Read Online White Regency 03 - White Knight by Jaclyn Reding - Free Book Online
Authors: Jaclyn Reding
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Lord Cholmeley.
The light shone in brightly behind her and Christian wasn’t able to clearly see
her. As she started walking
toward him he thought for a moment he recognized something familiar about her.
But that was impossible, he told himself. They’d never met.
He watched her approach. Golden hair
shimmered beneath a charming halo of flowers in the morning sunlight that was
beaming down through the ancient church’s stained-glass windows. Christian
didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until she walked out of the light
and he finally saw her. His breath left him in a rush as he took in her
delicate features, pale complexion, and her eyes—the same eyes that had peered
up at him from the floor of his dressing room the night of his sister’s
come-out ball.
Before Christian could wonder what to
think, she was standing beside him and the vicar began the service. While Mr.
Weston spoke, enunciating as if an entire congregation filled the church,
Christian looked again to his bride. Her eyes were fixed on the vicar, and she
was listening attentively to his words. Christian noticed her hands shaking
slightly beneath the posy of flowers she held. She must have sensed Christian
watching her, for she looked at him warily before returning her attention to
the vicar.
What the devil had she been doing that
night, creeping about through the servants’ passages? His initial confusion at
the sight of her began quickly to tighten into distrust. Had she been spying on
him? What else could have been her purpose? He rather doubted she had been
seeking to acquaint herself with the layout of the house.
When the vicar asked if the couple had
come both willingly and without reservation, Christian hesitated only a second
before giving his assent. On through the liturgy he barely heard the vicar’s
words, but managed to respond when prompted. He slid the ring—a Westover
heirloom sapphire surrounded by diamonds that had been both his mother’s and
his grandmother’s before her—onto the lady’s slender finger. In the space of a
moment they were suddenly and permanently joined. It didn’t seem possible that
it could be over so quickly.
After the ceremony closed, the duke stood
from his bench, thanked the vicar, and rewarded him with a pouch of coins before
turning to leave. His duty was done, his utmost wish fulfilled.
Christian and Grace each quickly signed
their names to the parish register, exchanging thanks and farewells with the
vicar. Christian then looked to his bride, this stranger—his wife—and offered
her his arm. “Madam?”
Outside, beside the gravestone of
one-hundred-and-seven-year-old Mary Pottinger, Eleanor and his mother were
smiling. When Christian and Grace emerged from the church, Eleanor came
forward, embracing her brother with a kiss on his cheek.
“Congratulations, Christian. I am so
happy for you. You see, I told you she would be lovely.”
He scarcely managed a nod before she then
turned to Lady Grace, welcoming her to the family with a kiss and an embrace.
“You are a beautiful bride, Grace. And it is just as I said to you. We are
now sisters.”
Christian stared at Eleanor. She already
knew his wife? Why the devil hadn’t she told him? Was everyone in on this
deception?
Lady Frances came forward and took her
son’s hands. Her voice was soft with emotion. “Thank you, Christian. I
know how difficult this day must be for you. I want you to know you are more
than any mother could ever hope for in her son.”
For a moment, he swore he caught a glimpse
of the woman she had once been before the emptiness came to darken her eyes
once again. “If there is any good to what I am, Mother, it is only due to
you.”
Lady Frances looked quickly away from him
to where Eleanor and Grace stood. “She seems a lovely girl, Christian. I
know it seems impossible, given the circumstances, but I hope you will find
happiness together.”
Christian could only nod before the duke
stepped toward him,
The light shone in brightly behind her and Christian wasn’t able to clearly see
her. As she started walking
toward him he thought for a moment he recognized something familiar about her.
But that was impossible, he told himself. They’d never met.
He watched her approach. Golden hair
shimmered beneath a charming halo of flowers in the morning sunlight that was
beaming down through the ancient church’s stained-glass windows. Christian
didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until she walked out of the light
and he finally saw her. His breath left him in a rush as he took in her
delicate features, pale complexion, and her eyes—the same eyes that had peered
up at him from the floor of his dressing room the night of his sister’s
come-out ball.
Before Christian could wonder what to
think, she was standing beside him and the vicar began the service. While Mr.
Weston spoke, enunciating as if an entire congregation filled the church,
Christian looked again to his bride. Her eyes were fixed on the vicar, and she
was listening attentively to his words. Christian noticed her hands shaking
slightly beneath the posy of flowers she held. She must have sensed Christian
watching her, for she looked at him warily before returning her attention to
the vicar.
What the devil had she been doing that
night, creeping about through the servants’ passages? His initial confusion at
the sight of her began quickly to tighten into distrust. Had she been spying on
him? What else could have been her purpose? He rather doubted she had been
seeking to acquaint herself with the layout of the house.
When the vicar asked if the couple had
come both willingly and without reservation, Christian hesitated only a second
before giving his assent. On through the liturgy he barely heard the vicar’s
words, but managed to respond when prompted. He slid the ring—a Westover
heirloom sapphire surrounded by diamonds that had been both his mother’s and
his grandmother’s before her—onto the lady’s slender finger. In the space of a
moment they were suddenly and permanently joined. It didn’t seem possible that
it could be over so quickly.
After the ceremony closed, the duke stood
from his bench, thanked the vicar, and rewarded him with a pouch of coins before
turning to leave. His duty was done, his utmost wish fulfilled.
Christian and Grace each quickly signed
their names to the parish register, exchanging thanks and farewells with the
vicar. Christian then looked to his bride, this stranger—his wife—and offered
her his arm. “Madam?”
Outside, beside the gravestone of
one-hundred-and-seven-year-old Mary Pottinger, Eleanor and his mother were
smiling. When Christian and Grace emerged from the church, Eleanor came
forward, embracing her brother with a kiss on his cheek.
“Congratulations, Christian. I am so
happy for you. You see, I told you she would be lovely.”
He scarcely managed a nod before she then
turned to Lady Grace, welcoming her to the family with a kiss and an embrace.
“You are a beautiful bride, Grace. And it is just as I said to you. We are
now sisters.”
Christian stared at Eleanor. She already
knew his wife? Why the devil hadn’t she told him? Was everyone in on this
deception?
Lady Frances came forward and took her
son’s hands. Her voice was soft with emotion. “Thank you, Christian. I
know how difficult this day must be for you. I want you to know you are more
than any mother could ever hope for in her son.”
For a moment, he swore he caught a glimpse
of the woman she had once been before the emptiness came to darken her eyes
once again. “If there is any good to what I am, Mother, it is only due to
you.”
Lady Frances looked quickly away from him
to where Eleanor and Grace stood. “She seems a lovely girl, Christian. I
know it seems impossible, given the circumstances, but I hope you will find
happiness together.”
Christian could only nod before the duke
stepped toward him,
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