As the equipage rumbled and bounced along the road to Gretna Green, Louisa stirred against Theo’s chest. “Was I asleep?”
“You were,” he said, smiling down at her. “And though I missed your company, I let you rest for little Nelson’s sake.”
She had, in fact been sleeping the better part of the journey—much to his dismay. With the addition of Miss Georgianna to the party, they’d been obliged to pair off by gender last night, depriving him of the passionate reunion he so greatly desired.
“Are we almost there?”
“We have just crossed the border into Scotland, so it should not be long now.”
She beamed up at him as she ran her fingers over his morning stubble. “You will need to shave before we go to the chapel.”
Her remark inspired concern about her expectations. “Pray, do you not know how weddings are conducted in Gretna Green?”
She wrinkled her pretty nose. “Will we not be married in a chapel by a Justice of the Peace?”
“No, my sweet. We will be married over an anvil by a smithy.”
She stared at him, mouth agape. “Surely, you are teasing me.”
“I promise you, I am not.”
He was indeed being truthful—though not completely honest. Gretna Green’s so-called “anvil priests” were not farriers by trade, but professional witnesses who “forged” the union between desperate English couples for a fee.
“Scottish law, you see, allows for what are called ‘irregular marriages’—an exchange of vows made before any two witnesses,” he explained. “And this grants the authority to preside over weddings to virtually anyone disposed to do so.”
“Forgive me,” she said, still looking skeptical, “but that blacksmiths should preside over weddings sounds so absurd to me, I find it hard to take you seriously.”
He moved his mouth nearer to hers. “Believe me or not, as you will. For you shall discover soon enough that I am speaking truthfully.”
She heaved a sigh. “Well, if that is so, it seems pointless to dress up for the ceremony.”
Her obvious disappointment unleashed in Theo a flood of guilt. “Does it? Well, in my opinion, a wedding is still a wedding, wherever it might take place. So I encourage you to wear whatever makes you feel most like a bride.”
“My dress is white, Theo.” She glanced toward the garment bag on the opposite seat. “It will be ruined if we are married at a forge.”
“Then it is lucky ours will take place at an inn.”
She smirked at him witheringly. “I cannot decide which is less romantic: marrying you in a blacksmith’s shop or marrying you in a tavern.”
“If it helps, the inn in question is the former home of a laird. Though even if it were a public house, I should hope marrying me in such a place would still rank above marrying your cousin in a cathedral.”
“Of course it would,” she told him. “I just need a few moments to re-adjust my expectations.”
He bent to kiss her. “I should probably tell you that the Maxwell Arms is not in Gretna Green precisely, but a half-mile away in a tiny hamlet called Springfield. The elopements there are presided over by one David Lang, formerly of the Royal Navy—albeit by impression. He was among those captured by the American pirate John Paul Jones, who forced his British prisoners to work aboard his ships. When the vessel Lang was aboard dropped anchor off the coast of the Solway Firth, he jumped ship and made his way home to Springfield, where he took over his father’s trade as an anvil-priest.”
Louisa regarded him with a sardonic glint in her eye. “So, we are to be married in a pub by a pirate?”
He laughed at her portrayal, pleased she could find humor in the situation. “Does that not sound like a colorful way to tie the knot?”
“Colorful is certainly one way to describe it.”
Whether she was having him on or seriously bothered, he could not be sure. “Look on the bright side: at least your gown will be safe.”
She still looked unconvinced. “In that case, I suppose I might as well wear it—lest Georgie thinks I do not appreciate the trouble she took to bring it to me.”
“I sincerely hope that is not your only reason,” he said, bothered.
“It is not, and—”
“Oh, but Louisa,” Miss Georgianna cried from the driver’s perch, which she’d elected to share with Churchill rather than sit with them in the passenger compartment. “How are you to keep the Captain from seeing you in your dress? For it is unlucky for the bridegroom to see the bride before the wedding.”
