The Forbidden Room

The Wedding

I meet my husband ten minutes before our wedding.

Aunt Mae is so worried the groom is going to change his mind, she postponed our meeting until the very last minute.

I have no idea what my fiancé thinks of me when I emerge from the horse-drawn carriage in a flurry of white skirts. It's windy in front of the cathedral and my veil is swept away from my face as I walk up the few stairs to meet him by the great door.

We exchange our first glances just before Aunt Mae catches my runaway veil and throws it back in front of my eyes.

"Amelia!" she snaps as if the awful weather is my magical doing.

She has a way of making my name sound like an insult.

I pretend I don't hear her and I remain as composed as I can while our small party makes its way inside the empty church.

My heart is beating fast and I can't help but wish this to be over as soon as possible. I swallow hard and hold on to my bouquet of orange blossoms to still my shaking hands.

As we all walk up the aisle, our footsteps echo under the high ceiling. Aunt Mae glares at me like I'm going to make a mess of things. I avoid her gaze by staring ahead at the bishop waiting for us in front of the altar.

The poor man is sweating, uneasy, and I can't blame him. As far as arranged weddings go, this is no ordinary one and everyone involved knows it.

The ceremony unfolds very quickly. Uncle Ted gives me away with a bored expression and Aunt Mae taps her foot the whole time. The groom's only guest is his solicitor and witness, a short balding man who stares at me with a frown. At some point my husband-to-be takes my gloved hand in his and agrees to marry me, and Aunt Mae lets out a loud sigh of relief as I take in a short breath.

From then on I hold on to his hand as if for dear life. He has agreed to have me. I won't ever allow him to let go. Until then, and because of Aunt Mae's constant suspicion of his intentions, I was almost convinced he would decide against marrying me in the end. After all, she argued, all he gets is a huge dowry and little me. Why would he want any of that? He is already immensely rich. Aunt Mae and Uncle Ted are the ones who drove a hard bargain: my husband has agreed to let them have everything my parents left me, from the manor to the estate including the silverware and the settees.

But even if it is not obvious, I know I won this game: a month ago Aunt Mae was planning on having me declared insane and shipped off to Bedlam just to get my inheritance. This wedding with the 4th Earl of Ashton is the best I could hope for in my situation.

When we walk out of the cathedral, I take a look at my husband for the first time. Given Aunt Mae's lack of fondness for me, I was expecting someone old or ugly. He is neither.

He is older than me, yes, but only by a few years it seems. Tall and lean, he is dressed in a blue frock coat, a white waistcoat and grey striped trousers. The sleeve of his missing arm is sewn to his pocket. As we find ourselves outside again, he puts on his black top hat and leads me to his own landau carriage. His grip on my arm is gentle and I make sure my veil doesn't fly in his face when we go down the steps.

Once we are by the carriage, the driver opens the door and I turned around to bid farewell to my relatives. Since there won't be a reception, now is the time to part our ways. A huge sense of liberation washes over me as Aunt Mae dismisses me with a wave of her hand and walks to her own vehicle, Uncle Ted on her heels.

This is it. They have lost their power over me.

Despite myself, I clutch my husband's fingers, and he asks, "Shall we go now?"

I gaze up at him. He is not well-shaven, and his side whiskers almost blend with his stubble, as if he was growing a beard as raven black as his hair. He stares at me, his eyebrows raised while he waits for my reply. 

I take in a deep breath. "Yes."

***

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