Chapter 156

The bells of St. Augustine’s Cathedral had been ringing since the morning, their deep, sonorous notes carrying across the church yard and announcing the occasion that had drawn half the Arden’s fashionable society to its doors.

Tall stained-glass windows rose along either side of the nave, their coloured panes casting fragments of crimson, blue, and gold across the polished stone floor, with vaulted ceilings.

White flowers adorned the altar, their delicate fragrance mingling with the faint scent of beeswax from the burning candles. Long rows of wooden pews extended toward the entrance, and the steady arrival of guests gradually filled the cathedral with the rustle of silk, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional whisper exchanged between acquaintances.

Draven was still a nervous wreck, and despite his best efforts to conceal it, he was doing a rather poor job. Nicholas, his oldest friend and perpetual thorn in his side, had been quick to notice and even quicker to make a nuisance of himself over it.

They stood near the altar beside the clergyman who would officiate the ceremony, watching as guests continued to file into the cathedral. Draven maintained an appearance of composure, but his attention kept straying to the great double doors.

He had been assured countless times that the morning would pass in a blur, that the ceremony would be over before he knew it, and that he ought to enjoy the occasion instead of fretting over every little detail.

Such advice had proved entirely useless when the woman he intended to marry had yet to arrive.

His attire, at least, was beyond reproach. He wore a perfectly tailored black coat over a crisp white waistcoat, with a cravat knotted neatly at his throat.

Everything about his appearance was chosen meticulously, from the polished shoes to the neat arrangement of his dark hair.

“It’s funny, really,” Nicholas remarked, sounding far too amused for Draven’s liking. “I never thought you were capable of fretting this much.”

“Mass should have begun by now. She is late,” Draven replied, his gaze still fixed on the cathedral doors, which remained open as the last of the guests found their seats.

“Don’t you think you are being a touch ridiculous? Some of the guests haven’t even arrived yet.” Nicholas snickered when Draven turned a sharp glare on him.

“Ridiculous? I think not. My concerns are perfectly valid.” Draven was indignant that his friend could find any amusement in his predicament. It was unfortunate, really, that he was rather fond of Nicholas. Otherwise, he might have found it easier to tell him precisely where he could shove his unhelpful observations.

They had been inseparable since their school days, when Nicholas had attached himself to Draven like a barnacle to the bottom of a ship. Very little had changed since then, except that Draven had gradually grown accustomed to having him around, for all the trouble he caused.

“What do you think is going to happen? Some complete stranger will swoop in and abscond with your bride?” Nicholas teased.

“Oh, shut up. I have enough to worry about without you putting such ridiculous ideas into my head.”

Draven wanted the ceremony to begin, and he wanted to see her. More than anything, he wanted the moment when she would stand beside him on this altar and he could finally take her hand without having to relinquish it again at the end of the evening.

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Your Grace, I must congratulate you. I confess I never imagined you would be the first among our acquaintances to make such a spectacular match.”

Draven turned to find Lord Winthrop approaching him. He managed a polite nod, though it took a considerable effort to draw his attention away from the entrance.

“Thank you,” he replied with all the politeness he could muster. It admittedly wasn’t much.

Fortunately, Winthrop took the hint and soon excused himself.

Draven hoped he might enjoy a few uninterrupted minutes without anyone else bothering him but he wasn’t so lucky.

“I’m happy for you. I just wanted you to know that.” It was easy to tell he was being sincere. “It’s good that you’ve finally found someone you want to spend your life with. At least now, I’m spared the trouble of dragging you and whatever woman your mother chooses next to the altar.”

Nicholas stood beside him in his usual relaxed manner, his hands resting before him, one loosely wrapped around his left wrist. He looked entirely at ease, which only made Draven more conscious of how on edge he felt in comparison.

Draven scoffed. “You have no room to talk. We are nearly the same age, and neither of us has married. We were in the same boat.”

“Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, my dear friend. Despite years of fighting tooth and nail to avoid it, I always knew you would take a wife eventually. You were never cut out to be a lifelong bachelor. I, on the other hand…” He smirked. “My opinion on marriage has hardly changed, and unlike you, I have no mother to plague me with endless reminders of my unmarried state. I have made my peace with my lot in life. I shall content myself with being the slightly crazed uncle to the brood of children you will undoubtedly have.”

Draven had a retort ready on the tip of his tongue but the words died when something caught his eye.

Simon Montague had just entered the cathedral.

His cousin was dressed appropriately for the occasion, his dark coat fitted well enough to suggest that someone had persuaded him to take an interest in his appearance. His dark-brown hair which was previously long, was now cut very short.

Simon paused briefly to survey the gathering before making his way toward the pews reserved for the Montague family.

“Did you invite him?” Nicholas asked, noticing the very thing that Draven did.

Draven shook his head. “No, I did not.”

It wasn’t difficult to guess who was responsible. It was his own fault, really. He should have warned his mother against inviting Simon.