Edith Layton (24 page)

“As are you, my love,” he answered with a smile, “as are you.”

He didn’t speak again until she was drifting off to sleep in his arms. “We’ll be home by dinner time tomorrow evening,” he said softly. “I’ve sent word to my parents. They’ll be waiting for us. Miles and
the others will arrive soon after, I’m sure. So. Do you want to be married at my parents’ home by special license in a matter of weeks, or do you want to wait and have a grand wedding in London?”

“Mmmm,” she mumbled against his heart.

“Very well,” he said on a yawn, as he closed his eyes and held her close. “That’s what we’ll do.”

T
he old church was cold, but there were so many guests packed into it that no one noticed, except for those few who had to sit near one of the walls. Not even early spring could take the chill from those ancient stones. Still, no one minded. It was a joyous occasion, and had the church been a great cathedral in the heart of London instead of one of the first the Norman conquerors put up when they arrived on this island, that would have been filled up too. The groom was a very popular man. The bride was not as well known, but her family certainly was.

Every guest there felt it had been well worth the trip into the country. This was indeed a consummation devoutly to be wished by the couple’s many
friends. And if some few were less than joyous, it was because such a happy union cast light on their own lack of success in love.

Mr. Dana Bartlett, for example, wore a small, sad smile throughout the service. There were some other fellows who looked definitely woeful as they beheld one of their best friends getting married, and it was the groom they were envying. Of course, there were not a few young women who sighed as they saw one of England’s most elusive bachelors taking someone else to wife.

Even the two Bow Street Runners who sat in the back of the church were touched by the ceremony, although they didn’t know the bride or groom, except professionally. They were only resting after their mad ride from London to tell him and his friends about the man they’d been seeking, Lord Dearborne. They would seek him no more, because he’d gone where they couldn’t prosecute him, although everyone was sure he would not remain unpunished. But they’d proof that their prey, Lord Dearborne, had left the ship in which he’d sailed from England in a coffin when it landed in Brazil.

Justice had been done, though the groom and his friends were cheated of doing it themselves. They didn’t mind. The sickness of mind and body that had finally felled the late Lord Dearborne seemed a world apart from this happy day, as did any thought of past enemies and sorrows. The future was shining so brightly it cast all thoughts of the unhappy past in the shade.

Arrangements of flowers softened the harsh lines of the old gray church, and the wedding guests were as colorful a lot. Vivid red was a popular color in the congregation, since there were so many men from the military who wore their bright regimental uniforms. Other guests dressed in the latest kick of fashion, since they were wealthy and from the highest reaches of Society. They were not only a handsome group, but also a convivial one. That was helped by the fact that there were so many children invited, many of them babes in arms. The groom’s friends, other guests commented, were certainly a prolific lot.

Viscount Sinclair had his family in tow, three boys and a girl, and there was much amusement because of the way his son Max was eyeing Gilly Ryder’s beautiful sister, Betsy. Prodigy though he was, Max was a decade younger and a foot shorter than the obvious object of his affection. It looked as though Viscount Hathaway’s son from his first marriage had a better chance there, although the bride’s brother Bernard was angling for her attention as well. Young Max looked as if he would do far better with the Ryders’ flaxen-haired toddler daughter, who was looking up at him as though she’d found her ideal. Everyone was smiling, even the usually composed earl of Drummond was seen beaming broadly at his infant son where he lay in his mama’s lap.

Lady Annabelle, the bride’s sister-in-law, stood by the happy couple. Her exquisite face was a trifle
pale, but the reason for it only made her and her doting husband, Lord Pelham, smile the more. No one felt well in early pregnancy, she’d assured him again this glad morning, although she’d never felt better about anything in her life.

But everyone stopped talking and laughing when the bride appeared.

There wasn’t a doubt that she looked beautiful this morning, even if her looks were not the usual. She wore a smile so wide it matched the sweeping hoop of her antique gown as she stepped down the aisle. It was her grandmother’s gown, a relic from another generation: tight at the waist, low at the breast, it floated out around her like the bell of an enormous ivory morning glory. It was not at all the fashion to dress in antique clothes, but the style suited her so well many of the young unmarried lady guests vowed to pillage their family attic for their own wedding day. And many young gentlemen there were so impressed by the bride that they’d never be content with whatever bride they chose unless she too looked like a princess from a child’s fairy tale.

