THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Adrian's heart beat a steady drum within his chest, a sound he could almost hear over the hush of the chapel. He stood at the altar beside the vicar, hands clasped loosely behind his back, trying not to betray the faint tremor of nerves beneath his composed exterior.
The air inside the chapel was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of lilies and polished oak. Candles flickered in their holders, casting soft golden light across the marble floor.
He shifted slightly, his gaze drawn again and again to the tall double doors at the far end of the aisle. 'Where was she?' he wondered. 'Surely she didn't need to take this long.'
He exhaled, straightening the lapels of his dark tuxedo. The tailors had done their finest work; the cut was perfect, the fit immaculate, and yet he felt suffocated in it. 'A fine suit for a reluctant groom,' he thought bitterly.
Only a few guests occupied the pews—family, his father, his sister, and a handful of well-wishers whose faces he barely knew. Adrian had never cared for crowds, nor for the empty ceremony of being observed. He would have preferred to marry quietly, perhaps in the study, with only a signature to seal the matter. But his father had insisted on the chapel, on appearances, on tradition.
Then the doors opened.
Every thought stilled.
She stepped through with measured grace, sunlight glancing off the gold satin of her gown. The fabric shimmered as she walked, each movement scattering light like water rippling under the sun.
Adrian's breath caught. Was this truly her?
It was. The same woman who had arrived at Langford Manor three days ago—pale, withdrawn, uncertain—yet somehow transformed. Rest, nourishment, and perhaps the faintest hint of confidence had softened her features. There was colour now in her cheeks, and her eyes no longer seemed entirely haunted.
He watched her approach, each slow step bringing her closer to a fate neither of them had chosen.
When she finally stood before him, she offered a small, nervous smile. "Your Grace."
Her voice trembled slightly, though she tried to steady it.
Adrian inclined his head, his lips curving in a faint, courteous smile. "Lady Evelina," he murmured. "You look… stunning."
He surprised himself with the sincerity of his tone. For a man who had expected indifference, the words came far too easily.
Colour rose swiftly to her cheeks. "You do not look so bad yourself, Your Grace," she replied softly, her eyes darting away almost at once.
Before he could answer, the vicar cleared his throat, bowing his head politely. "Shall we begin, Your Grace?"
Adrian nodded immediately. "Of course."
♧♧♧♧♧♧♧
Clara felt her hands tremble as the ceremony began. Her heart beat so fast it almost drowned out the vicar's solemn voice. The words of the vows blurred together, sacred and distant, as though spoken in another world entirely.
Her lips moved, but she scarcely knew what she said.
She could feel Adrian beside her—tall, steady, unreadable. His presence was daunting, yet oddly comforting in its calm. When the vicar finally closed the book and pronounced them husband and wife, a strange stillness fell over her.
Then came the words she had both dreaded and anticipated.
"You may kiss your bride."
Her breath caught. Heat flooded her face. Surely he won't… not when he seemed to have no interest in her…
But when Adrian leaned slightly closer, her heart stuttered all the same. She closed her eyes instinctively, uncertain whether from fear or hope.
A faint brush of lips touched her cheek—nothing more. Polite, distant, mercifully brief.
She opened her eyes, startled, and met his gaze. His brown eyes were calm, his expression unreadable, as though the gesture had cost him nothing.
Around them, the guests erupted into polite applause, the sound echoing hollowly in her ears. She forced a smile, though a sharp pang bloomed quietly in her chest. He still resented her.
It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.
♧♧♧♧♧♧♧
The carriage ride back to Langford Manor was silent, the only sound the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the cobbled road. Adrian sat opposite her, his gaze fixed on the window, his thoughts elsewhere.
She couldn't help folding her hands tightly in her lap, and stealing occasional glances at him. He looked as though he regretted being married to her. Her heart sank as she turned her eyes to the scenery beyond the glass, watching the world blur past.
When they arrived, Adrian stepped out first, turning at once to help her down. His hand, when it took hers, was warm—steady—but his grip lingered no longer than courtesy required.
Before she could thank him, a cheerful voice called out across the drive.
"Well, well, well—if it isn't the newlyweds!"
Both turned.
Cedric Hendrix, Adrian's oldest friend, strode toward them with that familiar air of mischief that always seemed to follow him. His smile was broad, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Cedric," Adrian muttered, already bracing himself.
"Adrian," Cedric greeted with a grin before turning to the bride. "And this must be Lady Evelina." He bowed gallantly, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. "An honour, my lady. I am Cedric Hendrix—your husband's most loyal, and occasionally most troublesome, friend."
Clara flushed, unsure whether to curtsy or laugh. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hendrix."
"Oh, please—call me Cedric," he said with mock offence. "We're all family now, are we not?"
She smiled faintly but said nothing because she knew she would never. She could scarcely bring herself to call Adrian by his name, much less his friend.
Adrian, sensing her discomfort, stepped in. "You may go in first," he told her quietly. "I'll join you shortly."
She nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape, and made her way toward the manor.
Only when she was gone did Adrian turn sharply to his friend. "I wasn't aware you planned to attend."
Cedric grinned. "And miss your wedding? I'd never forgive myself."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Just don't make a spectacle of yourself. I've had enough trouble for one day."
"Trouble?" Cedric's grin widened. "My dear Duke, I'm only here to celebrate your happy union." He clapped Adrian on the shoulder with mock solemnity. "Now come, let's drink. Today, my friend, you are a married man. That deserves at least one good bottle."
Adrian sighed, rolling his eyes as Cedric led the way toward the ballroom where guests awaited. 'One good bottle,' he thought grimly, 'might just make his day bearable.'