Hunters

It was Tuesday 21 April 1885, and the Honorable Lecia Evelia Harper would be married.

When her mother’s knocking at the door awaked Lecia, the sun had not yet risen. Sleep still clung to her eyes and her feathery bed was too bewitching to leave. An eternity passed in the few moments she fell back into dreams until her mother knocked once again.

“Lecia! You need to be dressed!” the baroness called. It was a small miracle that she did not let herself in to pull Lecia out of bed, but, it being her daughter’s wedding day, she kindly offered some small vestige of solitude.

In the most unladylike way, Lecia sat up. Before setting foot on the floor, she embraced her last moments wrapped in the familiar sheets. Finally, she rose from her bed and unceremoniously tossed her covers to the floor. The cool wooden floors soothed her sore feet as she made her way to the washbasin. Groggily, she poured out clean water and soaked a cloth. With a grunt of displeasure, Lecia removed the almond and honey mask from her face; she had to rinse the cloth clean a number of times before she felt that all of the pasty cleanser was gone.

Her mother started to knock once again. The early hour guaranteed Lecia was ill mannered, and she very loudly announced that she was, in fact, conscious and did not need to be annoyed with yet another wake-up call. The door opened and the flickering candlelight of the hallway illuminated the joyous face of Florence Harper. Zora and Nettie were at her side, equally bright.

“Come now, time for a quick sponge bath,” the baroness said.

Lecia frowned as she shuffled across the room and followed everyone to the bath down the hall. Despite having been scrubbed raw from head to toe the night before, it seemed essential that Lecia be bathed again; she was not pleased. Her mother and Zora looked on as she soaked in hot rose water and was gently sponged from the neck down. It was a quick bath, she didn’t even prune.

Although the baroness would have been content to observe every step of preparation, she needed to ready herself for the event. Zora, too, needed to dress.

Once she was dried, she spread a light cream over herself. Her skin tingled from a mix of mint and citrus, and she felt refreshed. Her wedding clothes were already prepared, and she slipped into each layer. Though her gown was feather light and comfortable, Lecia could not help but feel suffocated by the muslin and lace. As her maid knotted the bow on the ribbon around her waist, Lecia was sure she would never breath again.

She sat patiently as her hair was released from the knot atop her head and an ocean of curls came loose. The heavy waves smelled of fresh lemons. Lecia’s maid carefully sorted out the glistening twists into an expertly crafted up do.

Lecia sat quietly at her vanity and stuck into her ears the diamond earrings Vaughan had sent. She hated wearing jewelry, but she admitted to herself—despite looking hollow and miserable from lack of sleep—that the earrings helped her look beautiful.

Nettie came back to her with a bowl of crushed strawberries and more cream. The maid carefully spread a modest amount of the vibrant red juice over Lecia’s soft lips and smiled as the bride struggled to refrain from licking it all off before it set in. Next, she delicately covered Lecia’s face—particularly the undersides of her eyes—with a shimmering peppermint crème. Instantly, the young woman’s face was more alive.

Lastly, an elegant antique tiara was placed upon her head to keep her veil in place. This, too, had been sent over by Vaughan. Although customary for extravagant gifts to be showered upon a bride by her groom, Lecia couldn’t help but feel that the lavish accessories were meant to somehow rectify coercing her into marriage.

“Oh, my lady,” Nettie breathed as she took a step away.

With a shaky breath, Lecia turned to look at her reflection. Her vision was blurry from nerves, and all she could see were splotches of colors: black—like a stain of spilled ink—where her hair was, highlighted by the streak of a silver tiara, and red splashed slightly off center of the cameo of her face. She didn’t care if she looked beautiful or not, she just wanted to be done with it all. Looking away, she sighed.

“Let’s get you downstairs,” the maid suggested.

Compliant, Lecia stood up and headed toward the door. Nettie took hold of the modest Chantilly lace train and followed. At the threshold, Lecia glanced quickly around the room one final time; if she ever returned here, it wouldn’t be alone. She’d hated leaving Lekenbourgh, but this had been her home long enough now that she would miss it. Dejected, she continued downstairs.

In the parlor, her mother and sister were waiting. They beamed at the sight of her. Zora came forward with Lecia’s coat since morning chill still hung in the air.

“Hopefully the abbey isn’t too cold,” their mother mused. “The Duke sent his carriage for us to ride over; they’ll be expecting us shortly.”

With very few words and a brief goodbye to Nettie, Lecia left the house. As her mother had said, there was an opulent landau carriage waiting for them. It was, over all, rather plainly painted, as there was only silver piping across the black vehicle, but the doors were home to her soon-to-be-husband’s coat of arms. Despite the simplistic details, Lecia could see the intricate craftsmanship from the doorway, and the pair of black Hackney horses impressed her. They had been groomed well, their manes and tails braided, hooves and harnesses polished. Furthermore, she appreciated that the entire carriage had been decorated in an assortment of white roses and calla lilies and the driver and footmen had been dressed in costume to match their vehicle.

As she approached, one of the footmen opened the door and bowed his head as he extended a hand to assist her entry. Lecia climbed in and was further captivated by the attentive craftsmanship and decoration inside. The seats were upholstered in beautifully woven silk velvet and the structural interior consisted of elaborate carvings into the wood. Her mother and sister withheld gasps of amazement as the joined her, but she saw it in their eyes. The pair of them sat across from her, their mouths turned upward joyously. Moments after the door was closed, the carriage lurched forward. Lecia was sure her heart tried to leap ahead with it as it pounded against her chest. She refused to speak another word until the ceremony began, partly for fear of vomiting and also as a show of defiance.

