Holy Scoundrel (25 page)

Jade took Lace’s hand. “Let’s go, we have to dress you for your wedding.”

Marcus’s wife practically dragged Lace away, making Gabriel worry that Lace agreed under duress. “Wait,” he called, and they stopped.

Gabriel took Lace’s hand, led her to a copse of trees, away from prying eyes, knelt before her, and took her hand. He brought her knuckles to his cheek, then turned her hand to kiss her palm. “Please be my wife. Not for the reasons I stated in Ivy’s wagon, or because of what happened between us there, which Ivy put right by seeming to arrive home with us, anyway, but because I have always loved you, Lacey Ashton, and I would like to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”

“For that reason, Gabriel,” she said, pulling on his hand so he would stand and she could step into his arms, “
I
wil
l
marry you.”

Gabriel returned Lace to Jade. “Lace, wear the silver gown. It’s made for this very occasion. Help her, Jade. We’ll send for you when our makeshift chapel is ready.”

“Won’t it be quite late by then?” Lace asked, now biting her lip as she looked up at the sky.

“Not in our hearts,” Gabriel said. “What matter? Now off with you, ladies, before I take to kissing Lace and forgetting what I’
m
suppose
d
to be doing.”

Jade urged Lacey along but Lace had misgivings. “This is happening too fast, too easily,” she told her friend.

“Easily?” Jade laughed. “You’ve been to hell and back, bearing him a child you mourned alone. You’ve been all but stoned by the people of this village before and after you were banished.”

“Five years,” Lace said, “if you count the months I carried my daughter, locked in seclusion under my mother’s watchful and disappointed eyes.”

“See? The road to marrying the man you love has been paved with hot brick shards and snake pits, and because this last step—a step no longer than your arm—is smooth and shiny, you think it’s easy?”

Lace quirked her lips.

Jade raised a brow. “I say, take the step and settle any and all questions as husband and wife in the bedroom. Never discount the value of distracting a man with sex.”

Lace chuckled.

“Let’s get you dressed for your wedding.” Jade hugged her arm.

At Rectory Cottage, Lacey grabbed Mac by the hands and twirled her around the kitchen. “Congratulate me, MacKenzie, I’m finally marrying Gabriel.”

Mac stopped dead. “When? Next month?” She paled. “Or next year?”

“Tonight.”

Mac took a sharp breath, slapped a hand to her heart, and stepped back.

“You don’t approve of me for him,” Lace whispered. “You think I’m not good enough—”

“I think you’re the best thing could ever happen to him. It’s me . . . and my sins I’m grappling with.”

“Sins? You? That’s a laugh. Stop your fussing and put on your Sunday best while Jade helps me get ready for the wedding. You’ll be one of our most honored guests.”

Upstairs in her room, Lacey shook out the silver gown Gabriel had bought her, while Jade opened her dresser and took out the best of her unmentionables, including her new tricot drawers. How decadent.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

With a sisterly embrace and wishes for a happy future, Jade left Rectory Cottage well ahead of Lace to tell everyone that the bride cometh.

Lace went into Cricket’s room to take in the fact that they were about to become a family. Then, she went into Clara’s room, the room she’d been using, touched the silver dresser set and experienced the oddest sense of peace, destiny and . . . approval.

“Thank you, Clara,” she whispered.

Filled with joy over the thought of finally marrying Gabriel, despite the fact that they would be forced to have a proverbial candlelight ceremony, she made her way down the backstairs to cut through the kitchen only to find Nick sitting at the table.

He stood. “You make a beautiful bride, Lace.”

“Come to escort me to the old Abbey?” she asked.

“And down the aisle, if I may be so bold as to stand in place of a father. I simply would like to set Gabriel’s fears to rest and give you to him, literally, before God and the Scoundrels. We are, after all, cousins, raised like brother and sisters, you, me, and Clara. Do you feel, and eerily so, as though Clara is with us tonight?” he asked.

“Yes!” Lacey said. “I feel her presence for the first time since I came home. It’s like she’s walking on my other side. You give me to Gabe, and Clara will give me to Bridget.” Lacey’s eyes filled.

“None of that now,” Nick said, dabbing at her tears with his handkerchief. “Today is for happy,” as Clara used to say.

“As she said just now through you, you must realize?” Lacey shivered.

“I felt it, too,” Nick said, “that sudden chill in the air.”

“I think she’s been waiting for this day for a long time.”

“Haven’t we all?” Nick gave Lace his arm, which she accepted. And at the same time, she almos
t
fel
t
the touch of a hand at her other arm.

They exited the kitchen door to the herb garden, its scents sharp with a minty mix in the moonlight, and continued down the slate walk toward the windmill, flanked by a country cottage garden.

There, Nick picked a bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace and a rainbow of lilies, snapdragons, and more varieties of orchids than could be imagined. The chalk in the Sussex soil nourished superb orchids of all varieties, one of her favorite local delights.

“A snip of cockscomb,” Nick said, “to represent the Scoundrels, and, ah, here, a trio of Canterbury bells because—”

“Every bride must carry something blue?” she finished.

Nick chuckled. “And baby’s breath to honor the Kendrick babes to come.”

They hugged, then she shoved his arm with sisterly affection, the way they’d done as kids.

Lace took a readying breath and they began walking again. But the magic on the hill stopped her. A play of light, candles in moonlight, the Scoundrels and their families making their way to the Abbey where she would finally marry the man she loved.

She elbowed Nick to get them moving again, smiled, and took his offered arm. “You’re a Scoundrel and a knave, just so you know.”

“So are we all, my pet. So are we all. Including your future husband.”

Her grin grew wide. “I know, and I love him that way.”

