I hid a smile, then fell silent for the remainder of the short journey home.
The next day dawned bright and warm, auspicious weather for Gabriella’s celebration.
Because we approached the longest day of the year, it was fully light in the very early hour Donata and I and Brewster departed for the village. I’d worried that my wife, unused to rising before one in the afternoon, wouldn’t wake in time, but no. Donata had been flitting around the house when I’d dragged myself from bed, and now she beamed at me from the opposite seat in the small carriage.
“Such a lovely morning,” she chirped. “Perfect weather for it.”
“You are vibrant.” I held the strap above the window as the coach wound down the steep hill toward the river. “Especially for so early a start.”
“Weddings are exciting.” Donata regarded me from under a small-brimmed, feathered hat. “And Gabriella will be settled at last. I was uncertain of Emile at first, but he has proved to be a dear lad.”
“Exciting?” I asked doubtfully.
“Of course. I admit, it is easier to be lively when attending a wedding. One is spared the dreadful trepidations one has about one’s own.”
My brows rose. “Did you have dreadful trepidations about ours?”
Donata’s smile widened, warming her eyes. “We had a small and intimate ceremony in my mother’s garden. Hardly the same thing.”
I noticed she did not actually answer the question, but I decided not to pursue it. I’d not experienced any worry at my first wedding. I’d been giddy. I should have let that feeling be a warning.
My wedding to Donata, however, had also seen me in a happy state, so I supposed I simply enjoyed the act of marrying.
We spoke little until the coachman halted in the village near the Auberge’s home.
Gabriella and Emile would first attend a civil ceremony in the mairie, the town hall, which would legally make them man and wife in the eyes of France. Another statute Bonaparte had put into place.
Carlotta and Auberge had gone with them to this ceremony, along with the Deveres. We were among the throng that filled the square outside the hall, waiting for the couple to emerge.
When they did, we greeted them with cheers. Gabriella beamed a shy smile at the attention, but Emile glanced around with head high, his pride obvious. His face was quite red, as was his cousin Claude’s—I imagined the older Claude had lubricated Emile thoroughly the night before.
The other cousin, Camille, walked at Gabriella’s side, as though confirming she’d bolster her new cousin-in-law against the mostly male Deveres.
The couple turned and made for the church at the end of the road. The Auberge and Devere families fell in behind them, and Donata and I followed with the crowd, who cheered, waved handkerchiefs, and generally made a ruckus. Villagers left their houses to shout their encouragement or join in the procession.
Donata laughed as we walked along. “Much more enjoyable than my staid entrance to St. George’s, Hanover Square.”
Indeed, the entire town had turned out to rejoice with the couple.
We reached the church, a medieval pile with massive stained glass windows, which must have stood here for four hundred years at the very least. This was a Catholic church, and I’d been raised to be very dourly Church of England. My father certainly would have disapproved of me entering this building—loudly.
Nothing dire happened as Donata and I passed under the pointed arch of the doorway, its jamb lined with serene angels chasing away frolicking devils.
The church’s interior was cool, light flooding through windows of the nave and the clerestory above the main floor. The polished tiles beneath our feet lent more coolness on this warm morning.
In keeping with its ancient lineage, the church had little seating, though enclosed pews of the wealthy stood near the front. Benches had been provided so that the elderly and enfeebled—which I assumed included me—could sit during the ceremony.
Music began to blast as Gabriella and Emile entered, the tall pipes of the organ pumping out mighty strains. I spied the organist, he and the instrument small in a corner, pounding away at the keys.
We shuffled into place, the multitude leaving space for the couple. The altar had been draped in green hangings, which contrasted nicely with the bundles of white flowers placed on shelves around the altar and fastened with green ribbon to the columns of the aisles.
Major Auberge took Gabriella’s arm, while Emile disappeared with Claude via a side aisle, presumably to wait for her at the altar.
There had been some debate as to whether Major Auberge or I would escort Gabriella to Emile. I was her true father, I was always quick to point out, but I had to concede that Auberge had raised her, and raised her well.
Carlotta had not wanted me to do anything at all but stand in the back and observe, if that, but Auberge had acknowledged that this would not help relations between us.
Grenville, always an arbiter, had come up with a solution to suit everyone. Auberge would escort Gabriella, but I would follow them and stand with Auberge while he handed her over to Emile.
