He tried another deep, careful breath and squared his shoulders. Chin raised, he set out to meet his uncertain future.
The sun shined in an overly bright sky though the wind speed had not increased upon the footman's release of the carriage door.
Commotion seemed to ensue as to whom should step forward first.
Mystery solved as curling, copper tresses reflected the sun's beams, but for the saints he could not grasp the color of her eyes in all their rapid flurry. His future bride.
It happened in an instant.
Fatigue and a lack of appetite these two weeks past took their toll. The unstoppable fiasco of 'the shoe fitting someone other than his intended,' the constant analyses and scrutiny of dissecting this egregious scenario…well, was it any wonder he felt such an irregular tingle in the air? A clutch in his chest? A weakness in his knees?
The officious wind, the blinding sun, the horror of an impending marriage he'd inflicted upon himself-for the rest of his life-had him gasping for air. Odd, when great gusting gales surged about him.
The shimmering atmosphere took on a quality similar to wavering heat waves rising over an open flame. A scintillating radiance. And without warning the perfect escape rose up to meet him, in his scandalous surrender to the flagstones.
In a dead faint.