Olivia opened her mouth to voice her fears, then took in Lady Staines’s smile of pure happiness—how she had one hand placed over her already-swelling belly, her delicate features flushed with pleasure. Olivia had no wish to dampen her joy, not when the overprotective Earl Staines stood beside his wife.
“Lady Staines, I’m sure that—”
“Did I not tell you to call me Juliette? We’re sisters by marriage, after all.” Lady Staines glanced toward Montague and Devereaux. “I cannot think why my brother-in-law insisted on your marrying here, and such a quiet affair. It would have been no trouble for my husband to have presided over the ceremony in London. The bishop’s a particular friend, and he would have approved. You are equally as deserving to have your wedding take place in St. George’s as any other bride, is she not, Andrew?”
Lord Staines patted his wife’s hand and smiled at Olivia. “Miss Whitcombe—pardon me,Lady Devereaux—was quite right in insisting on a quiet ceremony here at Rosecombe. And I’ll wager much of her decision is due to her consideration for her guests, for you wouldn’t have wished to travel to London in your condition, my love.”
“I’d have made the effort in Olivia’s case. Surely she deserves…”
“She deserves to choose the manner of her own wedding,” he said, lifting his wife’s hand to his lips. “The ceremony is not about the pomp. It’s a sacred vow made by two people in love.”
He placed his hand on Olivia’s sleeve. “I wish with all my heart that you’ll be happy.” He glanced toward the chapel doors. “Devereaux is an honorable and honest man. With your sweet nature, you cannot fail to make him happy.”
“But will he make Olivia happy?” Eleanor said.
The corner of Lord Staines’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Duchess, I daresay he’ll find a bullet in his heart courtesy of your husband if he does not. What say you, Miss Lucas? You’re very silent on the matter. Are you unwell?”
Miss Lucas nodded and gave a watery smile. “It’s the heat,” she said. “Do forgive me.”
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Olivia’s skin tightened as the air seemed to shimmer with the masculine essence of…him. She lowered her gaze and his shadow appeared, stretching across the pathway until it engulfed hers. The faint scent of wood and spices filled her nostrils, and though she anticipated his touch, a fizz of apprehension still rippled through her body as he took her elbow, cradling it in his palm in a gentle but determined gesture.
“I fear it’s time to take your leave,” Montague said, joining them. “You’ve a long journey ahead.”
“B-but your carriage…”
“Is at your disposal until your husband arranges the purchase of a carriage of his own, which I trust he’ll do without delay…in addition to certain other pledges he’s made.”
Olivia glanced at her husband to see him glaring at Montague, his eyes almost black with anger. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Good,” Montague said. “In which case, I see no further reason for delay.” He took Olivia’s hand and squeezed it. “Write to Eleanor as soon as you’re settled.”
“I’ve already made her promise, my love,” Eleanor said. Then she turned to Devereaux. “What shall we makeyoupromise, sir? To abide by your vows?”
The groom frowned, then nodded.
“Then take my hand as a gesture of good faith,” Eleanor said. “For we are now brother and sister.”
He paused, then took her hand, as delicately as if plucking a flower, and lifted it to his lips.
“There!” she said. “Montague, did I not tell you he was a decent sort of man?”
Then her eyes darkened. “I trust my faith will not be misplaced, sir. You have gained more today than Olivia can ever have hoped togain in her lifetime. But of course, in this world, men always have the better bargain.”
His mouth twitched into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
“I don’t refer to my sister’s fortune,” Eleanor added, “though I trust you will treat it, and her, with the respect they both deserve.”
She turned to Olivia. “One last farewell, dearest, then you must be on your way before I cry. I hate to cry at weddings, for I fear that tears cannot bode well for a happy union.”
Olivia blinked, willing the tears in her own eyes not to fall, as she found herself embraced once more. Then she hugged Lady Staines and finally Miss Lucas. On impulse, she handed her posy to the pale young woman.
“Oh no, Miss Whitcombe—I mean, Lady Devereaux. I couldn’t possibly…”
“Take it, Miss Lucas,” Olivia said, “as a symbol of my friendship, in the hope that you’ll find happiness in your marriage, whenever that may be.”
“Very well. I hope I shall be as happy as you.”
Olivia forced a smile. Then she caught her breath as a large hand touched the small of her back. For a moment, it remained there, Devereaux’s body heat seeping into hers—then, gently but determinedly, he propelled her toward the carriage and helped her inside. He followed suit then beckoned for his valet to climb in.
