The morning of Daphne’s wedding had dawned sunny and with no hint of the rain that had plagued them ever since they’d found the Cameron gold.
They’d had to postpone the nuptials for a few days because, despite the warm temperature of the Roman bath’s water and Daphne’s insistence that she was fit as a flea, Maitland insisted that she have time to recover from her ordeal. Also, Squire Northman took his sweet time interviewing them all about the events leading up to the capture of Foster. So even if Maitland had been more reasonable, the wedding would have had to be squeezed in between meetings with the magistrate.
“Are you nervous?” Sophia asked as the four Beauchamp heiresses stood waiting for the carriage to convey them to the church. “I would be quite nervous.”
Daphne, who had chosen one of her favorite gowns—a white muslin shot through with jonquil—her favorite India shawl, and a rose-trimmed chip straw bonnet tied with matching jonquil ribbon, was pulling a pair of kid gloves over her trembling hands. “A little,” she admitted. “But only because I do not wish to do or say the wrong thing. If it was a mathematics drill, however…”
“You would trounce the competition,” Ivy said with a grin. “But you needn’t worry. Maitland is head over ears for you. And no one else there matters.”
“I suspect Maitland’s mama would disagree,” Gemma said as she tied her own bonnet beneath her chin. “She seems to have some very strong ideas about her own importance.”
“No more than my father,” Daphne said as they stepped outside onto the portico. “I was rather surprised that they seemed to get along with one another.”
They walked down the few stairs and allowed one of the grooms to hand them into the open brougham.
Soon they were rolling down the lane toward the church where Maitland, Lord Kerr, and the few invited guests were waiting for them.
They were turning onto the road leading to the church, when Daphne spoke up. “I know I can be somewhat cold at times, but I wished to let you know, on today when my life will change irrevocably, I am grateful for all of you. And that Lady Celeste somehow knew that we would become friends.”
“You’re making me cry and the wedding hasn’t even begun yet,” Ivy protested from beside her. Though she took Daphne’s hand in hers and squeezed it.
“I must admit that I wasn’t sure of you at first, Daphne dear,” said Sophia, dabbing at her own eyes, “but I cannot imagine Beauchamp House without you now.”
“Has Maitland agreed to live there for the rest of the year?” Gemma asked, looking worried about the possibility that he would not.
It was difficult to imagine that any of them would have missed her if she’d left earlier in their tenure at Beauchamp House, Daphne thought wryly. Had the situation been reversed, she would not have missed any of them. But somehow over the course of their first four months together they’d forged a bond. And now she couldn’t understand how she would ever get on without them.
Aloud she said, “Yes, thank heavens. I was prepared to use every wile at my disposal to convince him, but fortunately it seems that he doesn’t need convincing.”
“Because, as I said before, he’s smitten,” Ivy said wryly. “Just as you are with him.”
She didn’t protest the assessment because it was quite true. Once upon a time, she’d never have imagined a man existed whom she would willingly give her hand to in marriage. From her perspective, the institution itself was like a pair of loaded dice with all the advantage going to the husband.
But, then, she’d never imagined there could be a man she trusted as she did Maitland. But he did exist, and she was lucky enough to be about to marry him.
The carriage pulled to a stop, and they saw Lord Forsyth and Squire Northman waiting outside the door, which had been festooned with roses from the gardens at Beauchamp House.
Ivy, Sophia, and Gemma all kissed Daphne’s cheek, and, with a flutter in her stomach, she followed them into the dim outer chamber of the church. Then she watched as they stepped down the aisle, one by one.
“Are you ready, daughter?” asked Lord Forsyth, with a suspicious dampness around his eyes. Daphne had never seen her father in the throes of any emotion but anger, but it seemed that he did feel something for her after all. And since it was her wedding day, and the last one she’d ever spend under his control, she kissed him on the cheek.
“Yes, Papa,” she said slipping her arm through his as they stepped to the double doors leading into the nave.
And the rest was like a dream. She walked beside her father down the aisle to the sanctuary where Maitland stood waiting for her with that light in his eyes that he seemed to reserve only for her.
And then the vicar began the ceremony. Daphne repeated her vows in a clear voice, with only the slightest hint of a tremor, and Maitland’s eyes were intense as he slid the ruby that had been in his family for generations over the fourth finger of her left hand.
It was over with far more speed than she could have imagined, and it wasn’t until they were back at Beauchamp House celebrating the wedding breakfast in the ballroom that she had a moment to breathe.
She was sipping a cup of punch behind a pillar, when she felt someone watching her. Turning, she saw that Mr. Sommersby was behind her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” her former tutor said with genuine remorse. “I only wanted to wish you happiness. And to apologize for my role in the business with Foster.”
It was painful to think about how much she’d been let down by his role in Foster’s schemes. She had once thought Richard Sommersby the most honorable and intelligent man she could ever know. But that, like so many of her beliefs then, had been no more than an illusion concocted by a lonely girl who desperately needed someone to believe in.
The toll his time under Foster’s thumb had taken on him showed plainly on Sommersby’s face, which bore the signs of worry and fatigue even now, days after Foster had been apprehended. She didn’t wish her mentor to suffer any more on her behalf. It was as much her fault for putting him on a pedestal as it was his for not living up to her elevated expectations.
“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Sommersby,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Truly. Foster was an evil man who used us both for his own purposes. And you lost your son because of him. I cannot hold you responsible for his actions.”
At the mention of Nigel Sommersby, the tutor looked even more dejected.
“I am sorry,” she said hastily. “I should not have brought him up. It’s too soon.”
“No,” he protested. “It’s not that, not grief over his death at any rate.”
She frowned. “Then what?”
“I wish I had done more to keep him from hurting you, my dear. I should have done more.”
But this was not the time for talking about Nigel Sommersby and his sins.
“I will say this once more, Mr. Sommersby,” she said firmly, needing to make sure that he understood her well. “I do not hold you responsible for anyone else’s crimes. Not Foster’s and not Nigel’s. Now, please, I want you to enjoy yourself. This is a day for celebration.”
She might have imagined it, but it seemed to Daphne as if some burden lifted from the old man, and he seemed to brighten.
With one last wish for her happiness, he left, and Daphne stood for a moment looking after him.
“Here you are,” said Maitland, who slipped up beside her and slid a hand around her waist. “I thought you’d run away from me already.”
“Of course I haven’t,” she said, turning to step into the circle of his arms. They were shielded here from curious onlookers, and she took advantage by lifting her face for his kiss. “I would be a fool to run away from a man like you.”
“And one thing you are not,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers, “is a fool.”
“I might be particularly gifted at mathematics,” she said playfully. “Perhaps you’ve heard?”
Maitland’s brows rose in mock surprise. “No. Tell me more about this mathematics you speak of.”
“I would,” Daphne said with a wave of love for this silly, brave, adorable man, “but we have the rest of our lives for that.”
“Do we indeed?” he asked, grinning at her.
“Besides,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck, “I’ve found something I’m better at than ciphering.”
“What’s that?” His eyes met hers, and the devotion in them made her breath catch.
“Loving you,” she whispered as she took his mouth.
Maitland didn’t speak, but she strongly suspected he agreed with her.
THE END