“No, that isn’t true. You and Lord St. Ambrose are not doomed. You love each other. I’ve known it for a long time. I should never have been so reckless with my words.”
“August is so very easy to love.” Lavinia pressed her lips together, struggling to keep her composure as tears welled in her eyes. “I do not think I can bear to lose him.”
“Then you should marry the man.” Edith grabbed her friend’s shoulders, wishing a good shake would open Lavinia’s eyes to what Lord St. Ambrose could give her. “The marquess has kept it no secret he intends to have you for his wife. Why are you fighting him?”
“You don’t understand.” Lavinia swiped at her eyes. “Marriage is no assurance he will keep me. Once others begin to scorn him, he’ll wish he had never set eyes on me. I could spend the rest of my life forgotten and alone in one of his remote country houses. Even my child could be taken from me.”
“St. Ambrose would never treat you so cruelly.”
“I would like to believe it is true,” Lavinia said, her voice raw with emotion, “but my own father sold his flesh and blood to pay his gambling debts. Before he lost everything, he wasn’t a cruel man. How can I be certain August will remain the same when his reputation is damaged beyond repair? A man’s honor is crucial to his influence with other men. Without alliances, he has no power.”
Edith knew very few gentlemen, but she was sophisticated enough to realize Lavinia spoke the truth. Nevertheless, she refused to believe Lord St. Ambrose hadn’t considered the risks associated with marrying his mistress or had failed to take steps to ensure his survival. While he was tenderhearted and loving with Lavinia, he possessed a hard edge that should make any man hesitate to cross him.
“I think you underestimate Lord St. Ambrose,” Edith said.
Lavinia lowered her gaze and found a loose seam on the arm of the chair. She picked at it, saying nothing. After a while, Edith gave up on Lavinia speaking again.
Edith huffed in frustration. “You are afraid. Despite what you believe, Idounderstand. I’m afraid too, but sometimes you must trust what you see in a man is a true reflection of his character.”
Lavinia glanced up and her lips curved into a soft smile. “Your Mr. McTaggart’s character is beyond reproach. You will have many years of happiness with him.”
“You could have the same with Lord St. Ambrose. You only need to be brave.”
Lavinia pushed up from the floor and returned to the chair across from her. “We’ve focused on me far too long. Let’s speak of your wedding to Mr. McTaggart. Have you chosen a day?”
Edith paused, saddened by the realization her friend likely would miss her nuptials given her impatience to return to England. “Mr. McTaggart wants a church wedding.”
“This could take longer than I expected,” Lavinia mumbled, as if speaking to herself. She raised her sculpted eyebrows in Edith’s direction. “Is there a way to rush the crying of the banns?”
“I am afraid that’s not possible, even in Scotland. I’ve been told I needn’t be a member of the Church of Scotland to marry Mr. McTaggart, so at least there is no delay from that end. Still, there are fifteen days between the first crying of the banns and the last.”
“I see.” Lavinia nibbled her bottom lip while she seemed to be mulling over this information. Eventually, she shrugged. “Very well. I see no alternative. You cannot marry without your family bearing witness.”
Edith gasped. “Does that mean you are staying?”
“Nothing would keep me from attending your wedding.”
With a shrill shriek, Edith jumped from the chair to hug her friend.
Eleven
Fergus’s breathcreated a fog on the crisp January air when he stepped from the carriage Lord Thorne had sent to collect him. Three weeks had passed since Eddi accepted his proposal, and their wedding day had arrived at last. He’d come early to the church to make certain Reverend Adair built a large enough fire to warm the chapel so his bride didn’t catch a chill.
Despite the blinding sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow cover, the wind froze him to the bones. It would be another frigid night, but he wouldn’t complain. He would use any excuse at his disposal to keep Eddi in bed.
Upon entering the building, he discovered his sister and cousin Leana had beaten him to the church. Ismay looked up from the pink and white flowers she was arranging as he ambled down the aisle. “Where did you find flowers, lass?”
“Lady Thorne said I could visit the hot house and take whatever the bride might like.” Ismay grinned and returned to the arrangement. “I didna expect ta see you so close to sunrise. I wagered with Leana ye’d still be bundled up in bed with yer betrothed.”
Fergus grunted. “Never you mind what me and my betrothed were up to.”
Last night he and Eddi had engaged in the practice of bundling and passed the long, cold hours snuggled in his bed at the cottage. When his mother suggested the old Scottish custom, he’d scoffed at the idea. Neither he nor Eddi were young, and he expected his betrothed to balk at the barbaric notion of tying her legs together to protect her virtue.
Eddi surprised him, however, by proclaiming the custom charming.Except for the ropes. Fergus heartily agreed to forgo the second part of the custom. He didn’t want his woman trussed up like a turkey, especially when he’d ached to explore every inch of her. He’d behaved himself, though, and observed the custom of talking to his bride to become better acquainted with her, even though he’d spent every moment possible with her during their betrothal. Once they were wed, his inquiries would be more intimate, such as where she liked to be touched. The moment couldn’t arrive too quickly for him.
Ismay pulled a pink lily from the bouquet, tucked it in a different spot, stopped to study her work, and then grabbed the lily again.
He frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at the castle helping Mistress Gallagher dress?”
