Chapter 21
“You’re bloody well going to make her happy.”
Rob adjusted his cravat. “So you’ve said.”
“Several times,” said Royland, groaning as he stared down the small chapel’s nave.
“Is she coming?” Raventon asked, peering down the narrow way between the pews. “She’s late.”
Harley’s face darkened. “She’s coming.”
“Calm down, old boy. No need to pop off yourself before you’ve procured an heir,” Drake drawled.
“This is not how I imagined my sister’s wedding,” Harley gritted.
“I’m surprised you imagined it all,” Raventon said, shuddering. “I’ll likely have to beat whoever my sister chooses bloody just so he understands the stakes if he so much as musses a hair on her head.”
Harley sighed. “It was tempting to do such a thing. But. . .” He stared at Rob.
“You still have a few moments,” Rob said. “She’s not here yet.”
“No blood,” Royland said. “We haven’t time to clean the floor.”
Drake’s lips twitched but then he frowned. “Good God, I hate weddings.”
“Thank you for that cheery declaration,” Rob said, wishing he’d gotten drunk before his own wedding. It would have been terribly bad form, but this whole day felt like hell and, really, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through it. How did he explain that it was the very fact that he cared about Harriet that this was all so terrible?
A wife he held no affection for? He could have just established the sort of unattached marriage they were to have from the beginning and, having attained a duchess’ coronet, she would have no doubt been completely at ease with the affair.
But Harry?
Harry was altogether different and he felt sick. Perhaps, he really should have flown to parts unknown to avoid her unhappiness, but the damned truth was that after that glorious exchange of their bodies in the coach, there had never been a pathway to happiness for them. It was unfortunate that their moment of bliss had occurred before the wedding.
But then again. . . she was going to be his wife. That meant she would share his bed. And there were all sorts of things they could do without risk of a child.
“What the devil are you smiling about?” Harley demanded.
“It is my wedding,” he pointed out.
“That’s no excuse,” Harley retorted.
Rob sighed. “Where the devil is she?”
“She’s here,” Harriet announced from the back of the nave.
Rob swallowed and swung his gaze to meet his future wife’s.
He had not seen her since she’d descended from the coach that night.
It had all been arranged through notes and Harley.
What a dry, cold affair it had been. But now. . . here she was and as much as he wished to withdraw, the very sight of her warmed his blood.
Sunshine fell upon him and like a long English winter feeling the first touch of spring, he felt himself awakening. Harriet came forward, her soft blue silk gown rustling over her long legs and hugging her bodice. Pearls hung about her neck and glowed in her curled tresses.
Everything, all his worries, all his doubts, faded away as he met her bright, witty gaze.
She did not seem afraid or doubtful. Rather, she strode down the narrow aisle like an Amazon might into a court full of men. Proud, strong, beautiful.
And then when she came beside him, she looked up at him and winked. She winked.
“Hello, Rob,” she whispered. “How very nice to see you in good health. I’d feared you’d broken your hand or foot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, you have not visited me or written me,” she teased. “I assumed you’d been horribly wounded. A curricle accident perhaps? Accidental bear mauling? An altercation with a set of stairs?”
His lips twitched. “As you see, nothing has befallen me.”
She sighed dramatically. “Except marriage. Shall we get to it?”
He barely knew what to say, so he nodded. And at that very moment an old fellow in purple bumbled to the altar. Squinting behind a pair of wire spectacles, he asked dryly, “And where is the happy couple?”
“Here, Your Grace,” Harley said to the bishop, pointing at Rob and Harriet.
The bishop toddled over to them, his brow furrowed with deep grooves. He pulled out his prayer book and began thumbing through. “Now, let me see. What page. . . I always forget which page the wedding ceremony is on.”
Royland leaned forward and whispered a number.
“Hmm. Thank you, Your Grace.” This bishop gazed about. “My there are quite a few graces about are there not? And soon to be one more?” The bishop laughed at his own joke.
They all stared at the old man and Rob was certain he smelled brandy.
Rob held back a snort. Marvelous. Just bloody marvelous. The bishop was drunk when he was sober. Was there no justice in the world?
The question was an absurd one. He knew very well that, no, justice was not something that ruled anyone’s life. One could strive for it, but it was not inherent. One had to make justice happen.
“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today for the union of. . .” The bishop blinked at his page then looked up. “I say, what were your names again?”
Harry’s mother let out a note of frustration from her pew which everyone but the bishop heard.
Harriet’s lips twitched and Rob felt his heart do the strangest thing. It. . . danced.
Some women would be in tears or furious that their wedding had taken such a turn. But Harriet? She was amused.
Harley leaned in to the bishop, whispering their names.
The bishop nodded then took in a deep breath. “Dearly beloved—”
“You’ve done that bit,” Drake said sotto voce.
“Hmmm?” the bishop murmured.
“Perhaps we should just skip to the I dos,” Drake said with a dose of weary arrogance. “Then we can move on to the celebrations.”
The bishop smiled. “Oh. Well. If everyone is so very eager.”
Rob bit back a guffaw. It seemed the bishop was as eager as they were to move on to the champagne.
“Do you Lady Harriet Cornwall take this man to be your husband. . .”
As Rob stared down at Harry who had turned towards him, the bishop’s words faded away and he could think of nothing but the turn of her head, the pink of her cheek, the berry red of her lips, the soft curve of her bosom under her perfect, striped blue silk gown.
Her lashes were perfect crescents against her pale cheeks and her hand fit perfectly in his.
In any other set of circumstances, this would be heaven. Truth be told, in this moment, standing with her, the sense of dread which had entrapped him almost vanished entirely.
For Harry was happiness walking. How many people could boast such a thing?
Few. And he was going to do everything in his power to keep her that way. . . even if he knew he would likely fail. At least, he could try.
An elbow poked into his ribs.
He jolted and looked to Harley who was towering beside him, his face as dark as thunder. “Say, I do,” he hissed.
“I do,” he said abruptly then grinned at the faux pas. For Harry was grinning, too.
“Glad to know I can leave you speechless,” she whispered so low that no one save he could hear it.
“You render me many things,” he whispered back.
The pink of her cheeks deepened.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the bishop announced. “Now, on to the wedding breakfast!”
The small crowd erupted into discourse and laughter at the strangeness of the ceremony. It was good fortune that they all had curious rather than snobbish turns of minds. For all were able to see the humor of the events. After all, it was never going to be a regular wedding by any standards.
He offered his hand to Harry. “Shall we?”
She placed her fingers on top of his. “Indeed we shall, Husband. Indeed, we shall.”