He Objects

Chapter 4: A Joyous Occasion

Despite the tailor's repeated assurances that he didn't touch the waistline, the dress felt even tighter than it had a couple of days ago. I felt faint as I sucked in my stomach, hoping the seams wouldn't burst as I walked down the aisle. I'd never live it down.

Sylvia fanned my face. "At least you'll get to wear the blue gown for the reception," she said apologetically. I'd already been in the dress for over an hour, having been stuffed into it at home and forced to wear it during the slowest carriage ride imaginable to the church. Why my mother insisted on a formal processional, I'll never know.

"If I live that long," I gasped breathily.

"My lady," Sylvia said, stifling a laugh. Then she grew teary. "Uncomfortable though you may be, you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Sylvia. I owe it to you," I said, taking in my final appearance in the looking glass. "You did wonders with my hair."

"Oh, hush now," she said, waving off the praise. I was grateful she was coming with me to the Duke's estate. I had been worried that my mother would insist on keeping her, but luckily she acquiesced and allowed me to keep my favorite lady's maid.

My mother burst into the room, as was her way. "Oh! There are so many people here to see you wed, Charlotte!" she cried, already waving a handkerchief around. "Everyone who's anyone is here!"

"I'm sure they're not all here just for the wedding, mother," I said patiently, hoping she wouldn't notice the way I was digging my fingers under the corset at my waist in hopes of being able to breathe slightly better. Sylvia adjusted herself a little so that her skirts hid the action from view, bless her.

"Well, I'm sure some of the lesser acquaintances are here to see the prince," my mother said dismissively. "But no matter. The point is, they're here, and your wedding is the event of the social season!"

I briefly closed my eyes. Of course, this day, this culmination of my parents' efforts for me to rise in station and be the most popular amongst the nobility, would be a joyous occasion for her. But I was feeling like prized property again, getting ready to parade myself in front of the gentry, convincing my intended that yes, I was a good investment.

My mother was still rambling on about how this was the happiest day of both hers and my life when a quiet knock sounded at the door. "It's time," murmured Madam Baudot, who was in charge of the timing of the ceremony.

"Oh! Goodness me, I've spent too much time back here," my mother fussed. She took my hands in hers and beamed at me. "You look perfect, Charlotte. Felix is going to love you." Then she pecked me carefully on the cheek to avoid staining it with her lip color and slipped out, no doubt to sashay down the aisle in full view of the ceremony attendees, a proud mother of the bride.

Felix is going to love you. An seemingly impossible feat, said by a person too swept up in the excitement to notice the lack of warmth between Felix and me. But perhaps she was right. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but with time, maybe Felix really would love me. Or at least like me. And I him. Quite frankly, that barest shred of hope was the only reason why I was still here. Otherwise, I didn't think I could go through with it, no matter how much my parents were counting on me.

Suddenly, I realized my breath was coming out in ragged gasps. Sylvia was fluttering nearby with worry, with no clue what to do but ready to assist at a moment's notice. "I'm okay," I panted, waving her off. Now was not the time to have a panic attack. I forced myself to calm down and empty my mind, until I was sitting numb, thinking of nothing at all.

Finally composed, I rose and inhaled as deeply as the dress would allow, which wasn't much. "Alright," I said to myself, doing my best to remain poised. Sylvia wiped her eyes and helped organize my train, her last send-off for me as an unmarried lady.

I swept out of the room, drawn forward by the swelling of music from the church's grand pipe organ and the sight of my father waiting. Ahead of me, the last couple in the bridal party were starting down the aisle, treading on the delicate petals distributed by the tiny flower girl that had obviously spilled out long before she got to the pews. I took my place behind the white gossamer curtain, clutching onto my father's arm.

"Are you okay, princess?" he whispered, looking down at me fondly. His eyes were teary, but he was keeping it together remarkably well for how emotional he could be.

And it was that proud, hopeful look that lit up his face that stiffened my resolve. "Yes," I whispered back. What else could I say? I was wearing a constricting dress, preparing to walk down the aisle toward my standoffish husband-to-be, and after it was all over, I was starting a new life with major responsibilities with no real support. But the match meant a lot to my parents, and I knew nothing I could say would change the course of events.

The melody of the organ transitioned from a more lilting tune to a regal processional, and Madam Baudot nodded silently at us from where she was tucked out of sight. Footmen on either side of the aisle pulled back the white curtains one last time, and we went through, taking the first of my final steps that would close the distance between me and my future.