On the morning of his wedding, Sir Charles Amesbury stood at the large windows in his study that overlooked the frozen, snow-ladened landscape below. The sun was too bright, the snow too white for such a day to be considered lovely. Besides the brutal facts surrounding the union that would occur today, it comforted him to know that other things in the world felt, sharp and blinding.

"It's time."

Charles turned at the sound of Henry's voice, the man's cheerfulness never faltered, even now. He was dressed in his finest, cravat tied just so, looking the part of a gentleman, and speaking as if they were to go for a ride through the countryside. Charles instead felt as if he had not slept in three days, and had the distinct guilt hanging about him as one who is about to be declared a winner, all the while knowing he'd cheated.

The ride to the church was a silent one, bless Henry for that at least. The snow was several feet deep and Charles imagined it must've taken the servants some time to clear even a passable path. He wondered if Sarah's carriage had arrived without incident. But then thinking of her reminded him of what he was about to do, and that brought anger and shame and defensiveness all to a front in his mind.

"Where is her carriage?" Charles heard himself all but demand of Henry as they reached the church and walked inside.

"She will be here, Charles," Henry reassured him, leading the way into the church without looking back, "Have some faith in Amelia."

But no faith in his own bride, he mused to himself. The guests had already arrived, God bless it. As if there had ever been a better time for his mother to invite twenty odd people to Broadcroft for a two week hunting expedition only to have them snowed in for who knew how long now. Charles purposefully avoided eye contact as he made his way to the front of the church where John and Caroline met him with - was that pity in their eyes?

"You look very handsome," Caroline cooed with one of her mothering smiles, Charles couldn't even muster a grimace.

"Just remember," John was saying with a clap to Charles' back, "There are worse things than marrying a beautiful heiress," he teased.

So perhaps John did not pity Charles, but rather Sarah instead. He thanked them as Henry returned to the doors of the church once more and the parson took his place beside Charles. John's sentiments were not out of line, in this situation. By all accounts, the uniting of Charles Amesbury to Sarah Stanhope with a special license in the middle of a blizzard was truly the best thing for them. Somehow the true reason for Warwick's visit had leaked, therefore earning Sarah sympathy from a good amount of their wedding guests. Charles glanced at his mother and caught her hawkish gaze with another wave of shame.

She'd been the most injured by their charade, but more by Charles' lies than Sarah deceit. Though Amelia had first suggested the hurried union, it was Lady Eleanor who had declared it the only possibility. He assumed that would've silenced any objections on Sarah's part. His thoughts caught on her as the organ music began and the guests rose to their feet at the sound of the church doors opening. Charles planned to keep his eyes from her for as long as possible so as to avoid seeing the pain and betrayal in them. But the instant she came through the door, he could not look away.

It had been three days since he had last seen her. Three miserable, tormenting days. She'd looked little better than a corpse when he'd left her to Mr. Melbourn's care, and almost as if a punishment, he had not been allowed to see her again since. Such a thing would never happen after today, he told himself, that terrible fear of losing her would be gone now. Henry gave him a dashing smile, Charles supposed this was supposed to be of some encouragement, but the woman on his best friend's arm left him without an ounce of the stuff in his body.

He had always known she was lovely, but today he knew her instead to be a beauty. The guise of a maid had disappeared and in the place of a housemaid stood a golden-haired goddess. Her hair hung in ringlets around her face, her nose and lips gave away the truth of her birth as a gentleman's daughter, and the grace with which she moved could've never been mistaken for that of a servant. Those large blue eyes dominated her somewhat pale face, and she wasn't looking at him. Her large blue eyes were fixed on the parson, but it didn't matter, Sarah would be his wife, and given time she might forgive him.

Charles did not much pay attention to the ceremony from then, for Henry finally delivered his bride and the sight of her stole his very senses. With an assuredness he did not feel, Charles reached out and took her hand in his, she looked up at him then. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, and it cut him more than anything else had thus far. How could he comfort her if it was his own actions that had grieved her? But he was a selfish man still, he admitted to himself, and he could not let her go. So he held tight to her hand, as they became husband and wife.

The ceremony ended sooner than he'd expected, and Sarah was looking up at him, unblinking. He heard Henry clear his throat and realized this was his part - the kiss.

Charles had faced pirates, Spaniards and Frenchmen and mercenaries, never had he felt this kind of fear. That the woman he loved would be taken from him, would leave him or deny him or never forgive him. He did not know how he would live if she did. Memories of her laughter, those moments over the last weeks when she had smiled up at him, he had not imagined her happiness or her enjoyment of his company, no. Sarah at the very least liked him a little. With that hope in mind, Charles bent his head, cupped her face in his hands and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

He'd kissed Sarah once before, he recalled as he pulled away from her and searched her face for acceptance or dismissal. She'd been nine or so, himself fourteen. Her cheeks blushed under his fingertips, and he smiled, he couldn't help it when he looked at her, alive and well and safely under his protection, resoundingly his. Relief washed over him as he took her hand and pulled her arm through his and they left the church as man and wife.