Theo frowned at his future sister-in-law. “What is so unlucky about it?”
“I only know that it is,” she replied, “not the reason.”
“Well, I daresay that preserving the tradition in our case will prove more trouble than it is worth—particularly when we know not what ill-luck might befall us should we break it.”
“I disagree,” Louisa intervened. “For it seems little enough trouble for you to wear a blindfold until we reach the site of the ceremony.”
Theo eyed her incredulously. “Surely, you cannot seriously expect me to do anything of the sort!”
She laughed and bumped against him. “I do not, my love, so you needn’t look so put out.”
Happy to find her spirits restored, he pulled her into his arms and waited for her sister to turn back around. When she did, he pressed his lips to Louisa’s in a blistering kiss that lasted until the calash rolled to a stop outside an old stone manor house. The sign above the door read, The Maxwell Arms. There was an air of class about the place Theo hoped would please Louisa as much as it pleased him.
“We are here,” she cried, “and soon will be married!”
“We will indeed my love. We will indeed.”
* * * *
“Good day, sir.” Theo said to the man at the registration desk as Louisa stood by. “I lately wrote to the landlord requesting the bridal suite, as well as a smaller room for my witness. I’ll now need a third room, for the bride’s sister. We wish to be married as soon as possible. Would you be good enough to make the arrangements and show us to our rooms so we can make ready?”
“You must be Captain Raynalds, then.” The man wore a threadbare black coat and spoke in a thick brogue that, to Louisa’s ear, sounded more Irish than Scottish.
“I am indeed he.”
“Reade is the name. James Reade. But most folks call me Auld Jemmy. I’m the landlord of this establishment and have seen to all your requests. Now, I need only send word to Lang of your arrival and your wish to be married at once.”
“Send word?” Theo sounded surprised. “I was under the impression Mr. Lang resided on the premises.”
“Bishop Lang does indeed live on the premises—in one of the wee cottages by the river.”
Louisa, impressed by what she’d seen of the Maxwell Arms so far, wandered into an adjoining parlor to admire the elegant furnishings. Over the heavily carved chimneypiece hung a three-quarter-length portrait of a white-haired gentleman in the scarlet coat of a regimental officer. Moving closer, she read the brass plate on the gilded frame: General Sir William Maxwell by Sir Henry Raeburn.
Sir William, she presumed, was the laird from whom the inn took its name.
Leaving the portrait, she walked to one of the windows on the adjoining wall. It overlooked a walled garden with hedge-bordered flowerbeds and walking paths. At the center stood a fountain in a pond upon which waterlilies floated.
It was, she thought, the most romantic setting imaginable for a wedding.
Hurrying back to the registration area, where Theo was paying Mr. Reade with coins from his purse, she said to the landlord, “Would it be possible for us to be married in the garden?” Then, trembling with excitement, she hooked her arm through Theo’s and tried to pull him toward the window. “Come see for yourself what a perfect spot it would be for our wedding.”
Before she got far, Mr. Reade said, “I am sorry, Madam, but all the marriages here are conducted in the wedding room, wherein the anvil resides.”
Her heart now set on a garden wedding, Louisa was not about to give up so easily. “Oh, but could you not make an exception this once?”
The old man laughed, showing her nubby black teeth. “To do a wedding in the garden, we would have to move the anvil, which, weighing upwards of three hundred pounds, is not the sort of thing one moves about willy-nilly.”
Theo changed directions and pulled her toward the stairs. “Come, darling. Let us go upstairs and prepare ourselves. We must not keep the Bishop waiting.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, reminding herself it was marrying him that mattered, not where they exchanged their vows.
Georgie and Lt. Churchill followed them up the staircase. Upon reaching the second floor, Theo turned right and led the party down a long, portrait-lined hallway, stopping outside a door displaying the numeral ten. Freeing his arm from her grasp, he unlocked the door and stepped aside, giving Louisa and Georgie room to pass.
