His eyes searched hers. “I would think, Abby,” he said, “that on a person’s wedding day there is only one other person who matters. At least, that is what I would expect ofmywedding day. Gil will be there, will he not?”
“Oh goodness,” she said, and laughed. “I hope so.”
“Well,” he said, “he went off in the carriage twenty minutes ago, and it has returned empty and is ready at the door for us. So I assume he is waiting for you in church and has not run off on foot.”
“Oh, Harry,” she said, “you look very handsome.”
“No. Do I?” he asked her, grinning. “Not the pale cadaver you ran from the day you arrived here?”
“And when I ran,” she said, “the first person I saw was Gil, stripped to the waist and chopping wood. I mistook him for a servant, scolded him for his state of undress, and threatened to report him to you.”
“Good God,” he said. “I’ll wager you were mortified when you discovered the truth. You have no second thoughts, Abby? You are sure this is what you want to do?”
“I am sure,” she said. “And I do not appreciate your trying to put last-minute doubts in my head. Shall we go?”
He stood back from the door so that she could precede him from the room. “You look awfully beautiful, Ab,” he said.
“Awfully?”she said, taking his arm to descend the stairs.
“I am full of awe,” he explained.
The carriage, Abigail saw when the butler opened the door and they stepped outside, was gleaming even though it had returned from London little more than twelve hours ago. And the sun was shining from a clear blue sky. The grass, still wet from the rain, was twinkling in the sunlight.
Oh goodness, this was herwedding day.
The carriage had attracted some attention, she saw as it drew to a halt before the churchyard gates several minutes later, perhaps because it was making its second journey there in less than an hour. Some people stood still a little farther along the street, looking back. A few were drawingcloser. And others began to join them when first Harry descended, all splendidly turned out in his uniform, complete with shako and sword, and then Abigail, holding his outstretched hand, followed him out in her sprigged muslin dress and her flower-bedecked bonnet. She spotted one of her closest friends among those who were drawing nearer.
But Harry was leading her along the churchyard path and opening the door. The familiar smells of the church met her—some combination of old hymn books and candles and polish—before they were overtaken by the scents of all the flowers with which the church was decorated.
Just like a garden.
Oh my! Her bonnet would be quite eclipsed. But who—?
She had no time for further thought about her surroundings, however. Harry had closed the church door and she had turned to look beyond the vicar toward the altar.
Her bridegroom was awaiting her there.
Looking tall and broad shouldered and splendid in his regimentals. Looking also unsmiling and grim faced, his facial scar somehow accentuated by the dim lighting and the shadows cast by the tapers burning on the altar.
She drew a slow breath and slipped her hand through Harry’s arm, and together they proceeded down the aisle.
Fourteen
Gil felt as though someone had robbed him of breath. He had always considered Abby pretty and dainty in her unadorned day dresses, her hair styled simply. Today she was nothing short of beautiful. Her dress looked as though it had been embroidered all over with tiny flowers, and it fell in straight, soft folds from just below the bosom. It was low cut with short puffed sleeves over tight gauzy sleeves reaching to her wrists. Her bonnet had been trimmed lavishly with fresh flowers of a glorious mix of bright pastel shades. And as soon as her eyes alit upon him they held his, large and steady.
He felt again the full weight of what he had done and what he was about to do. There should be a churchful of family, friends, and neighbors gathered here to witness her wedding day. Instead the church was empty except for the vicar’s wife in the second pew. He should be gazing at her with love overflowing from his heart after a courtship of a decent length during which he had wooed an answeringlove from her. Instead, her brother had put the germ of an idea into his head, his lawyer had reaffirmed it, and he had rushed ahead with the idea that having a wife might make him seem more eligible as a father to the judge who would hold Katy’s fate in his hands.
This was somehow all wrong, and part of him wanted to take a step toward her, both hands raised to stop her from approaching any closer.Go back,that one part of him wanted to say.Go back home. Let us start again and do this the right way.
If therewasa right way. How could they possibly make a match of it when their backgrounds and upbringing were as different as they could possibly be and they had nothing in common except the basic illegitimacy of their birth? When they scarcely knew each other and did not even pretend to love each other? When their reason for marrying was not what it ought to be?
But the wave of guilt and near panic was momentary. He had thought the whole thing through on his journey to London and again on the way back. There was no deceit on either side. And no self-deceit either. Neither of them was going blindly into this marriage. They were wedding mainly for a reason that had nothing to do with each other, it was true, but it was nevertheless a noble reason. It was one that would surely bring them closer together—if, that was, they succeeded in getting custody of Katy. Moreover, they were not averse to each other. He wanted her. And she wanted him. Some of her words had echoed in his head throughout his journey and came to him now again.
It is not just because I want to help you retrieve your daughter... It is also because I want you...
I think I want to live with you, to be with you...
I think I would be sorry if I convinced myself that marryingyou would be madness and let you go. I think I would miss you after you were gone... I think I would be unhappy.
