Everybody stood and turned; but not she. While every person in the church admired the bride as she walked down the aisle, she couldn’t look away from the groom. He stood erect and quite dashing in his dark costume; he was just as handsome as he ever was. There was pride on his face… She fancied there was no love in his eyes, as he observed his future wife approach him. She knew his reasons, she understood them: she had no money to speak of whereas Blanche Dent came with a dowry of 30,000£.
And her name was no better worn than today; even she could admit it. Her alabaster complexion was enhanced by the beautiful wedding silk dress. Any woman so pale would have looked a ghost, but she appeared an angel, her golden curls falling gracefully in her back, covered with a veil of lace. Amy wasn’t so petty as not to acknowledge Edward had chosen the most beautiful woman.
What did it matter that he enjoyed her conversation and her company? What did it matter that he loved her and she him? They didn’t belong to the same society.
“If anyone here has any reason why these two should not be joined together, let him speak now or forever remain silent.”
The couple turned; in Blanche’s face, there was defiance, as if she dared anyone to oppose her marriage to a title. In Edward’s face something else. Did he look at her, she would have spoken. But he didn’t; purposefully? She could and probably would wonder for the rest of her life.
But silent she remained. In silence she would spend the rest of her life. She’d inquired into a covent at the other end of the country where she would remain for what time she had left on earth. She didn’t remain; she walked away. She did so unnoticed by anyone: who would notice such a one as she? Drab as she looked in her grey wool. A servant probably. Not so, but made to feel lower than one.
In response to the Daily Post writing prompt Silence