My Aunt Forced Me To Attend The Wedding Of The Man I Loved — So I Wore A Black Mourning Dress
Part 1
The morning of the wedding arrived wrapped in heavy gray clouds that pressed against the windows of my cramped room.
I watched the pale light creep across the ceiling as the clock on the mantle struck six.
I was merely the poor relation she had taken in out of grudging obligation.
I moved to the window and pressed my fingertips against the cool glass as I watched the city stirring.
London was already buzzing with anticipation for the grandest wedding of the season.
I had loved Brian for two long years since a summer house party where we both sought refuge in a quiet library.
In the space of one golden afternoon, I found a kindred spirit in him.
His quiet intelligence and unexpected warmth had cracked open something in my heart I had thought permanently sealed.
But that was before the winter ball six months ago.
That was before I overheard the cruel words that shattered every fragile hope I had harbored.
I turned from the window and stood for a long moment staring at the gowns hanging in my wardrobe.
My aunt Brenda had instructed me to wear my faded gray muslin dress to remain invisible.
Instead, my hand bypassed the gray and closed around a gown of heavy black silk.
It was my late mother’s mourning dress that she had worn after my grandmother died.
The jet buttons caught the weak morning light as I drew it from the wardrobe.
It was beautiful in its severity and entirely inappropriate for a wedding celebration.
I knew exactly what wearing it would mean and the scandal it would undoubtedly ignite.
But I needed this small act of defiance to show that while the world celebrated, I was mourning what might have been.
The carriage ride with my aunt was a torment of sharp glances and even sharper silences.
Brenda’s garish purple gown rustled with disapproval each time she glared at my black silk.
When we finally arrived, she hissed that I was a complete disgrace to our family name.
I simply inclined my head and said nothing at all.
The great cathedral rose against the darkening sky like a monument to everything I could never possess.
Hundreds of the city’s finest elite ascended the stone steps in a river of pastel silks and morning coats.
I heard the whispers begin before I even reached the massive wooden doors.
They murmured about my lack of fortune and the absolute scandal of my attire with delighted horror.
My fingers found the silver locket at my throat and pressed against the warm metal that held my precious secret.
I drew strength from its familiar weight as I passed into the soaring interior.
The space was overflowing with cascading white roses and hundreds of flickering candles in silver candelabras.
Heather’s mother turned and glared at my jet buttons and black skirts before whispering something to her companion.
They both laughed cruelly behind their gloved hands.
I refused to flinch and simply made my way to a shadowy pew in the back corner.
I settled onto the hard wooden bench and folded my trembling hands in my lap.
The rain began to fall more heavily against the stained glass windows.
I prepared myself to witness the end of every dream I had ever dared to hold.
The organ began to play low notes that resonated through the ancient stone and settled into my bones.
The great doors opened and a collective intake of breath swept through the entire congregation.
Heather appeared in the entrance like a vision in white silk and luminous pearls.
I forced myself to watch her triumphant progress down the aisle.
But then I felt a sudden weight of attention that had nothing to do with the whispering crowd around me.
I lifted my gaze from the bride to the altar where Brian stood waiting.
His eyes were fixed directly upon me with an intensity that stopped the breath entirely in my throat.
He looked pale and exhausted as he stared across the sea of feathered headdresses.
He was not looking at his bride at all.
Our gazes locked for one endless moment as the wedding march swelled around us.
I watched his lips part slightly as though he had been struck by a physical blow.
His hands curled into tight fists at his sides as he took in my mourning dress.
I realized with dawning horror that he understood exactly what my black silk meant.
Heather’s radiant smile faltered when she noticed his attention had strayed completely.
She shot me a look of pure territorial fury before continuing her march.
But Brian did not look away from me even as his bride reached his side.
The elderly priest began to intone the familiar words of the marriage ceremony.
I listened to each syllable as though it were a hammer blow against my heart.
The cathedral fell into a breathless silence as the priest asked if anyone objected to the union.
I watched the muscle jumping in Brian’s jaw and the rigid set of his broad shoulders.
Heather’s gloved fingers gripped his hand with an urgency that bordered on desperation.
The priest asked Brian to repeat his vows and pledge himself for all the days of his life.
The silence stretched into an unbearable eternity.
He did not speak.
The cathedral fell silent as he looked at me and spoke the words that would change everything.
