Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)
Vanity cleared his throat. “It belonged to one of my maids. I guess she’s a bit larger than you.”
Interestingly, the dress was too small in the bosom. But she let that detail go. “I’m wearing a maid’s gown?”
Perhaps it was her tone of voice or the way the priest was swaying on his feet, but Vanity began backing toward the entrance of the church.
Chad cleared his throat. “It helps to disguise you, sweetheart.”
That, for whatever reason, was the final straw. She tossed down the flowers. “I am of medium height with brown hair. I don’t need a disguise. You, however, are sporting that unfashionably long mop on the top of your large, very noticeable body. Perhaps you should be in the servant’s attire.”
His brow scrunched. “You wanted to travel in your ballgown? And…you don’t like my hair?”
Men. “That’s not the point. You’re far more likely to draw attention than me. Why do I have to get married in a sack?”
He frowned down at her. “It’s the best—”
“Don’t say it.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she straightened her shoulders, refusing to give in to the tears. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What every man longs to hear on his wedding day,” Chad gritted out as he stooped down to pick up the flowers.
She reached for his hand to stop him. “Don’t bother. I’d rather marry without them.”
“Why?” he asked, but he stopped.
She shook her head. It was like everything else with this wedding. They were wrong. And they reminded her that despite his affirmation she’d have choices, she had none. Her only choice was to abstain from those hideous excuses of a bouquet… “I want to choose one thing in my wedding. And so I choose not to carry weeds down the aisle. It doesn’t seem very good luck does it?”
He winced. “Abby,” he said softly, taking her hand. She jerked it away, looking toward the only bit of stained glass in the entire church located above the altar.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. “It was my childhood name, and it doesn’t apply now.”
“Why not?”
Abby was her father’s nickname. The man who, despite all his love for her when he was home, had flitted in and out of her life as he pleased. Besides, what had his favoritism gotten her? “I walk willingly down this aisle with you as a woman ready to face her future.” She clenched her fists in her skirts. “I deserve to be called by my given name.”
“You sound more like you’re being marched to the gallows,” he answered, his words clipped.
It was her turn to wince. She
hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “I suppose you can’t understand this but a woman’s wedding…” She swallowed a lump. “It’s one of those things she dreams of.”
He didn’t answer and Abigail finally stopped staring at the glass and instead turned her head to sneak a peek at him. His face was set in unreadable lines of granite. “I see.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I wish that I could change the details, but today, I am as powerless as you.”
That tugged at her heart. He was right. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m being petulant. My apologies.”
He gave a stiff nod and then held his hand out to her. She slipped her fingers into his. The door to the church creaked and they both looked back.
Vanity walked into the chapel holding a lovely arrangement of holly and ivy. Red berries added a splash of color. She gasped, a hand coming to cover her mouth.
“I know that this isn’t much, but I thought it might do.” The man gave her a charming smile, his dark hair arranged perfectly, despite the early morning hour.
She nibbled at her lip, tears of gratitude misting her eyes. “It’s lovely. How did you do that so quickly?”
“I’ve a knack for making pretty things and a penchant for perfection. Hence my nickname. Vanity.”
She took the flowers into her trembling hand. Perhaps this wedding wouldn’t be such a complete disaster after all.
* * *
This might be the single worst day of his life, Chad thought as he raked his fingers through his hair. His apparently unattractive hair. He’d thought it rakishly appealing, himself. Perhaps that was what she didn’t like about it.