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beautifully tailored that it seemed molded across his shoulders.
    His knee breeches were of white silk and his shoes had diamond buckles. Diamonds blazed among the snowy folds of his cravat and on the buttons of his long silver-and-white waistcoat. His black hair was curled and pomaded and seemed to shine with blue lights in the dimness of the church.
    Very stiff and white in his green and gold robes stood the vicar, Mr. Peter Cummings. He looked down to say a silent good-bye to his love and his gaze seemed to burn right through the white veil, as the sharp and anguished eyes of love detected the face of Miss Emily Anstey.
    There was a long silence. The congregation began to fidget, wondering why the vicar did not begin.
    Mr. Cummings drew a long, silent breath of relief. Obviously, Mary had found the courage at the last minute to say she would not wed the earl, and the earl had been content to take the younger sister instead.
    Emily only realized what was happening when she heard the vicar say in measured tones, "Will you, Emily Martha Patterson Anstey, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"
    Automatically she replied, "I will," and then she waited for the earl to shout that it was all a trick.
    But he said nothing.
    Stunned and shocked, Emily stood as if turned to stone as the lengthy wedding ceremony went on and on. As in a dream, she made the responses which she knew by heart, having attended many weddings, and also because she said them into her pillow to her dream lover on many spring nights.
    She heard the earl promise to worship her with his body and endow her with his worldly goods.
    Mr. Cummings' voice grew in strength. Triumphantly, he headed toward the end of the service.
    "O Merciful Lord and Heavenly Father, by whose gracious gift mankind is increased, we beseech thee, assist with thy blessing these two persons, that they may both be fruitful in procreation of children, and also live together in godly love and honesty...."
    Children! thought Emily, feeling sick and faint.
    Her head burned. The vicar's voice seemed to ebb and flow.
    At last it was all over. She threw back her veil, helped clumsily by the over eager Cousin Bertha.
    The earl's eyes blazed down into her own. "Welcome, wife," he muttered between his teeth. I'm married to him, thought Emily weakly. Oh, what have I done?
    --------
    *Chapter Four*
    The scene in the vestry was dreadful. The parish register was open, awaiting the signature of the happy pair. Mr. Cummings was beaming all over his face, perfectly sure that nothing was amiss, only willing to believe the best.
    Then it finally dawned on him that the earl was so cold and chilly he looked iced, and that Emily was wearing a brown wig and looked so white she seemed about to faint.
    Mr. and Mrs. Anstey were standing proudly by, their faces lit up with happiness.
    As far as they were concerned, it was Mary who stood before them.

    "What's amiss, Mary?" demanded Mrs. Anstey cheerfully. "You are supposed to sign your name."
    "I am not..." Emily began, swaying slightly as she stood, one hand on the book for support.
    In a split second, it dawned on the reverend what had really happened and why Emily was wearing a brown wig. It was horrible! The scandal! And where was Mary?
    He leaped into action. He murmured to Cousin Bertha and Mr. Chester that it was customary in St.
    Martin's for the married couples' attendants to wait in the main body of the church with the other guests.
    He prayed they would not protest.
    To his relief, they left.
    With a sinking heart, he looked up at the earl's face.
    "Perhaps you would care to explain, Lord Devenham?"
    The earl removed a snuffbox from his pocket and carefully took a delicate pinch. With maddening slowness, he returned the box to his pocket.
    "What is going on?" demanded Mr. Anstey.
    Summoning up all her strength, Emily willed herself not to faint. She raised shaking hands to her headdress and veil, removed both, and set them down on a vestry chair.