Page 96 of A Fragile Enchantment

The protesters waited in the cathedral’s courtyard.

Clever,Niamh thought. Jack couldn’t oust them all without causing a scene. Besides, a massacre on the wedding day would be a most inauspicious start to a marriage.

They hoisted flags into the air and planted them in the cathedral’s immaculate lawn. Despite their numbers, the protestors stood in orderly contingents, facing down the wedding procession like an army making their last stand. And at the front of them, radiant and tall on the makeshift stage of an overturned crate, was their general: Helen Carlile.

Jack drew his horse up short. His mount pawed restlessly at the cobblestones. He stared imperiously down the bridge of his nose at Carlile. Niamh had been on the receiving end of that stare a time or two before; she knew the effect it had. But Carlile met it head-on.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“I’m here to demand an audience with the prince regent.” She gave him the most perfunctory of bows. “I suppose that would be you.”

He dismounted from his horse, his boots striking the cobbles with a decisiveclack. The Kings Guard rested their hands on their sabers in unison. An anxious murmur rippled through the wedding guests.

“Good day to you, madam,” he said coldly. “You are in no position to demand a thing from me. It is my brother’s—your prince’s—wedding day.”

“I mean no offense, sir. It’s only that I have asked to speak to you a great many days before this,” she said earnestly. “You’re a difficult man to pin down. One can almost begin to suspect that you’re hiding from me.”

“Give me one reason to not have you arrested for sedition here and now.” Jack lowered his voice; Niamh had to inch forward to even hear. “What do you mean by this display? It serves no other purpose but to excite discontent and vex me personally.”

“An hour of your time is all I ask.” A pleading note entered her voice. “These good people have gathered here to have their concerns heard. If that is a crime, I do not recognize you any longer. No matter what they say about you, sir, I did not take you for a despot.”

“Meet with her.” Kit, at last, spoke. He addressed his brother almost wearily, without a hint of petulance or imperiousness. “Consider it my wedding gift.”

Carlile’s gaze darted between them.

The silence stretched on. A bead of sweat ran down Jack’s temple. But whatever he saw in his brother’s eyes must have moved him. “Very well. I will speak with you after the ceremony. You and yourilkcan wait for me outside the Parliament building. I will receive you in my office there.”

Niamh could hardly believe it.

Carlile’s entire face lit up, all sunny gratitude and stunned satisfaction. “Thank you, Your Highness. Sincerely, thank you. I very much look forward to it.” She bowed to Kit. “And congratulations to you. Much happiness to you and your new bride.”

“Thanks,” he said tersely.

She turned back to the protesters, and with a single gesture, they fell in line around her. They marched toward the Parliament building, parting around the wedding procession like a river flowing over a stone. Their disciplined silence astounded Niamh. As soon as the last of them cleared the cathedral’s gates, the tension in the air dissipated.

And as if on cue, the wedding bells tolled overhead.

Theygong, gong, gonged,a deep, mournful sound that resonated within Niamh’s rib cage. As the last toll of the bell shivered into the morning, the doors to the cathedral opened wide.

Niamh’s breath quickened. She didn’t know if she could do this. She couldn’t face Kit again. And if she failed, she didn’t know if she could bear to see the moment he was bound to Rosa forevermore. She would not survive that heartbreak.

But she had no time to hesitate. Once the Carmines entered the cathedral, the guests behind her all but shoved her through the threshold and into the vestibule.

The ceiling loomed high above them, supported by white columns and laced up like stays with ribbing. Flames floated and drifted through the air as though they were candles borne on a current. Flowers were woven into the pews, and garlands were draped over every alcove, all the blooms done in sumptuous white. Everything glittered, from the dust motes drifting through delicate threads of light to the gilt on the saintly icons on the walls.

But it was the altar that truly stole her breath away.

Kit stood silhouetted against the backdrop of the stained-glass windows. They filled the entire apse, from the wooden wainscoting to the dramatically arched ceiling. The light they let in enfolded him, softening all his hard edges. It painted him delicately. He wore a white waistcoat and cravat, with a golden pin in the shape of a blooming rose. He looked like a fairy-tale prince.

Sinclair stood beside him on the altar. As livid as he was with Sinclair, he hadn’t disinvited him from the wedding.

This is it.

Niamh found a seat in the back of the cathedral and tucked her chin so that her bonnet hid her face from view. Her palms were clammy in the delicate silk of her gloves. Chatter and laughter swirled around her as guests filed in. She did her best to drown them out.

A flutter of movement at the front of the cathedral snagged her attention. A member of the Kings Guard approached Jack and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Immediately, he swiveled around in his seat with a startled fury. His gaze raked across each person’s face. He was looking for someone. Looking forher,she realized.

He knows.