see him. And death would be a kinder choice for her then.
She realized that Berrington was expecting her to decline. He had made the offer merely as a formality so that she would not lose face, as she had been compromised.
Something in his expression told her clearly that he considered marriage to her impossibility.
Taking a deep breath Belinda looked into his eyes.
"I am honored with your offer of marriage, my lord. I accept."
Chapter 6
In the silence of St. George's Cathedral, the clergyman's voice rang out unnaturally high, and to Belinda's ear, hurtfully strident.
"Do you, Richard Branston, Earl of Berrington, Baron D'Estel, take this woman, Belinda Presleigh, of Hunsley Manor, as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and honor until death do you part?"
They called it becoming leg-shackled, thought Berrington, feeling a choking sensation in his throat, but they were wrong, he felt the shackles around his neck, so tight that he had trouble breathing. He knew these shackles would be with him for the rest of his life. The thought now made his chin tremble with suppressed rage.
"My lord—" The clergyman's voice was worried, apologetic. He looked up at Berrington expectantly, as a long silence hung heavy on the pale staring faces of the few wedding guests who had been able to attend with a few days' notice. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths.
Belinda, waited, feeling numb. For the first time in the days that had followed she realized the enormity of what she had done and felt the full weight of it on her mind. She now realized that however idealized her image of Berrington and the love she had for him, he would never come to feel for her a fraction of what she felt for him. She was bathed in humiliation by his long pause and felt an embarrassment for which there was no description. He obviously despised the thought of marriage to her and could not even bring himself to utter the words.
She now wished he would say no. The embarrassment of being jilted would be nothing compared to that awful hesitation, that long pause in which everyone looked at each other, some with smirks of “I told you so,” some almost laughing. The pause told her clearly, as clearly as if Berrington had shouted it, that he would resent her for the rest of her life.
Belinda felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she realized she could not now undo what she had done.
The awful deed had come to roost in her heart.
Finally, Lord Berrington's voice rang out—loud, impatient, and clear.
"I do."
* * * * *
In the stillness of the opulent carriage, Belinda felt like an interloper as she leaned against luxurious squabs inside a carriage where she felt she had no right to be.
Avoiding the unsmiling, averted face of Lord Berrington who sat before her, she turned to view the drenching rain and lowering dark clouds.
She stared at the raindrops splashing on the window and realized that her life had now become a nightmare from which she was not allowed to wake.
Not a word was spoken in the carriage during the five hours that it took to reach the first village, where they would spend the night and continue on the journey to Winterhill.
After a few minutes of stony silence Berrington had taken out some newspapers and given his attention to these for the larger part of the trip.
Belinda, feeling in enemy ground, kept herself from falling asleep by recalling poems she had memorized or the plots of novels she had read. She would not lie there asleep, helpless before him, so that he could view her with cold contempt at his leisure.
For the next two hours she managed to keep her mind blank as she stared out the window, keeping away from thoughts about the life that awaited her at Winterhill.
Lord Berrington continued asleep and Belinda's mind wandered to her last day in London.
"It is incredible that Lord Berrington refuses to speak to me," her mother had said excitedly. "He and that unpleasant sister-in-law of his, Flora Liston, made
She realized that Berrington was expecting her to decline. He had made the offer merely as a formality so that she would not lose face, as she had been compromised.
Something in his expression told her clearly that he considered marriage to her impossibility.
Taking a deep breath Belinda looked into his eyes.
"I am honored with your offer of marriage, my lord. I accept."
Chapter 6
In the silence of St. George's Cathedral, the clergyman's voice rang out unnaturally high, and to Belinda's ear, hurtfully strident.
"Do you, Richard Branston, Earl of Berrington, Baron D'Estel, take this woman, Belinda Presleigh, of Hunsley Manor, as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and honor until death do you part?"
They called it becoming leg-shackled, thought Berrington, feeling a choking sensation in his throat, but they were wrong, he felt the shackles around his neck, so tight that he had trouble breathing. He knew these shackles would be with him for the rest of his life. The thought now made his chin tremble with suppressed rage.
"My lord—" The clergyman's voice was worried, apologetic. He looked up at Berrington expectantly, as a long silence hung heavy on the pale staring faces of the few wedding guests who had been able to attend with a few days' notice. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths.
Belinda, waited, feeling numb. For the first time in the days that had followed she realized the enormity of what she had done and felt the full weight of it on her mind. She now realized that however idealized her image of Berrington and the love she had for him, he would never come to feel for her a fraction of what she felt for him. She was bathed in humiliation by his long pause and felt an embarrassment for which there was no description. He obviously despised the thought of marriage to her and could not even bring himself to utter the words.
She now wished he would say no. The embarrassment of being jilted would be nothing compared to that awful hesitation, that long pause in which everyone looked at each other, some with smirks of “I told you so,” some almost laughing. The pause told her clearly, as clearly as if Berrington had shouted it, that he would resent her for the rest of her life.
Belinda felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she realized she could not now undo what she had done.
The awful deed had come to roost in her heart.
Finally, Lord Berrington's voice rang out—loud, impatient, and clear.
"I do."
* * * * *
In the stillness of the opulent carriage, Belinda felt like an interloper as she leaned against luxurious squabs inside a carriage where she felt she had no right to be.
Avoiding the unsmiling, averted face of Lord Berrington who sat before her, she turned to view the drenching rain and lowering dark clouds.
She stared at the raindrops splashing on the window and realized that her life had now become a nightmare from which she was not allowed to wake.
Not a word was spoken in the carriage during the five hours that it took to reach the first village, where they would spend the night and continue on the journey to Winterhill.
After a few minutes of stony silence Berrington had taken out some newspapers and given his attention to these for the larger part of the trip.
Belinda, feeling in enemy ground, kept herself from falling asleep by recalling poems she had memorized or the plots of novels she had read. She would not lie there asleep, helpless before him, so that he could view her with cold contempt at his leisure.
For the next two hours she managed to keep her mind blank as she stared out the window, keeping away from thoughts about the life that awaited her at Winterhill.
Lord Berrington continued asleep and Belinda's mind wandered to her last day in London.
"It is incredible that Lord Berrington refuses to speak to me," her mother had said excitedly. "He and that unpleasant sister-in-law of his, Flora Liston, made
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