powers.
As the ceremony progressed, she avoided even glancing at her tall, wickedly handsome groom. It was safer not to look into vivid blue eyes that were the same hue as his superbly fitting coat, or to contemplate how his pristine, intricately tied cravat set off his striking, aristocratic features. Yet she knew every woman present felt a spark of envy.
At that moment, Brynn would have gladly exchanged places with any one of them. She listened with growing dismay to the vicar intoning words that were ancient and binding. She was being joined in holy matrimony to a stranger.
Brynn winced as Lord Wycliff slipped a gold band onto her finger, yet the enormity of their vows didn’t truly sink in until her new husband lightly brushed her mouth with a kiss. His lips were cool, restrained, yet somehow scalding, and they drove home the finality of their union like a blow.
She had bound herself to this man forever, for better or worse. And it was very likely to be worse.
Unnerved, Brynn turned away, almost stumbling.
Wycliff’s hand reached out to support her elbow, and for a moment her gaze locked with his. To her dismay, the burning look in his eyes held possessiveness, triumph.
With deliberate care, she extricated her arm from his grasp. “I truly hope,” she whispered in a hoarse voice, “that you don’t come to regret this day.”
“I don’t intend to,” his lordship replied tranquilly, showing none of the inner turmoil she felt.
Her hand trembled as she signed the church register, cementing the marriage. Then, chastising herself for her cowardice, Brynn straightened her spine and plastered a smile on her lips as she accepted the seemingly endless good wishes of the guests.
The Duke of Hennessy’s barouche carried the wedding party to Caldwell House, where a feast had been laid out on the terrace by the duke’s vast army of servants. The wedding breakfast was torment for Brynn, for it seemed to last for hours. The July afternoon turned so warm, she felt light-headed, despite the cooling salt breeze that blew off the sea. It took all her willpower to serenely endure the countless toasts drunk in the bridal couple’s honor, beginning with the aging duke’s salute to his good friend Wycliff. The expensive champagne, along with everything else she managed to swallow, tasted like dust.
It was the night ahead, however, that loomed threateningly in her mind. When the guests began to trickle away, Brynn felt her panic rising at the thought of the obligatory bedding.
As a rule, she didn’t consider herself a coward, but she had to acknowledge that she feared the physical aspect of marriage. The concept of surrendering her body to a man-even her husband-felt alien to her. Indeed, she’d spent so much of her life avoiding men, resistance was second nature to her.