And then she saw him.
Edward stood at the front of the church with his shoulders square and his posture calm and patient, as though the room and everything in it existed merely as scenery around him. Hewas dressed immaculately, dark coat fitted to the breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair neat above the sharp line of his jaw. He looked, as he always seemed to look, entirely at ease with himself.
But it was not his composure that made Phoebe falter in her step.
It was the fact that he was looking right at her.
His dark eyes were awfully familiar to her now, the way they seemed to encase her in heat whenever they rested on her, the simple way every look he casted her way made her feel unsettled. And there was something in them now, in the steadiness of his gaze as he watched her come down the aisle, that made the voices in Phoebe's head go suddenly, blessedly quiet.
She was not aware that she had stopped thinking of the guests in the pews, her focus unable to linger on much else besides her waiting groom.
“Breathe,” Rowland murmured beside her.
She realised she had been holding her breath and exhaled quietly, feeling some of the tension within her body escape as she did so. She glanced at him sideways and found him looking ahead, jaw tight as though he was trying very hard to maintain his composure. She tightened her grip on his arm, desperate to reassure him that all was well.
“I'm all right,” she said softly.
He said nothing, but covered her hand with his briefly before they came to a stop at the altar.
The vicar’s voice was low and measured as the ceremony began, and Phoebe tried to pay attention to the words, she really did – but Edward had turned to face her fully now, and the proximity of him was its own kind of distraction. She had not realised, during their two previous meetings, just how tall he was until she was standing beside him, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes when he looked down at her.
He reached out and took her hand and she jumped slightly at the unexpected action.
The gesture was simple enough – customary, even – but his fingers were warm around hers and he held her hand with an unhurried certainty that made her wonder just how confident he was in his decision to haver her as his wife. Phoebe's heart shuddered in her chest and she willed herself to focus on the vicar again.
It was during the vows that he did it – that particular sort of behaviour she was beginning to recognise as deliberate on his part. The vicar asked him to repeat after him, and Edward did, his voice even and clear, but when he arrived at the wordswith my body I thee worship, the faintest smile crossed his lips, and his gaze dropped to hers with an expression that was not quite innocent.
Phoebe felt the heat rise to her cheeks before she could prevent it.
Edward was doing it on purpose. She was almost entirely certain of it now. Every time he spoke to her, every time he looked at her in that particular way, he was watching for the limit of her composure, testing where the edge was. It was infuriating – especially how it made her wish to say something sharp and precise back at him, in hopes that she could wipe too-knowing look from his face.
But this was neither the time nor the place, and so she only stared back at him with the most level expression she could manage, her lips parting to utter the words she was meant to, just as she was expected to.
Edward’s smile, she noticed, widened very slightly.
The ceremony passed in a distant blur, with the words said, the light that streaming in from the windows, and the warmth of his hand all pressing together in her memory. Phoebe did not know what it meant for her when she realized she would be unable to give an account of what transpired the whole time, so she prayed no one would ask.
The weight of her situation finally settled in her chest when the vicar pronounced them man and wife. She stood still, suddenly at a loss on what to do, saved when the duke – her husband inclined his head toward her, a small private acknowledgement. It felt only natural to give him a nod in return, and his smile afterwards lit a small flame of pleasure within her.
They turned together to face the congregation, and Phoebe had the distinct and slightly dizzying sense that her life had just changed in a way she would spend a very long time growing accustomed to.
The guests mingled after the ceremony in the churchyard while the carriages were being prepared, and Phoebe slipped away from the small cluster of well-wishers – Edward's associates, mostly, whose polite congratulations had been offered with varying degrees of curiosity in their eyes – to find Anna and Rowland standing a little apart from the crowd.
Anna had been crying again – that much was evident in the brightness of her eyes and the slight puffiness around them. But she beamed brightly when Phoebe approached them, walking forward quickly to take hold of her hands.
“You looked beautiful,” Anna told her, her voice only slightly unsteady.
“Don't,” Phoebe cautioned with a little laugh, her voice equally as soft. “Or you'll start again and then I will too, and neither of us shall make a leave impression.”
Anna gave a wet laugh and squeezed her hands. “Can I visit? Tell me I can visit. I cannot bear the thought of being with Rowland consistently, now that you won’t be with us anymore. It won’t be long before he invites me to go hunting with him.”
“Why on earth would I do that? You can barely ride a horse as is.” Rowland responded, looking outraged.
Phoebe watched them with a fond expression, sadness threatening to consume her heart as she told herself to take in as much of this moment as she could, because such occurrences would be few and far between henceforth.
“I will have to ask my husband,” Phoebe said, and she was aware, even as she said it, of how strange that phrase was in her mouth.
My husband.truly strange. She wondered how long it would take her to get used to the very idea.