She turned to Keir, a serious look in her big blue eyes. “Are you certain about not having your father at the wedding? I know it’s complicated, but when he finds out—”
“I don’t care what he thinks when he finds out. I’m certain.” Keir had given a lot of thought to whether or not to attempt reconciliation. The last time he’d seen Lord Ainsley, he had punched him in the nose. He hadn’t regretted it—it was long overdue, if anything—but he imagined it would make achieving anything beyond the peace they’d struck then, a peace built entirely on Keir’s demands which Lord Ainsley had been too shocked to deny, difficult. To say the least.
“There’s also the matter of Charlotte,” he said. “She doesn’t wish for him to know she’s alive, which I’ve told her is something we won’t be able to keep secret forever, but there wouldn’t be any denying who she was if she showed up at the wedding.”
“No, certainly not,” said Alison, glancing at the portrait on the desk. The family resemblance was unmistakable.
“And if I have to choose who I’d rather have at my wedding, it would be my sister every single time.”
“Of course,” said Alison. “It’s a shame about your father, but I understand.”
“Your mother’s still coming though?”
Alison laughed. “As if Violet Lennox would ever miss her only daughter’s wedding,” she said, putting on a voice with a high degree of enunciation that Keir imagined he’d be hearing much more of soon. “She arrives the week before. And hopefully leaves directly after. I love her, but there’s only so much of her I can take.”
Alison shifted back to look at Keir more directly. “There was another thing I wanted to discuss. The vicar—”
“—is horrible,” said Keir.
“No, not horrible!” said Alison, laughing. “He’s just—”
“Old-fashioned, judgmental, impersonal, aggressively unpleasant to be around, and a bore.”
“Keir!”
Keir usually reserved his vitriol for his father, but he had overheard the vicar speaking about “preserving the natural order” and “not defying the vision of the Gods” recently, and it had rubbed him the wrong way.
Alison, who had not grown up around here, had been willing to give the vicar the benefit of the doubt, but now that she was seeing him for who he was, Keir felt he could no longer hold his tongue. “I’m sorry, darling, but I’d really rather he didn’t marry us.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” admitted Alison. “But who else could do it? The wedding is in less than a month.”
Keir groaned. “There’s always Idris,” he said. Truthfully, he wasn’t concerned about Idris grandstanding or taking away attention from them. In fact, he wouldn’t mind it much if he did. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a surplus of friends around here. You have your maid of honor. I’d feel odd without a best man.”
“Do you know any judges? Any of the nobility who wouldn’t mind?”
Keir’s father could do it, he supposed, although he was certainly the last person they would ask.
“We could have an anvil wedding,” Keir realized.
“A what?”
“An anvil wedding. Some couples from Loegria come up here when their families don’t approve of their marriage. Anyone who owns property can technically marry a couple here, as long as there’s a witness and the banns have been read. It’s often the blacksmith that does it. We’re pretty far from the sea here, but Weyland may have even done it before.”
Alison’s eyes lit up at the mention of Weyland. “Really? Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”
“It’s not viewed as particularly honorable. I didn’t want to shame you.” Keir felt as though it was shameful enough marrying in secret without his father knowing. “I didn’t want to rob you of the traditional wedding experience if that was what you wanted.”
Alison laughed. “I don’t care about tradition. I don’t care about any of it really. I just want to marry you. Let’s have an anvil wedding. If Weyland is too shy to do it, I’m sure Gwenla wouldn’t mind. She’s a property owner.”
She kissed him on the cheek, and it soothed any worry he had felt. Hecouldmake her happy. Maybe Genn was right. Maybe it wouldn’t always be easy, but maybe all he needed to do was keep trying. “An anvil wedding, then. But perhaps at the town hall rather than the forge. I don’t think everyone we’ve invited will fit.”
“Perfect,” said Alison, this time kissing him on the lips. Gods, she was so soft and lovely. This beautiful, perfect woman who would be his wife. “You know,” she said, her voice dropped low, “there are other things I’m not traditional about.”
“I know that, and I love it,” said Keir, slipping the lace from her shoulder.
Chapter Fifteen
FURTHER PREPARATIONS