“This is the bridal suite,” he told them, “where you will make your preparations. I, meanwhile, will ready myself in Churchill’s room. When the time comes to go down, we shall return to collect you.”
When the gentlemen took their leave, Louisa reveled in the room’s lavish décor. Ornate plaster flourishes adorned the high ceiling, pale blue toile de joy covered the walls, and a colorful Oriental rug hid the wide floorboards. Silk taffeta the color of Theo’s eyes draped the canopy bed, dressing table, and recessed windows.
Proceeding to the bed, she ran her fingers over the eiderdown before testing the feather mattress. To her delight, it was neither too hard nor too soft.
“What an exquisite room,” she said to her sister, who was hanging her bridal gown on the door of a massive mirrored armoire. “If we must be married over an anvil, at least we shall spend our wedding night in romantic splendor.”
With Georgie’s help, Louisa removed her frock and put on her gown, whose sheer overlay was exquisitely embroidered with silver thread. As she admired herself in the looking glass, she thought of Winnie. What a shame she could not be one of her bridesmaids; but at least she had Georgie with her.
“I’m so glad you are here.” She smiled at her sister, who was now doing something at the dressing table. “And thank you so much for taking the trouble to bring this beautiful gown to me.”
“I’m delighted to be here,” Georgie said. “And the gown is not all I brought…for what is a bride without the proper accessories to complete her ensemble?”
Louisa joined Georgie at the dressing table, finding there a pearl necklace, a comb of graduating cameos, a pair of elbow-length white gloves, and a jar of rouge.
Thrilled by her sister’s thoughtfulness, Louisa took a seat and pinkened her cheeks as Georgie dressed her hair. When the preparations were complete, both sisters moved to the velvet settee at the foot of the bed to await Theo and Lt. Churchill’s return.
By the time the anticipated knock came, Louisa was atingle with anticipation. She could not wait to marry her Captain, even if it had to be over an anvil. Hurrying to the door, Louisa was startled to find Lt. Churchill alone on the other side.
“Where is Theo?”
“Waiting for you downstairs.” With a grin and a wink, he added, “I believe he said something about it being unlucky to see the bride before the ceremony.”
Louisa, touched by Theo’s thoughtfulness, took a bracing breath before stepping into the hall. Georgie, following her out, shut the door, and the three of them set off toward the stairs.
At the bottom, Lt. Churchill took the lead while Georgie took Louisa’s arm. They followed him through the dining room and tavern, where every head turned in their direction, before they came to a sign reading Wedding Room.
The chamber within was Quaker-plain and furnished with only a large round table, an anvil upon a crudely chiseled pedestal, and a small desk. Behind the desk sat a diminutive man of about sixty years with a large, full face and dark, cunning eyes. The tailcoat and top hat he wore made him look more like an undertaker than a cleric.
Her bridegroom cut a far more dashing figure. Standing beside the anvil in his Captain’s uniform, Theo held a small bouquet of white heather bound with a blue ribbon. As she approached him, her heart aflutter, he offered her the flowers.
“These are for the most beautiful bride that ever was or ever shall be.”
Affected by his gesture—and his words—she took the flowers and assumed her place on the other side of the anvil.
Bishop Lang slapped his horn-rimmed spectacles on his nose, rose from the desk, and came to where they stood. Extending his cupped hand toward Theo, he said, “I’ll have the fee, if ye please, afore we begin.”
Theo, who towered over the Bishop, asked, “How much are your services?”
Lang looked them over with eyes that had seen more than their share of hardship. Louisa wanted to ask him about John Paul Jones and his days as a pirate, but she was too anxious to open her mouth.
“Fer a finely dressed pair such as yerselves, the charge is twenty guineas.”
Twenty guineas! Good Lord! Louisa now regretted having put on her wedding dress, for it was clear the man based his fee upon the perceived wealth and/or desperation of each couple he married.
