But it was as if the marriage license kept Braden from touching her again. At dawn they rose and dressed, Braden in a dark blue frock coat and white waistcoat, and he went ahead to speak to the curate who would marry them. He returned with Telford, and the three drove to the church, reaching its doors just at eight o’clock.
Now the brief ceremony was finished, and a ring sparkled on Cassidy’s finger. A handful of curious country-folk had entered the church with the final vows, but Braden ignored them. He seemed unaware of anyone but Cassidy, and she could hardly believe any of it was real.
“Till death us do part,” he had promised her. And she had promised the same. Mated for life, in the church and in the way of the loups-garous.
They signed the parish register, and Cassidy wrote her own name for the last time: Cassidy Holt. Her hand was a little unsteady on the pen. From now on she was Cassidy Forster, Lady Greyburn.
Braden’s wife.
She didn’t mind that there was no wedding breakfast, or girls her own age to be envious. She had everything she’d ever wanted. Braden kissed her, and the world spun so fast that she swayed in his arms.
At the church doors she found Telford waiting and took his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for what you said to me yesterday.”
“I am gratified that I was able to be of some assistance, my lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. “May your life together be long and joyous.”
“Oh, it will, Telford.” She gazed at her new husband, who was having a last word with the curate. ” It can’t possibly be anything else.”
Seventeen
“It’s true, Isabelle,” Cassidy said, her face alight with a new and unmistakable happiness. “Braden and I are married.”
Isabelle sat down on the edge of her bed, fighting dizziness. “Married?”
“I’m actually the countess of Greyburn, can you believe it? It sounds ridiculous.”
Ridiculous. Isabelle composed herself and thought back over the past two days. The house was swarming with loups-garous; she’d been strictly confined to her room, and Cassidy hadn’t come to see her even once since the earl was wounded in the duel.
But wherever there were servants, there were very few secrets, even in a household such as Greyburn. Isabelle knew that Cassidy had argued with Lord Greyburn since his recovery, and that she had subsequently run off… with the Honorable Quentin Forster.
If that hadn’t been alarming enough, she’d soon heard that the earl had gone after the pair in a veritable frenzy. And then she’d received the anonymous note, slipped under her door.
Now… now it was too late to warn Cassidy. Nothing could have prepared Isabelle for the denouement of this drama.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t have been there,” Cassidy said, oblivious to her dismay. “It was in a very small church, and Braden didn’t want—oh, Isabelle!” She hugged Isabelle and bounced down beside her. “It doesn’t seem real. But I knew it was right, the moment we—” She stopped grinning quite so broadly. “I know what you were talking about, now. What men and women do together. Only it’s so much more than I dreamed.”
“You and Braden—Lord Greyburn—”
“Yes. Before we got married. But you don’t have to worry, Isabelle—the rules are safe now.”
Not worry. Isabelle covered her eyes with her hand. She’d seen the desire in Greyburn’s face… but she’d never have guessed it would come to this. She’d worried that Cassidy would be taken advantage of or pressured into a marriage she didn’t want. Now she was bound to the earl for the rest other life.
It was better than being used and abandoned or cast out. But there would be years and years for regret and disillusionment, with a man like Braden Forster.
Perhaps even terrible danger.
She fingered the note in her pocket. Why had it come to her, of all people? How much truth was in it? Surely some, for it tallied with her own suspicions. But how much should Cassidy be told? Didn’t she deserve some warning if the worst were true?
“Aren’t you going to wish me happy?” Cassidy asked.