Jonas leaned back in the corner, stretching his long legs into the well between the seats. He seemed to occupy all available space. Sidonie shrank into her blanket and told herself without conviction that what she did was for the best. She was far from sure. Life with Jonas when he didn’t love her promised disaster, whatever legitimacy it gave their baby.
“Now will you take me home?” she asked with resurgent strength, although it was too late to do any good. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.
“No.”
She tensed with resentment—and a healthy dose of dread. “Just where are you taking me?”
When she felt the coach slow, she realized she was about to find out. The curve of Jonas’s lips indicated triumph but no pleasure. “To St. Marylebone. To pledge your troth, my faithless love.”
She winced. The insult hurt like a razor drawn across her skin. “I only just—” She straightened. “I haven’t agreed to marry you.”
The coach drew to a stop and Jonas seized her hand in a grip that brooked no resistance. “Close enough. I won’t countenance any scenes at the altar either. It’s all set, Sidonie. You must have known it would be, once I learned you carried my baby. After Roberta told me, I bought a special license. You and I are about to be united in holy wedlock, amore mio.”
Appalled, Sidonie stared at him through the dim interior. Stupidly, although it was hardly the most significant objection, she couldn’t help thinking she wasn’t dressed for a wedding in her secondhand blue gown and faded cloak. “N-now?”
That daunting smile lingered. “No time like the present.” His voice hardened. “If I let you go, I have a disagreeable feeling you’ll disappear again.”
Shame and regret formed a rancid mixture in her belly. “You still don’t trust me.”
“Not an inch.”
The footman opened the door and Jonas stepped out, clutching her hand as if afraid she’d bolt. But she was too heartsore to delay her fate.
Jonas had won.
She welcomed the return of familiar numbness. Jonas was strong. Jonas was certain. He’d make sure her child was safe. For herself, she cared nothing.
“Come, Sidonie.” Through her wretchedness, she heard a hint of kindness.
Kindness was more dangerous than bullying. If he was kind, she might start believing he’d care for her again. “Very well,” she said in a clipped voice that concealed dizzying turmoil.
As she stood outside the church and stared at the door through which she’d enter a spinster and leave a bride, she faltered. It was all too much. She turned toward the street, ready to run.
Jonas’s hand tightened. “Courage, Sidonie.” Briefly she heard the voice of the man she’d fallen in love with.
She inhaled on a sob. Her destiny was set. She married Jonas, for good or ill. Staring at the pavement, she battled the nausea curdling her stomach. She wanted to suggest they go somewhere to eat first. Through the buzzing in her ears, she heard Jonas click his fingers, a few soft words then the clink of coins.
When she looked up, Jonas stared at her, his eyes opaque. His mouth was unsmiling and a muscle twitched in his scarred cheek. He extended a bunch of daffodils toward her and she realized an old lady in ragged clothing sat on the church steps, selling flowers.
“Sidonie?” he prompted when she didn’t accept the humble bouquet.
“Oh.” Without thinking, her fingers curled around the flowers. Their bright, joyful yellow was a piercing reminder of everything she’d never have.
Courage, Sidonie.
Enough of this. For heaven’s sake, she refused to shuffle into her wedding like a beggar. She’d march in on two feet and face whatever fortune tossed her way. She blinked away tears and stiffened her spine.
She could do this. God help her. And Jonas. And their unborn child.
As if recognizing her reviving spirit, Jonas released her. He extended his arm with a courtly gesture. After a slight hesitation, she hooked her trembling hand around his elbow. He glanced down at her and she caught a flash of something in his steely eyes that might be torment rivaling hers. Then his stony expression descended and she realized she was mistaken. Her fingers clenched around the daffodils.
“Our wedding awaits, Miss Forsythe.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
As they mounted the steps, the flower seller called out behind them with a cheerfulness that made Sidonie want to scream. “Heaven bless the bride and groom!”
Sidonie remained quiet as Jonas escorted her inside Merrick House. She knew the place well. Roberta and William had spent more of their married life in the London residence than at Barstowe Hall. Still she paused, surprised, when she entered what was once a dreary, dark hall to find light-filled space.