Theo pulled out his purse and placed the requested coins into the little Scotsman’s outstretched palm. With a satisfied smile, Mr. Lang instructed them to “Clap hands t’gither over the anvil.”
After they’d joined hands, the anvil-priest (or was he an anvil-bishop?) said to Theo, “Are ye a single mon? Ye answer ‘aye,’ ye ken.”
“Aye.”
He then asked Louisa the same question, to which she also answered, “Aye.”
Addressing himself to Theo once more, Lang asked, “D’ye ken any reason why ye shouldna take this wumman tae be yer lawful weeded wife?”
“Nay.”
“D’ye ken,” the old bilker then said to Louisa, “any reason why ye shouldna take this mon tae be yer lawful weeded mon? Speak oop noo, lassie.”
“None that I can think of.”
Apart from her deep love for her bridegroom, this was in no way her dream wedding. Ever since she was a little girl, she had seen herself entering into the Sacrament of Marriage before the altar of Holy Trinity Church, where she had attended services all the Sundays of her life so far.
“D’ye both agree tae all o’ that?”
“Aye,” the couple answered in unison.
At that, the old pirate brought the hammer down on the anvil with a resonant clang. “I noo declare ye mon and wife afore God and all present.” Then, to Lt. Churchill, he said, “Come with me, lad, so ye can sign the witness statement.”
No sooner had the two gentlemen stepped away than Georgie rushed forward to offer the newlyweds her effusive felicitations. Then, Theo took Louisa by the arm and swept her out into the corridor.
As he leaned in to kiss his bride, Lt. Churchill came out of the Wedding Room holding a rolled sheet of parchment. He handed the document to Theo, who promptly unfurled the scroll. Looking on, Louisa saw it was the Certificate of Marriage, which read as follows:
KINGDOM OF SCOTLAND,
COUNTY OF DUMFRIES,
PARISH OF GRETNA
————
THESE ARE TO CERTIFY, to All Whom They May Concern, that Theobald W. Raynalds, from the town of Much Wenlock and County of Shropshire, England, and Louisa A. Bennet, of the same, being now both here present and having declared to me that they are both Single Persons, have now been married after the manner of the Laws of Scotland.
As witness our hands at Gretna, this 7th day of August, 1815,
David Lang
Christian Churchill
The wedding party adjourned to the bar and, after the four of them drank a toast, the newlyweds mounted the stairs alone. At the bridal suite door, Theo scooped Louisa into his arms and carried her inside. Someone had lit the candles and fire, adding to the room’s romantic ambience. Grinning adorably, he tossed her onto the bed and started to unbutton his coat.
“No,” she cried, stopping him. “Leave it on. You look so dashing in your uniform, it would be a shame to take it off so soon.”
“If you wish me to leave it on, I certainly shall.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “For I would hate to disappoint you twice on your wedding day.”
“Twice?” She sat up and set her head on his epauletted shoulder. “When, pray, did you disappointment me the first time?”
“At the ceremony,” he said. “Your disillusionment was written all over your face.”
“Oh, Theo,” she said, furious at herself for not making more of an effort to hide her feelings. “If that is true, I am heartily sorry. Yet you must know—you must know—that my disappointment had nothing to do with you. I know you did everything in your power to make this day special and romantic for me. Booking this beautiful room, taking pains not to see me in my gown before the ceremony, bringing me a bouquet of heather, and carrying me over the threshold, to name but a few of your thoughtful gestures.”
“I wanted you to have a romantic wedding day, even if the setting was a let-down.”
She kissed his cheek. “You are the most loving, thoughtful, and romantic husband I could ever ask for. And I feel extremely blessed to be the one person, out of all the women in the world, you chose to marry.”
Setting a finger under her chin, he lifted her face and pressed his lips to hers. “I feel just as blessed to have won the heart of a woman as wonderful as you. You make me feel whole, Louisa—for the first time in my life.”
