Page 42 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 14
Frances
Frances made her way down the aisle on her own. She hadn’t wanted her father to walk with her. It had felt wrong.
In a way, he had caused all of this.
If he had ever loved her, if he had ever cared about her, he would not have sent her to Aunt Eugenia’s.
Yes, it was true that Aunt Eugenia had turned out to be a lovely woman who cared for her, but at the same time, Frances was getting married because her father hadn’t wanted her.
The truth was, she was surprised that he even came here. She had known that her stepmother and sister would refuse to come, and she had been quite right. Their absence hadn’t surprised her in the least. But her father’s presence was indeed a surprise.
They had not yet spoken. He had arrived only an hour before the ceremony while she was getting ready, and so Aunt Eugenia had spoken to him. He had been under the impression that he would be walking her down the aisle, but Aunt Eugenia had set him straight.
Still, now that Frances walked down the aisle all alone, following her three cousins who were her bridesmaids, she couldn’t help but feel lonely. She had wanted her father to walk her down the aisle. She had wanted him to want to do that.
She had often imagined that as a young girl, but that would have meant he would have to care for her, and he didn’t. He never had. She was nothing to him. Less than nothing.
She had been so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed she had closed the gap between her and James, who was already standing at the front, waiting for her. He offered his arm, and she took it.
“Well,” he whispered, “you look out of sorts.”
“Well, it is not every day that a country girl like myself marries a duke,” she said.
“That’s not it, though, is it?” he said. He looked over her shoulder at her father. “Are you upset that your mother—your stepmother and sister are not here?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “I could not be happier for it.”
He nodded. “I want you to know that I understand what it is like to have a strained relationship with your father.”
She looked at him, surprised to hear these words of comfort coming from his mouth. But she had no time to contemplate their meaning further because the vicar cleared his throat.
“Shall we?”
They nodded and turned to the front.
The vicar started the ceremony, and many prayers and hymns and wise words later, they said their vows. Frances uttered them, knowing that they were meaningless because this was not a real marriage after all.
After James had said his vows, they looked at one another, and a cold dread washed over her. They had to kiss now.
She parted her lips, ready to tell him that she did not wish to, when the vicar said, “You may kiss the bride.”
She inhaled sharply as his face came down to hers, but then, to her surprise, he deftly turned his head and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.
From the pews, it would’ve looked as though he kissed the corner of her mouth, but he hadn’t. He had kissed the spot right next to her mouth without touching her lips. It had been gentle and kind and respectful. A gentleman’s kiss, properly done.
Just what she would have suggested, had she thought of it beforehand.
“I assumed you did not want me to kiss you on the mouth,” he said before straightening to his full height.
“I didn’t,” she admitted.
He only nodded and offered his arm, and then together they walked down the aisle, this time to cheers and applause.
The wedding breakfast was held at her new home, the stately St. James townhouse.
The smell of fresh paint still clung where remnants of the fire that had driven him out of his home weeks ago had been covered up. There was new Chinese wallpaper all around the first floor, and she had been told that the area below stairs had been entirely redone.