The city passed by as they made their way to Westminster. Hesitant to keep her eyes on her escorts, Lecia spent the drive watching people through the window. Some caught sight of the fancy carriage and observed it for a time, some waved knowing that its passengers were of great importance, and still others didn’t even notice, much the way most of the world would be oblivious to her resignation of independence on this day.

Snorting softly to herself Lecia realized that she was only kidding herself. Everyone knew she was getting married today. Although the banns had only been announced perhaps two months ago, half the peerage would be in attendance at her wedding. After all, when a Duke decides that he’s to be married, he has the express privilege of expecting whomever he invites to attend without question. Furthermore, if the Queen is in attendance, most would make it a point to be in her presence. Lecia didn’t know much about the workings of the uppermost peers—though she soon would have to learn—but she had come to understand that Vaughan was more than just a pretty face with important titles and more money than the crown; he was a favorite of the Queen, respected by thousands, and endowed with the power and privilege to do whatever he wanted however he desired. So, only the best should be expected

The great church came into view and Lecia lost her breath. As they pulled in she noticed her father was waiting at the steps for her arrival. She hadn’t spoken many words to him since he had informed her of the engagement, though he hadn’t tried speaking to her either. He was dressed in his most formal attire, looking more regal than she’d ever seen him, Henry and Ezekiel at his side.

They came to a halt and the footman attended the door once again. Zora and the Baroness exited first. Henry met his wife with a grin, and Ezekiel came to escort her mother. The Marquis eyed Lecia for a moment, his brows raised in what she assumed was admiration, as she stepped out of the carriage. Henry took her hand placed his lips on its back, speaking his praise and congratulations. Ezekiel bowed his head in agreement. Finally, her father approached and a sparkle of pride glinted in his eyes. Only one corner of his mouth twitched in semblance of a smile. He offered his daughter his hand to lead her forward. Zora and the baroness hurried ahead to find places in the church; all of the other guests had arrived earlier, but one condition of her arrival today was that her mother and sister escort her from the house. It was irregular, yes, but the Duke conceded.

A guard at the door took Lecia’s coat as her veil was lowered, and she barely had time to take a breath before the doors were pulled open. The organ one of Chopin’s Études and she and her father began to proceed forward. Some of the younger guests turned to gawk at her as she passed, but Lecia knew not to look anywhere but forward. Ahead of her, Vaughan stood at the alter watching her approach. She took a breath and relaxed a moment, appreciating that he’d at least remembered her fondness for the composer, for she’d had nothing to do with the selection of music and as soon as it had started she was immensely grateful to hear something so comforting on her journey to slaughter.

Her father led her up the short steps to the alter; she turned to him as he lifted her veil. The melody came to a gentle end, and as the last note echoed through the gothic church, the archbishop cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church,” he began, his voice ringing through the church and in Lecia’s ears. She couldn’t hear for a moment, the reality of her marriage deafening.

“I will,” Vaughan’s deep declaration startling her.

The archbishop turned to her and asked the same question to which she replied identically.

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

The Baron placed Lecia’s hand into the archbishop’s and disappeared out of her sight. In an instant, Vaughan had her right hand and she was facing him. Her heart raced as she fearfully met his gaze. He offered a slight squeeze of her hand as comfort.

In cadence with the archbishop Vaughan spoke. “I, Fychan Eachann Derfeal Cantington, take thee, Lecia Evelia Harper, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

He said it confidently, but not too loudly, never once taking his eyes from hers. Lecia was somewhat surprised not to hear Vaughan as her almost-husband’s name. She’d have to be sure to ask him about it later. She took her turn saying the vows.

Next the archbishop and Vaughan continued, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Lecia looked on as the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen was slid onto her finger. It was difficult to decipher whether she and Vaughan simply shared the same taste, or if he had somehow learned a great deal about her in mere months.

They kneeled for the remainder of the ceremony. Psalms were read and sermons were given, and by the time it was over Lecia wasn’t sure she had legs to stand back up on. Somehow she got to her feet, her hand in her husband’s, and they turned to exit the church. Their guests had stood up as well, Lecia didn’t look for the queen to see if she too was standing; she didn’t look at anything except the door. Music played again as they made their way out of the church, but she couldn’t hear it. The carriage had been pulled up to the steps. This time Vaughan opened the door and helped Lecia in, whether that was because it was their wedding or because he was too proud to be assisted, she would later learn.

As they took off, Vaughan relaxed into his seat and sighed.

“Well I’m certainly glad that’s all over with,” he laughed.

Confounded, Lecia eyed him with furrowed brows. Hadn’t he been the one so eager to be married?

Catching a glimpse of her, Vaughan smiled. “Don’t tell me standing in front of that many people for so long wasn’t the least bit terrifying. It was also so very formal; I hate that.”

After a second of thought, Lecia nodded. She stole a glance out to the street and realized that they were heading toward the palace. As the recognition played across her delicate face, Vaughan smirked and sat straighter.

“The queen insisted,” he told her with a grin. “Besides, Martis’ preparations for us haven’t quite finished.”

Unsure what to say, Lecia’s mouth parted open and no sound came out.

Finally, “She likes you very much,” came out quietly.

Her husband chuckled and took her hand as he saw the abject terror flash in her eyes.

“She’ll love you, I’m sure; you have nothing to worry about. Besides, we won’t see her all of the time. And, for God’s sake, she’s only the Queen of England.”



Questions and comments. I surprised y'all with THREE within twenty-four hours.