He kissed her, and when they at last broke apart, he handed her a box tied with a blue silk ribbon. “What’s this?”
“Your wedding present, of course.”
She took the box, which was heavier than it looked. “What is it?”
He nudged her cheek with his nose. “Another of my romantic gestures.”
She untied the ribbon and opened the box, finding inside a fancy silver casket about the size of a butter dish. Taking it out, she admired the silversmith’s handiwork, the centerpiece of which was an angel playing a lute surrounded by birds.
“It is beautiful, Theo,” she said, tearing up. “I shall cherish it always.”
“Open it.”
She lifted the lid to find an exquisite emerald-and-diamond ring resting upon the blue-velvet lining. Before she could say anything, he picked it up, took her left hand in his, and placed the ring on her third finger. As he did this, he said, “With this ring I thee wed…with my body I thee worship…and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
“Oh, Theo,” she said, choked by her emotions. “I could not have asked for a more special wedding present. Truly, I am at a loss for words.”
“There is one more gift in your music box,” he said. “Wind the key and you shall see what it is.”
Turning the box over, she did as instructed. As the tinkling melody of Lady Nelson’s Waltz Cotillion filled the room, he stood and offered her his hand. “Shall we dance? For no wedding is complete without a waltz between the bride and groom.”
She accepted his hand and, as he took her in his arms, he led her not through the simplified cotillion they’d danced before, but through the far more challenging pattern of the waltz. As they glided around the room, their bodies at once rigid and fluid, she could not believe how expertly he executed the steps. Had she not known, she would never have suspected he wore a prosthesis.
“I am astonished to find you so light on your feet.”
“I have been practicing,” he said, smiling at her.
Jealousy nipped at her heart. “With whom?”
“Various young ladies. At the balls in London. While there looking for you.”
Recalling her cousin’s comment about the dogs, she asked, “Did you also look for me in Somerset?”
“I did,” he said, turning her once more.
“And how did you finally learn I was in Bath?”
“Your mother sent me a note with your aunt’s address.”
Knowing her mother had helped him find her made Louisa even happier than she already was—if such a thing was possible.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For saving me from my fate…and showing me how it feels to be loved.”
He stopped dancing and hugged her to him. “I would have fought an entire army to make you mine, Louisa. Or ten armies, if need be.”
His gallant words turned her insides to honey—sweet white-heather honey. “And I would do no less for you, my darling husband.”
* * * *
When the music-box ran down, Theo led Louisa to the bed. “What say you to getting out of these cumbersome garments?”
She looked into his eyes. “Would it be all right if we undressed each other?”
“More than all right.” Her suggestion pleased him immensely. “Shall I get us underway?”
Turning her around, he slowly unfastened the hooks on the back of her frock. As his fingers worked, he ran the tip of his tongue along her nape and shoulders. The soft sounds she made in response brought his cock to life.
After dispatching with her gown and petticoat, he unlaced her corset and tossed it aside. He then reached around her and untied the drawstring on her thin linen shift—the only thing that stood between her and nudity. He’d not yet seen her without her clothes on and was eager for the pleasure. Pushing the loosened shift off her shoulders, he let it slide down her body to the floor.
She was now bare to his view but for her stockings and slippers.
Stepping back, he admired what he’d unwrapped. In the candlelight, her body was more beautiful than a disfigured man deserved—and yet, he wanted her all the same. As he ran his hands down her back and over her buttocks, he wondered what it would be like to bathe her.
Her skin was fair and flawless. She had no scars, no beauty marks, no pimples. He reached around her and kneaded her breasts. They were perfect, too. Neither too big nor too small. The nipples were small and pink—just the way he liked them. He kissed and licked the column of her neck. Her perfume smelled like violets, but tasted like soap.
With a breathy sigh, she let her head fall back and turned her face toward his. “I love you,” she said dreamily.
“I love you, too.”
