Chapter Eleven
The day of the wedding dawned bright. Ellen woke in her bed chambers at Oak Lodge for the last time. It had been decided that Marcus and Lucas would stay at Margaret’s home, Lady Annesbury would stay at Oak Lodge, and the Falkhams were with Teresa. Guest rooms were in short supply, but not many other family members would make the journey for a small church wedding. They would wait for a more spectacular event in London, which Marcus’s mother promised would be the talk of the season.
Ellen did not spend a moment lolling about but rang for a maid at once. The wedding would be held immediately following morning services and the final reading of the banns.
One of the upstairs maids appeared with a small tray of chocolate and muffins. The wedding breakfast would be a grand affair, but Ellen didn’t think it wise to wait to eat. She needed her wits about her. Besides, the memory of her sister Dorothea fainting from hunger and nerves the morning of her wedding had made a strong impression upon Ellen.
Marcus wanted to marry her because of her practicality. Practical brides ate something before their wedding.
After eating, Ellen allowed the maid to do her hair up in ringlets, piled elegantly atop her head. She liked the effect, though she well knew her wedding bonnet would cover most of the efforts. She stepped into her best gown, made over with some silver ribbons, and the maid helped her tie and tuck everything into place. A deep blue cape went over the ensemble. Her light blue slippers were the last thing she put on, tying the ribbons about her ankles.
Her mother’s last missive returned to her thoughts. Dorothea had yet to deliver.
Write down everything about this day and keep your thoughts close. A woman’s wedding is a precious treasure to hold onto for the rest of her life.
Though nothing of great consequence had occurred yet, Ellen went to her writing desk and found her commonplace book. Normally, she recorded philosophical thoughts or notes on her studies. Today, it would have to do as a sort of diary, too.
Upon opening the small book, where she recorded the words of philosophers and ideas from men of science, her gaze fell upon a quote recorded but two months previous, from Shakespeare.
She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known…
When first she read the words, she thought them beautiful and worthy of remembrance, a clever witticism on the state of one in love. Circumstances had changed since then. The words delved into her heart and soul, removing her ability to form a sentence of her own.
Ellen closed the book and put it back into the writing desk. “See to it this is placed in the carriage to go with me to Orchard Hill,” she directed the maid, laying her hand flat on the wood.
She took one last look at herself in the glass and went out the door, determined not to be nervous. Servants moved about, between their staircase and the room for Lady Calvert. She found her brother in the entryway, seated on a covered bench, reading.
He glanced up when he saw her and stood, a wide smile on his face. “Happy wedding day, Ellen. I did not think you would be ready early. Isn’t a bride supposed to take a great deal of time before a mirror?”
Ellen hesitated before answering, still shaken by the words she read. “Do you think I ought to do something more to my appearance?” She bit her lip and looked down to adjust the fingers of her gloves. “I thought I looked well.”
“Ellen,” Reginald said softly, reaching out to still her hands. “Ellie.”
Her gaze darted up to see him smiling at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “You have not called me that since you were a boy,” she murmured, looking into his deep brown eyes.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and dropped his chin. “I may not call you that again, either, now that you join the ranks of esteemed married ladies.”
She laughed and squeezed his hands. “Call me whatever you wish, Reggie. For I will not hesitate to use any number of pet names before your wife someday.”
He chuckled and stepped back, taking her in. “Back to your question. I believe you look beautiful and I am surprised it did not take you long to achieve it. You have always been pretty.”
“You are a sweet brother,” she answered. “But you and father are the only men who have ever bothered to pay such a compliment.”
“Which I have never understood.” Reginald sat down and gave the bench a pat so she would join him. “I hope you hear such things every day from now on. Marcus must think you good looking to go through all the trouble of marrying you.” Though he said it lightly, a sparkle in his eye, Ellen wondered how he could tease about such a thing. Perhaps it was a moment of youthful dreaming on his part.
She gave his hand a pat and then leaned back against the wall, careful of her bonnet.
He looked up the staircase. “How much longer do you think our esteemed guest will be?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. But our carriage should be at the door soon. Where is Father?”