The old abbey had been built, legend had it, around the 1300s, of round stones from the fields, surely causing many an aching back and monastic prayer. It stood enclosed on nearly all four sides. Without a roof, its end walls arched toward nothingness to mimic, in large scale, its Gothic windows.

As they approached, she loved how those same window arches had been filled with lit candelabra of every sort and size, multi-flames dancing in the breeze drifting through trees growing inside and out.

A candlelit church had never looked so wondrous beautiful.

Inside, around the beauty of nature reclaiming this high holy place, pews had been set in rows, and along each stood their guests, turning to watch her arrival, each holding a lit candle.

At the front of the chapel, Gabriel waited, handsome as sin in his black suit and vicar’s collar, as bright a white as his imaginary wings, now pearlescent and glowing with love.

He held his daughter by the hand, Cricket who wore a miniature of her Lace’s silver dress. Gabriel had hidden depths; he’d planned this whole thing way back when they went shopping for clothes. Good to know she’d been loved when unlovable.

Together the two peopl
e
sh
e
most loved in the world waited for her to make them a family.

Lace had not expected to be serenaded as Nick escorted her down the aisle, but she heard the crank of Ivy’s barrel piano, favored by street musicians and puppeteers—no wonder his gypsy wagon had been left outside the chapel. Then her guests added their combined voices as she went to meet her love to the strains of “Sheep May Safely Graze.”

Lace sang the words in her mind and realized that surely Gabriel had been the shepherd who kept watch over Bridget, so her little lamb could safely graze, until, in due course, on this night, they could begin their life together.

Had Clara anything to do with her finding Gabriel sheltering a lamb the night she returned? Had the scene been an indication of the wonder and love she would find here?

No bride ever met her future husband at the altar at a more ordained moment in time nor to a more perfect piece of music.

When Nick officially gave Gabriel her hand, Gabe asked Nick to stay and be his witness. Lace had forgotten about needing one, so she turned and crooked a finger at Jade to come and stand beside her.

When Jade complied, Lacey gave her snapdragons, baby’s breath, and pink Canterbury bells.

“Flowers for me, too?” Bridget asked, so Lace gave her Queen Anne’s lace, baby’s breath, and orchids. Then Cricket slipped her hands into theirs, hers and Gabriel’s, so it looked as if Gabe held a bouquet as well, while Bridget huffed and tilted her head at the minister. “Well . . . marry us.”

The minister chuckled, and as he began the service, Lace felt as if Clara kissed her cheek, Bridget’s too, because, without letting go of their hands, Cricket raised a shoulder to swipe at her cheek with a giggle, as if something, or someone, had tickled her there.

This is where it all began. She could practically hear the echo of their childish laughter. Here they loved as man and woman. Here they now pledged their troth, binding their lives, with Clara’s Bridget and any future children to come of their union.

Lacey’s voice grew strong and sure as she spoke her vows, her hand squeezing Bridget’s.

Gabriel’s voice cracked as he repeated his vows loud enough for her mother and Clara to hear, Lacey thought, watching him through the shimmer in her eyes.

“I now pronounce you man and wife, and daughter,” the minister said.

“And about time!” Cricket shouted jumping into Gabe’s arms and clinging like a monkey as she pulled Lacey over. “Can I have my first sleepover now?”

Laughter rippled through the guests, and in the magic of that candlelit Abbey, when Gabriel and Lacey Kendrick kissed for the first time as husband and wife, their daughter snug between them, the guests’ eyes were soft, their expressions pleased.

The newlyweds took the aisle at a jaunty pace, a little one skipping between them, to a burst of applause and shouts of “Huzzah!”

Nick blocked the exit after the Kendrick family left the chapel. “Knaves and brides, come to the Towers and dance in celebration. A celebratory ball awaits.”

Gabriel winced, but Lacey chuckled, and they went to the Towers planning a quick getaway.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

At the ball, Nick and Sophie danced nearly every dance, especially the waltzes, practically a promise of marriage in London, but no one at Ashcroft Towers seemed to care . . . except for Nick and Sophie, who appeared to care very much . . . for each other.

Suddenly dancers parted from their partners and began backing away until they’d formed a circle around the dance floor. In the center of it, Sophie and Nick circled each other, fists poised.

“Oh, no, Sophie’s fighting,” Patience said. “Not again.”

“Daventry, you can take her,” the Duke of Ainsley called.

“No, he can’t,” said Captain Grant St. Benedict, husband to Patience, because they’d seen such a display from Sophie several times before, the first time having been on Grant’s ship
,
The Scoundrel’s Secre
t
.

“I can do it,” Sophie said. “I’ve got my left hand up, my right up front, even with my left elbow. It’s my first position, the way Jasper taught me.”

“I’m terrified,” Nick said.

Sophie beamed then she growled, exposing perfect white teeth, her look as fierce as any dimpled blonde in yellow watered sil
k
ca
n
be. “Just remember our wager. You teach me to sai
l
The Knickerbocke
r
, if I win.”

He straightened, affronted that she could doubt him. “Word of a gentleman.”

That was when she shot out with her left, quick as lightning, and hit said gentleman square on the nose. Blood shot to her dress and Nick went down with a thud, but she dropped, and caught him with her skirt-cushioned lap before he could smack his head. She’d timed it perfectly.

Gabriel’s laughter, a rare thing, started slowly, but once he got started, it grew contagious.

Nick opened his eyes. “I won,” he said with a dizzy grin.

“No,” Sophie said, wiping the blood from his nose with a handkerchief Grant handed her.
“I
won.”

“I was set to win either way,” her downed opponent said. Nick Daventry kissed Miss Sophie Kane right there on the Ashcroft ballroom floor. Then he raised his head and saluted his fellow Scoundrels. “Congratulate us. We’re betrothed!”