He kissed her softly, tenderly. A brush of the lips, a flick of the tongue. She pushed her buttocks against the front of his trousers, making his prick pulse with the need of her. As he deepened the kiss, he moved a hand down her body to her mound of Venus. He stroked the downy fleece there before parting her vulva with two fingers. Closing them around her clitoris, he gently tugged and squeezed.
The room had gone dark. He had lost all sense of time, all sense of everything except his ardent affection and dizzying desire for the woman in his arms.
He teased her until she was breathing hard and trembling against him. Then, he stepped back so they could both cool down. His cock tingled unbearably and he was sweating under the heavy wool and embellishments of his Captain’s coat.
When he started to unfasten its brass anchor buttons, she put a hand on his chest to stop him. “I’ll do that, if you don’t mind.”
Not minding in the least, he let his hand fall away. She had him down to his shirtsleeves in no time. Naval dress regulations called for a black-silk neckcloth. As Louisa untied his, he considered whether to take down her hair or leave it up. It was a choice he found remarkably difficult. With it up, he could see her better and kiss her neck more easily; but with it down, he could run his fingers through it while he made love to her.
“Lift your arms,” she said, “so I can take off your shirt.”
He did as requested and, when he was bared to the waist, she took a moment to examine his tattoos. He had a swallow on each of his pecs—one for every 5,000 nautical miles he’d traveled. After kissing both birds, she instructed him to take off the rest and go lay on the bed. When he was ready, she ran her gaze up and down the length of his naked body. Self-consciousness needled him when her eyes fell on his prosthesis. He pushed his anxiety away, reminding himself she’d seen the worst and married him anyway.
Joining him on the bed, she straddled his hips and kissed him. First his lips, then his chin, then his sternum. She flicked her tongue against his nipples and nuzzled his chest hair. Sliding lower, she walked her fingers down the trail of golden hair stretching from his belly-button to his pubic nest. When her hand leapt to the head of his cock, he gasped as if startled.
Through pleasure-drunk eyes, he watched her fingers glide along his erection. Up, over, and down. Up, over, and down. Her light touch tickled his flesh, though in a way he found exceedingly arousing. When he could take no more, he told her to take him inside her.
Merciful angel that she was, she planted her palms on his chest and positioned herself over his cock. She took him into her slowly, drawing from him a deep groan of satisfaction. He could tell she liked being on top, liked being able to control the speed and depth of his penetration. Though it very nearly killed him, he let her take her sweet time.
Once he was fully seated inside her, she squeezed her inner muscles around him. Had she learned that trick from Fanny Hill?—or was it instinctual? Either way, it felt incredible. Her hair had come loose from its pins and combs and now tumbled around her shoulders in soft waves. She looked so beautiful, the urge to kiss her overwhelmed him. Twisting his fingers in her tresses, he pulled her mouth down on his. As their tongues entwined, he thrust upward, burying his “weapon” to the hilt.
She moaned into his mouth and rotated her hips. The resulting surge of pleasure was so intense, he bucked under her. She sat up and began to ride him, her bare breasts bouncing enticingly before him. He took them in his hands and held on as she continued posting atop him.
Over the blood thunder in his ears, he could hear the slapping of their bodies, the crackling of the fire, and her soft cries of pleasure. Her eyes were closed, but his were open and watching. For he would not miss seeing his bride in the throes of ecstasy for all the whisky in Scotland.
He slowed his pace, wanting to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. Until now, life had mostly been unkind to him, but he’d borne his hardships without complaint. And now, finally, he was reaping the reward for his fortitude. He might not be worthy of Louisa, but he was determined to devote the rest of his days to making her feel loved and appreciated for the rare and wonderful woman she was.
Then, there arose in him an incredible feeling of euphoria. He was still on Earth, experiencing the greatest pleasure imaginable, but also in Heaven, floating blissfully along on a cloud. What he felt, he realized, was love. Not mere mortal love, but the higher kind that could make cripples walk and blind man see. Because that was exactly what it had done for him.