“Here,” said a voice as their father appeared from around the corner, coming from his study. “I have been looking through the library and wondering which books I ought to send to Orchard Hill. Most of the new additions have come from your recommendations. It hardly seems fair that you are leaving those behind.”
He came and stood before her, looking her up and down, then nodded smartly. “You make a charming bride, Ellen.” He held his arms out and she stood to enter his embrace. “My girl. You know, I thought I would keep you here to read to me in my old age and debate the finer points of politics and poetry.” He released her slowly and looked down with a stern expression, though Ellen thought his eyes looked suspiciously bright. “Calvert should be grateful to have you, and if he is not, you remind him of your estimable qualities.”
Ellen could laugh at that, feeling her eyes moisten. “Which qualities are those, Papa?”
“Your kindness, consideration, intelligence, and gentility all lend themselves well to whatever you put your mind to.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss on her cheek.
A rustle on the stairs brought their attention to Lady Annesbury, descending with grace. “Gracious, I hope I have not kept you,” she said. “I did not know everyone would be ready this early.”
“Not at all, Lady Annesbury,” her father said with a brief bow. “Have you sent for your carriage?”
“Yes, it ought to be ready.”
A footman appeared at that moment, confirming both carriages were outside the front door.
“Then we had better be off,” Lady Annesbury announced, pulling her cloak around her. “Ellen, I must say, your wedding attire is perfectly suited to you.” She reached out and squeezed Ellen’s arm gently, nothing artificial in her smile. “I think Marcus will be pleased. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” Ellen took in a deep breath and gave her father her arm. “It’s time.”
Her father led them out the front door to the waiting carriages. Normally, even in cooler weather, they walked the short distance to church to save the trouble of keeping the horses standing during services. But her father would not countenance such a thing on her wedding day. They arrived in good time, with hardly a moment to speak on more than the weather. They went in to the family pew and Ellen looked around for her bridegroom.
Marcus stood along the opposite wall of the church, engaged in conversation with her sister Margaret. The moment she saw him, his hair shining copper in the morning light, his posture sure and his charming grin in place, her heart picked up speed. He looked up and saw her, his eyes sweeping her form briefly before he sent her a gentle smile. Margaret touched his arm, pulling his attention back to whatever she was saying.
The vicar entered, signaling the start of services. Marcus looked toward her again and offered an apologetic smile, shrugging his shoulders. Ellen returned the gesture and then faced forward, determined to remain calm and collected, while her heart raced inside her chest.
Even if she did not marry for love, and Marcus had no intention of allowing such feelings into their arrangement, Ellen could find contentment in their partnership.
The vicar’s sermon felt like it went on much longer than usual. Yet the priest said, at the last, “And now, for the most choice of sermons, we have the blessing of witnessing the marriage vows between the Honorable Mr. Marcus Calvert and our own Miss Ellen Bringhurst. The wedding couple invites all who wish to attend to stay and bear witness.”
Ellen rose on the arm of her father and noted that no one took the opportunity to leave. The members of their community looked on with warmth and smiles. She saw the Falkhams seated in a pew behind her, and her sisters sat in their customary places next to their husbands. She wished her mother and Dorothea might have come.
Marcus joined her at the front of the church, gently accepting her arm from her father. Then he took the last step with her to stand before the vicar.
Ellen tried to pay attention to each and every word as the vicar recited from the Book of Common Prayers. But she kept glancing at Marcus, standing straight and firm beside her. He looked every inch the perfect groom, from his freshly-cropped hair to his polished black shoes. He wore a suit of deepest blue with a gold vest. His snow-white cravat was tied in an elegant, cascading fashion with a sapphire stickpin holding it in place.
At last came the vows and Ellen’s heart stuttered.
“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” Marcus said those two words evenly, without reservation, promising something he told her he could never give.
Ellen had not thought of the vows until that moment.
She wanted to wilt where she stood. Draw back, declare it could not be so. Instead, she murmured her own promise. “I will.” But it must have been loud enough to satisfy the vicar. He did not even pause in his recitation.
Ellen would keep her vows. She already loved Marcus, after all.
