Henry

Henry steeled himself to keep from turning around when he heard May’s family enter the small chapel at Simon’s home.

Simon leaned over. “Your bride is waiting at the door. She’s as beautiful as ever. Congratulations, Saalfeld.”

Then the music began, and Henry felt true torture, imagining May but not seeing her. He knew the tradition, that he should keep his back toward her but couldn’t find a single reason to adhere to it at the moment. He turned full around to see her at the back of the chapel on Lord Cottrell’s arm.  Her smile was timid until their eyes met, and it broadened as he realized his did too. He must have surprised her by turning around. But he didn’t want to miss the moment as she walked to him willingly. He had waited for this moment his whole life.

As she drew closer, her image drew his attention, blurring everything else. First the doorway and wall disappeared behind her on her father’s arm. Then the guests standing nearby as her presence grew, then the rest of the chapel was diminished, until he could only see her face inches from his—her eyes shining with tears of joy, her lips slightly parted, her hand placed in his.

His heart felt near to bursting.

The clergyman cleared his throat and lifted his prayer book to begin the service. “We gather at this holy altar and before family and friends to witness the marriage of Lady May Cottrell to—”

May lifted her finger. “One moment, please,” she said.

Henry’s heart wrenched with fear. They were so close. “Please don’t change your mind, May,” he whispered.

May squeezed his hand but didn’t let go. “Henry Stoepel, I choose you to share my life. I give you my hand in unwavering trust to walk together toward our future with joy. I give you my mind as a companion, confidant, and support. I give you my heart as a sanctuary of love and peace. I promise you fidelity and in all ways to honor and cherish you.”

His world stopped spinning with those words and the room was silent.

The parish priest finally began again. “We gather at this—”

“Lady May Cottrell,” Henry interrupted. He felt an escaped tear slide down his cheek but didn’t dare let go of her hands to push it away and continued. “I promise we will stand together in perfect trust. Your happiness is my greatest desire. You are the light to my life. I will cherish you and protect you. I give you my sacred vow to put your comfort and desires first before all other things. You are my family from this day forward.”

Henry noticed that while they had spoken, he and May had stepped so close that only their uplifted, clasped hands were pressed between them. Her eyes looked up into his, and he forgot himself, kissing her forehead.

He might have continued kissing her lovely face, but the vicar cleared his throat loudly. “We gather at this holy altar and before family and friends to witness the marriage of Lady May Cottrell to Henry Stoepel, Fifth Earl of Saalfeld and Eighth Viscount of Cheltenham.” He read the traditional vows, then May and Henry repeated them. At the end he proclaimed, “By the authority of God and Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

Henry’s arm encircled May, and his lips pressed to hers. His eyes slowly closed, the last image before kissing May, her face turned up to his, burned into this memory. When they parted, he whispered, “I love you, Lady Saalfeld.”

May stretched to kiss him once again. “And I love you for all time.”