Now they stood at the altar while the last of the congregation found their places. Fen and Anthony came in. The first time he’d seen them together, they’d seemed an incongruous couple. Delicate Fenella and her rough, gruff shipping magnate.
Now West was convinced she couldn’t have found anyone better. She looked lovely in a pink velvet gown trimmed with swansdown. She’d always been pretty, but love transformed her to radiant beauty.
Accompanying them were two half-grown boys. The fair one he recognized as Fenella’s son Brandon, while the dark one had such a look of his uncle that he must be Carey Townsend, Anthony’s ward.
Reluctantly his gaze moved past Fen and Anthony to where Helena paused in the doorway to speak to an elderly cousin. Every muscle tightened in forbidden longing.
Helena. His joy. His torment. His obsession. The impossible fate.
Since his illness, he’d seen little of her. Deliberately.
She’d dared propriety to visit his sickroom, but he’d ensured they weren’t alone. He’d sensed her increasing frustration, but he didn’t yet trust himself to do the right thing. At least when she had him cornered in a bedroom.
As soon as he could hold a pen, he’d asked the reliably discreet Cooper to deliver a note. The message had promised a discussion after the wedding. Once the house emptied of all those hawk-eyed relatives, and West had the strength to say what he must. For her sake.
The note had prompted an immediate visit. He should have known it would. But he’d pretended to be asleep, and she’d retreated in defeat. She’d tried again, of course. His Helena wasn’t one to accept the first setback. But the guests filling the house hampered her movements, and the doctor had insisted on constant nursing for West while he recovered.
These stratagems only put off the evil hour. He’d have to talk to her soon. It was unfair to leave her dangling.
Although a clever creature like Helena must already know something had changed.
West was determined to meet her in a public place, with no chance of laying his hands on her. Because if he did, every scruple would fly out the window. When Helena was within reach, he didn’t trus
t his ability to master his baser urges.
Today or tomorrow, he’d set her free. Despite all her claims to emotional detachment, he knew she wouldn’t thank him now. However, he was sure she’d thank him in time.
Poor comfort, but all he could muster at this moment.
With her usual eye-catching saunter, Helena moved into the body of the church. In all this crowd, he saw only her. And damn it, if she didn’t instantly look over the sea of heads toward him. Despite everything, heat blasted him.
Heat. Sorrow. And something else that he forbade a name.
Before he made an ass of himself, he broke the connection and turned to stare at the flower-bedecked altar. Silas’s greenhouses had come up trumps again.
But the image of Helena, tall, elegant and somehow tragically alone, despite her clamorous family about her, remained burned on his eyes. She wore crimson, and her shining hair was bundled up beneath an absurd confection of feathers and ribbons and pearls.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” Silas growled out of the side of his mouth. “I will not have my groomsman looking like a bilious seagull.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A bilious seagull?”
“Yes. The beaky nose makes the resemblance unmistakable.” Silas released a hiss of exasperation. “Damn it, it’s my wedding. Try and act like it’s a jolly occasion. Your problems with my dashed troublesome sister will keep.”
Silas had a point. “Sorry, old man.”
But Silas had fallen silent, transfixed by what he saw at the church door. The organist started to play as West turned. Silas’s pretty tawny-haired sister Amy stepped forward, wearing a fashionable light blue gown. Caro followed a few paces behind.
West caught his breath. Caro had always been lovely, but today she dazzled. She wore a gown of rich gold silk, and her deep brown hair was braided in a crown around her head. She carried a bouquet of spring flowers. Lily of the valley, snowdrops and violets, twined about with ivy to symbolize fidelity. Befitting a woman of her originality, no man walked by her side. She gave herself to Silas with an independent will and a loving heart.
She looked proud and happy, and transfigured by love. As if the angels agreed, the sun chose that moment to stream through the stained glass window and bathe her in brilliant light.
“You’re a lucky man, old son,” he said to Silas.
“More than I deserve.” Silas smiled at his bride. She smiled back, and misery stabbed West. He didn’t resent his friend’s good fortune, but he knew that he’d never look across a crowded church to see the woman he wanted walking toward him.
With a rustle, the congregation rose. The vicar stepped forward with the prayer book in his hands. West packed away his selfish concerns to watch his best friend pledge himself to the woman he loved.
Chapter Thirteen