Marcus took her hand and repeated after the minister, looking her directly in the eye as he spoke. “I, Marcus James Calvert, take thee, Ellen Bringhurst, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Ellen’s knees went weak and her mouth dry. Could she really give herself to him, hearing such beautiful vows and knowing they were not true? How could he cherish her without love?
She said her part without thinking on it. She repeated as she was bade, held out her hand to receive her ring, knelt and bowed her head as the minister prayed over them, giving his blessing and God’s on their union.
The wedding ceremony went on and on, with Ellen doing her best to keep her eyes trained straight ahead. Could she fulfill her vows without love?
Marcus must’ve sensed her wandering thoughts—he gave her arm a gentle squeeze, bringing her back enough that she glanced at him. His lips twitched slightly and his eyes met hers, amusement twinkling in them.
How could he be amused at this, the most serious moment of her life?
Ellen’s spine stiffened and her eyes darted back to the vicar, her whole body attuned to his every word. Here she had stood, taking the situation most seriously, losing herself in thought of how to accomplish all she promised, and he looked as though he were enjoying the whole thing as some sort of show.
The vicar finished at last and put his final blessing upon them and presented them to the congregants as husband and wife. The music began, the people assembled raising their voices in a final hymn.
Ellen and Marcus followed the vicar into the rectory where they signed the church register. Ellen realized it would be her last time to sign her maiden name, Ellen Bringhurst, on any document. From now on, she would be Ellen Calvert.
Her head threatened to set the world to spinning, but Ellen tamped down on the odd sensation.
“I thought we lost you in the middle of the sermon,” Marcus said as they stepped back into the chapel. “Your eyes looked far beyond the church. What were you thinking about?”
Ellen eyed him for a moment before adjusting her bonnet. “I was thinking that we were both making a great deal of promises and that I must be sure to remember them all.” She pulled her cape closer about her and looked out the church doors where she could see her family and neighbors gathered, a small arbor held up by her brothers-in-law for them to walk beneath. “We should hurry. All those poor people in the cold are waiting on us.”
He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him and put her hand on his arm. “My sisters shouldn’t stand in the weather overlong.”
He made a sound of agreement and escorted her outside. Cheers erupted around them, ladies waved handkerchiefs, the arbor was hoisted upward. Ellen glanced up at Marcus to see him offering a large grin to the crowd, waving his free hand at everyone, whether he knew them or not. As though he was incredibly happy.
Gaining his inheritance must mean a great deal to him.
She forced her smile but kept her head ducked as they climbed into the carriage. Marcus settled in beside her, tucking a carpet around their legs after the door swung shut. “One more ordeal before we can go home,” he said cheerfully, sharing his smile with her.
Was that all it had been to him? An ordeal? Of course. It was a necessary step to gain what he most wanted. His inheritance. “The breakfast. Yes. We need not stay long, if you wish.”
“These are your neighbors,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I think you ought to determine the time spent with them.”
She waved a hand dismissively, turning her attention to the window of the carriage. “It need only be enough for us to eat a little. I would like to get our journey underway as soon as possible.” The trip to Orchard Hill would take a total of twelve hours on the road, should the weather stay fine, which already necessitated a stop at a roadside inn.
As the carriage turned onto the lane to her father’s house, Marcus leaned far enough forward to catch her eye, pulling her attention to him. She looked up into his light brown eyes, surprised by the gentle expression in them. His lips turned upward but his smile felt sincerer and less teasing.
“I must admit, I was nervous this morning. I wondered for a time if you might not come.”
Ellen’s lips parted in surprise and she knew not what to say.
“You certainly could find a better husband than me, you know,” he added, tilting his head to one side as he studied her. “Though I doubt I could find a prettier bride willing to put up with me.”
His attempt to set her at ease, his silly compliment, self-effacing as it was, gave her pause.
“Marcus, I promised I would marry you. I always keep my promises,” she said, thinking on that twinkling look in his eye before.
“It’s over, at any rate. Now we enjoy a meal and go on our way, home to Orchard Hill.” He spoke the name of his estate with relish. Ellen smiled in return, a small hope rekindled in her heart.