The Seduction Of Lady Constance (Returning Grooms #1)

Chapter 6

The September morning dawned with a brilliant clarity, the sun’s golden light spilling across the sweeping grounds of Southdale Hall, bathing the estate in a warm, ethereal glow. It was a day made for weddings, and every detail had been meticulously planned to ensure that it would be a spectacle long remembered by the ton. The chapel bells rang out in a joyous peal, echoing over the manicured lawns and rose gardens where the guests began to gather, a sea of silk and lace and polished boots.

Lady Constance Rivers was to marry Vincent Fairfield, the Earl of Southdale, and no expense had been spared in making certain the event was nothing short of extravagant. The chapel itself had been adorned with cascades of white roses, lilies, and ivy, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that lingered as guests took their places in the pews. Glittering chandeliers overhead cast a warm light upon the scene, creating an atmosphere both opulent and intimate.

Constance stood in the bridal chambers, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as her maid arranged the last of the delicate lace veil over her hair. Her gown, a masterpiece of ivory silk and intricate embroidery, hugged her figure in a way that was at once demure and alluring. It had been designed to perfection, and the moment she had seen herself in the mirror, she had understood why. For the first time in months, she saw herself not as the woman marked by scandal, but as a bride about to become a countess, a future filled with new possibilities unfolding before her.

She took a breath and glanced at her reflection. She looked every inch the part of a countess, and yet there remained a flicker of doubt—a reminder that this marriage, however beautiful the trappings, had been founded on practicality, not love. She reminded herself of her vow to keep her heart guarded, even as she felt the weight of the ring that would soon rest on her finger.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and her mother entered, her eyes bright with emotion as she took in the sight of her daughter in her bridal gown. “Oh, Constance,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pride. “You look… perfect.”

Constance gave a small, tight smile, grateful for her mother’s presence even as she felt the bittersweet tug of the moment. “Thank you, Mama.” She turned to face the older woman, who reached out to smooth a stray lock of hair from her daughter’s face.

“Your father and I are so very proud of you,” Lady Riverston said quietly, her voice breaking slightly. “This match is… more than we could have hoped for.”

Constance nodded, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat. She knew what her parents had sacrificed, what this marriage represented to them. But she also knew that this ceremony, with all its finery, was as much a spectacle for society as it was a union of two people. The extravagant nature of the event was deliberate—a statement that whatever whispers had circulated about her past, the new Countess of Southdale would be received with all the grace and respect her title commanded.

As the chapel doors swung open, and she began her walk down the aisle on her father’s arm, the world seemed to blur around her. She could feel the weight of every gaze upon her, the hushed murmurs of admiration, the rustling of silk as heads turned to watch her progress. But her eyes sought out only one person—the man who waited for her at the altar.

Vincent stood at the front, his expression carefully composed, though there was a softness in his gaze that took her breath away. In his dark formal attire, he looked every bit the noble earl, but there was something else in his eyes as he watched her approach—a tenderness that hinted at a depth she had not dared to imagine. As she reached his side, his hand reached out to steady her, his touch warm and reassuring.

The ceremony proceeded with a solemn elegance, the officiant’s voice ringing clearly through the chapel as they spoke their vows. Constance found her voice trembling slightly as she repeated the words that would bind her to this man for life, the weight of the commitment settling over her like a mantle. When Vincent spoke his vows, his tone was steady, a quiet promise in every word, as though he were speaking not just to the present moment but to the years ahead.

As the rings were exchanged and the final blessings given, the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the moment when they would be declared husband and wife. And then it came—the moment when Vincent took her hands in his, and the officiant’s voice announced them as Lord and Lady Southdale. The chapel erupted in applause, the joy of the occasion resonating through the air as Constance turned to face the assembled guests, her arm now securely entwined with her husband’s.

The reception that followed was every bit as grand as the ceremony had promised. The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, the tables adorned with crystal and silver, and the guests danced and dined beneath the vaulted ceilings. It was a celebration worthy of the title of countess, and yet amidst the laughter and music, Constance felt a curious sense of distance from it all, as though she were watching the festivities unfold from behind a veil.

Vincent was never far from her side, and each time their eyes met, she felt a faint stirring of something she could not name. He spoke to her often throughout the evening, his words low and meant only for her ears, as though he wished to remind her that this was not simply a performance for the ton, but a beginning. And though she had resolved to keep her heart guarded, she found herself drawn to the warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes.

At one point, as they stood together on the terrace overlooking the gardens, Vincent turned to her, his expression serious. “Constance,” he said softly, “I know you have doubts, and I understand why. But I meant what I said before. This marriage need not be merely a matter of convenience. I intend to make a life with you—a real life.”

She looked at him, her heart fluttering in a way she could not entirely suppress. “And if I am not ready to believe in such possibilities?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with hesitation.

“Then I will wait,” he replied, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I will wait as long as it takes for you to believe in us.”

The sincerity in his voice unsettled her, and for a moment, she could only stare at him, the sound of the distant music and laughter fading into the background. There was a part of her that wanted to surrender to the hope in his eyes, to believe that perhaps this marriage could become more than she had allowed herself to dream.

But for now, she kept her heart guarded, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her back inside. The night was far from over, and though she wore the title of countess now, the journey that lay ahead was still unwritten. And if there was one thing she knew with certainty, it was that she would not let her past dictate the course of her future.

As the final dance of the evening began, Constance felt Vincent’s arms encircle her, drawing her close. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, and as they moved together across the polished floor, she felt the faintest glimmer of something stirring in her heart—a whisper of promise that perhaps, despite everything, there was still room for more than practicality. There was room for something real.