“Stepdaughters,” Sophie reminded her.
“Call it what you will.” Grace gave the child’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I shall love you just as much.”
When they descended the stairs a few moments later, Rebecca blinked back tears as she caught sight of Grace. “I always knew you would make the most beautiful bride.”
The two friends embraced.
“I am so happy you could come to my wedding,” said Grace. “I only wish Hannah, Leah and Evangeline could have been here, too.”
Rebecca nodded. “It is too great a distance for Evangeline to come from the Lake Country and Leah has just settled into a new position. As for Hannah, she has her hands full down in Kent. I shall tell you her news on our way.”
They all bundled into Lord Benedict’s fine carriage and drove to the church. Rebecca kept up a constant flow of news about their friends, no doubt hoping to divert the bride from any wedding jitters.
But Grace found herself surprisingly calm.
Once they reached the church, Sophie, Phoebe and Charlotte marched down the aisle ahead of her while Grace followed on the arm of Lord Benedict. As they approached the altar, Rupert turned for a first glimpse of his governess bride. His eyes widened and he appeared to catch his breath at the sight of her. His lips spread into a wide, doting smile that made Grace’s heart swell with happiness.
“Dearly beloved,” began the vicar and the marriage ceremony proceeded according to its age-old form.
When it came time to recite their vows, Grace and Rupert stared into each other’s eyes and spoke as if there was no one else present. Though she knew her bridegroom had made those same sacred promises to his first wife, Grace did not feel it diminished his commitment to her in any way. Indeed, knowing what a devoted husband he had been to Annabelle, she believed with all her heart that he would show her the same love, fidelity and kindness.
Later, when Sophie read the lesson without making a single mistake her parents exchanged proud, fond smiles.
At last the service concluded, the parish register was signed and the happy couple left the church hand-in-hand to return to Nethercross for the wedding breakfast.
Once they were settled in the carriage, Rupert leaned back in the seat and gave a warm chuckle mingled with a sigh of supreme contentment. “I must confess, dear wife, that I had an anxious moment or two while I stood at the altar awaiting your arrival.”
“Indeed?” Grace cast him a flirtatious smile, delighted that as a married couple they no longer had to mind so much about propriety. “And what did you have to be anxious about, pray? Did you entertain second thoughts about marrying me?”
She felt secure enough in his affections to jest about a matter she might once have feared in earnest.
“Quite the contrary.” He slipped his arm around her and drew her even closer. “I had an unreasonable fear that you might change your mind or some misfortune might prevent you from keeping our appointment with the vicar. But when I saw you come up the aisle looking so serene and happy, I knew all would be well.”
By now they have driven out of sight of the small crowd of wedding guests gathered in the churchyard. Rupert took advantage of their privacy to seal their union with a slow, sweet, tender kiss.
Grace returned it with all the feeling she cherished in her heart for him. Not long ago, she would have been plagued by fears of what might go wrong, unable to trust in her good fortune. But now she looked forward to their future with faith, hope and love.
THE END
Excerpt from
The Earl’s Honorable Intentions
HOW LONG HAD he been like this?
Gavin felt as if he were immersed in a deep pond. Often he sank to the still, dark bottom, knowing nothing and caring even less. But at intervals he would float closer to the surface, near enough to hear and feel—or was he only dreaming? All the while, that flimsy barrier between sleep and consciousness remained strangely impenetrable. Certain sensations could pass through it to reach him, but for him to break through required greater effort than he could muster.
Among his few connections with the waking world, were those voices—one softly pleading, the other fiercely challenging. They seemed to wage a tug-of-war over him. At times he longed to flee them both in search of peace, though he sensed they would follow and continue to plague him until one or the other prevailed.
Besides, he had heard a third voice—that of his fallen comrade. It reminded him of urgent unfinished business.
That reminder gave Gavin the strength to pry open his eyes and look around him. He found he was not lying in a pool of warm water after all, but tucked up in his own bedchamber back at Edgecombe. It must be very late at night for the room was wrapped in deep shadows with only the fitful flicker of a single candle to relieve the darkness.
How had he come to Edgecombe? Gavin plundered his memory for the answer to that question. The last thing he recalled with any clarity was the cavalry charge at Waterloo.
In the stillness of the darkened room, he fancied he could hear echoes from the battlefield—the rolling thunder of horses’ hooves punctuated by the crash of artillery, the crack of rifle fire and the cries of wounded soldiers. The whiff of gunpowder, sweating horses and blood seemed only a breath away.
While those sensations hovered, just out of reach, the tumultuous emotions of that day seized hold of his heart once again. First came the grim satisfaction of being on the move and able to strike a blow at last after frustrating hours of waiting. Then he relived the fierce rush of triumph as their charge turned the tide of battle, bringing hope to the beleaguered infantry. Beneath both of those churned a sickening sense of futility that his men should be fighting and dying once again, scarcely a year after their last hard-won “victory.”
A spasm of alarm caught him by the throat when he realized some of the hussars had ridden too far and risked being cut off from retreat. Among those were his commander, General Beresford, and his dearest friend, Anthony Molesworth.
A faint sound and a flicker of movement from nearby wrenched Gavin away from the battlefield and thrust him back into the shadowed tranquility of his bedchamber. His gaze flew toward a slender figure slouched in an armchair beside his bed.
It took him a moment to recognize Hannah Fletcher. Even then, part of him had trouble believing it could be her. Amid his hazy memories of recent days, he had one vivid recollection of Miss Fletcher’s face. Her fierce blue glare had accused him of all manner of shortcomings that he could not deny.