The groom could not stop smiling either. Big, broad-shouldered, and golden-haired, he made his bride look dainty by comparison and brought his own illumination to the scant sunlight he stood in at the altar, because he glowed with happiness.

After the couple was pronounced man and wife, the massive groom kissed his robust bride, then picked her up and spun her around as she held on
to his shoulders and laughed with joy. The happy couple dashed up the aisle in a shower of petals and rice and stepped out into the morning to be further covered by a dusting of snow. They raced to a flower-decked coach, their faces rosy with cold.

They settled into the carriage that would take them the short way to the groom’s parents’ home for their breakfast reception. Her own mama had said she wasn’t up to hosting a reception; his parents had been thrilled to oblige.

“Done!” he said, as he pulled her into his arms. “We’ve done it, love, you’re mine!”

“A wonderful wedding!” the bride crowed, clapping her hands together. “I’m so glad we didn’t wait.”

“I don’t think I could have,” the groom confessed, after he took his second kiss as her husband, this one considerably longer.

“Well,” she finally said with a mischievous grin, laying her hand on his chest. “I know someone else who couldn’t have.”

He looked his question at her.

She looked as demure as such a blooming bride could. “It’s a very good thing that you’re such a big fellow,” she said. “And that I’m not petite as well.”

“Well, yes, isn’t that just what I’ve always said?” Eric asked, breathing in the scent of the camellias in the floral tiara that perched on her curls.

“Not just because of that, though I thank you for saying it,” Camille said mischievously. “But be
cause this way, no one will be surprised when our premature infant turns out to be so big.”

Eric blinked. He sat back. He looked as though someone had hit him with a thick plank. Then his eyes lit with glee. “No!” he said. “That’s wonderful! Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I just found out myself,” she said, “but it’s fairly certain. We waited six weeks to marry after we got here, and well, altogether that now makes it two months without me having my courses. You wouldn’t have noticed the lack of them,” she said on a sly grin, “because there were only a few times when we could steal away and take advantage of it. But be sure I was counting! I know a thing or two, but just to be sure I asked Belle. And she wasn’t a bit prim about it either, though she did say it was a lucky thing we decided to go for a country wedding now and not wait until later. Anyway, she had me see her doctor.”

Camille smiled beatifically. “It’s true! The best guess is that our babe will be a seven month’s wonder. But a very big one if he or she takes after either one of us, so there won’t be as much comment as there might have been if we weren’t so substantial. Are you sorry it will be so soon?”

“Sorry?” he asked, catching her hand in his and pressing it tight. “I’m only sorry we can’t ensure it will be twins, so we can get more for the effort, the way Gilly and Damon are building their family. Just think,” he said on a smile, “twin fiends like
Gilly! And both boys. They’re handsome rascals too, aren’t they? We could have a pair of daughters and make splendid matches for them.”

“Twins?” Camille said thoughtfully, cocking her head to the side. “Well, I’ll try.”

They both roared with laughter. Their mirth filled the carriage in just the way it would go on to fill the rest of their long and lively lives together.

T
he letter arrived at their London house on an autumn morning. Travel stained and wrinkled, it waited on the hall table until the butler put it on the breakfast tray to be brought to his lady in bed. She was feeding her infant son and had to read the letter holding it with one hand. When she was done, she put it down with a sigh.

She showed the missive to her husband that afternoon when they took tea together.

Camille wasn’t surprised that when Eric finished reading the letter he sighed as she had done.

“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?” he asked.

“Only if she needs us for money or favors.”

“You’ve grown very wise, wife.”

“Indeed,” she said, “I’ve had a good teacher. But you know, I don’t think we will ever see her again. I wonder that she’d dare.”

“She’d dare anything. Didn’t you read her letter?”

She picked up the letter and folded it carefully. “But she is right. I’ll keep it as a souvenir. We can use it to show the children how we
really
met. When they’re old enough, of course.”

“Children?” he asked with a fond smile, looking at the infant son whom his wife refused to leave with a nurse even for an hour. “With Miles’s and Belle’s little Gwen here all the time, I feel as though we already have two. Are you thinking of another so soon?”

“Well, at least I think of the process of getting them all the time,” she said innocently.

She only stopped laughing when he kissed her.

But she never stopped rejoicing in their kisses, not then, nor during all the rest of their remarkable lifetime together. And neither did he.