The vicar, still unamused, gave a resentful littleharrumphat the expression of such joviality within his church.
Henry’s heart beat out a rapid tattoo against the cage of his ribs. “Is that it?” he asked Grace in a whisper. “Are we—”
“Yes.” Her lips twitched with the advent of mirth. “Didn’t you hear?”
He hadn’t. At some point in the last few minutes, the vicar had pronounced them man and wife, and he had missed it entirely. But it didn’t matter, because theywereman and wife at last.
Henry shot to his feet and extended his hands to help Grace rise, and the moment she rose he swept her into his arms and kissed her—his wife.At last.
The vicar gave a disdainful snort.
A burst of Grace’s laughter puffed against his lips. “Henry,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. “We have still got to sign the register.”
Right. The register. And then they would be obligated to accept congratulations from those who had attended the ceremony, and then it would be off to the wedding breakfast.Damn. He’d not have her to himself for hours, yet.
Not until nightfall at the earliest. Her things were being packed even now, made ready to be delivered across the street. And tonight—tonight would be the first she would not have to rise from his bed at an obnoxious hour to make it back into her own before the dawn. From tonight on, she would be his entirely. As he was hers.
Grace lifted herself onto the tips of her toes to whisper at his ear, “I have a wedding gift for you.”
“Have you?” he asked as he secured one arm about her waist. The vicar could think what he liked; there was only the signing of the register left.
“A proper welcome to the family,” she said, and she thrust one hand into a concealed pocket within her gown, withdrew a small object, and placed it into his hand.
A peashooter. A laugh caught somewhere in his throat. “And have you also got—”
“Hundreds,” she whispered. “My pockets are stuffed full of dried peas. I’m surprised you couldn’t hear them rattling around. I promise you, the children aren’t half so well-armed as we.”
We. Henry loved the sound of it. The two of them, together, forever after.
As they waited for the vicar to secure the implements needed to sign the register and officially bring the wedding to a close, Grace slipped a dried pea into the cup of his hand. No time like the present to learn, and with the attendees preparing to depart for the wedding breakfast, there was precisely the right amount of chaos about.
And Eliza was close enough, he thought, to hit. He slipped the pea into the end of the shooter, raised it surreptitiously to his lips, and blew.
Missed Eliza completely. Struck Mr. Moore, instead.
“Oh,no,” Henry whispered in horror, as Grace let out a barkof laughter that earned her a reproving glare from the vicar.
“He’s going to throw me into the Thames after all,” Henry said as he straightened his cravat and did his damnedest to pretend that he’d done nothing at all—but he could feel Mr. Moore’s hard stare right at the back of his head.
“Probably,” Grace acknowledged, as she tipped her cheek against his shoulder with a sigh. “But for me, he’ll make it a shallow spot.”
Lord. It was going to be a wedding breakfast to remember.
∞∞∞
One month later
Grace hadn’t made it more than a few inches in her slide toward the edge of the bed before Henry’s hand curled around her wrist.
“Just a few more minutes,” he said in a sleepy rumble, as he did every morning. He turned to his side to face her, dislodging Tansy, who had been dozing upon his chest. His nose twitched as she whisked her tail in his face in full feline offense.
As she did every morning, Grace slid back toward him, settling herself in the crook of his arm as he made a place for her there, tucking her head against his shoulder. These were the moments of marriage she liked best—the early morning quiet, where there was just the mingled sound of their breathing, just the strong beat of his heart beneath her palm. These soft, warm moments before the rest of the world had awakened, before the day began in earnest.
A little world of peace and sanctuary and love, built just for the two of them.
Well, and Tansy, of course, who had found the point of Henry’s elbow and had begun to gnaw upon it.
“Settle down, you little monster,” Henry grumbled as he stroked the tips of his fingers along the arch of Tansy’s back. With a twitch of her great fluffy tail, at last Tansy draped herself over Henry’s knees.
