“No,” Philip said, while Miranda simply shook her head.
Her father looked disappointed as if his new son-in-law should have planned a spontaneous wedding more thoughtfully and brought along a gold bejeweled band. But a wedding had not been on Philip’s horizon when he’d left London for Northampton.
“For as much as this man and this woman have consented to go together, I, David Lang, sometimes called Bishop Lang—”
This was interrupted by Miranda’s nervous laughter at the ridiculous moniker. She used her free hand, waving slightly as a gesture for the man to continue.
The blacksmith cleared his throat and finished, “I declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen.”
And then he reached for the hammer resting against the base of the anvil, brought it up and slammed it down a little too close for Philip’s liking. He and Miranda both whipped their hands away as the ringing sound of metal-on-metal half deafened them while it reverberated through the shop and out the open door.
“Now the village knows another couple has been joined,” Mr. Lang declared solemnly. He shoved the single piece of paper into Philip’s hands.
“You can both sign it, but do it elsewhere. It’s past our dinnertime. Come along, Simon.”
MIRANDA AND PHILIP walked back toward the King’s Head Inn slowly, silently. Her father had mounted his horse and gone on ahead. She didn’t feel any differently as a married woman, but she was relieved not to be running like a hunted fox from place to place.
More importantly, she now had a husband by her side.
“Baroness Mercer,” Philip said suddenly, startling her.
“I had forgotten my name would change,” she confessed.
“Much more than that will change,” he said.
She took in a long breath. He might be referring to where she would live or how people would treat her. Or something else entirely.
As good as his word, the manager had sent a wainwright to fix the wheel for now Philip’s handsome coach was parked in front of the inn. The hostelry didn’t look so shabby in the gathering dusk due to the warm glow of lamplight shining out from each of the five windows facing the street.
Inside, the manager congratulated them both.
“Sir William is in the tap-room and asked me to send you to join him.”
“Do you think he is actually going to buy us a celebratory meal?” Philip asked.
Miranda recalled her sister’s special day. “Perhaps he will make it an evening wedding ‘breakfast,’” she said. “But you might have to eat eggs and rashers for your dinner.”
Neither was the case. Her father was sipping wine and had already ordered himself a plate of roast beef and parsnips, which they placed before him as Miranda and Philip took their seats.
“I will be falling over if I don’t go up to bed shortly,” Sir William said. “Unlike you two, I rode through the night. Hence, I shall leave you to enjoy your first married meal.” He rapidly shoveled in another forkful, and then another.
“Will we see you in the morning, Papa?”
“I doubt it. I shall leave at first light. While I won’t attempt to reach London as quickly as I did Gretna Green, I must return to my bench in three days. We are not all wealthy noblemen like my new son-in-law, able to fritter away their leisure time while gallivanting around the countryside.”
At her father’s words, Miranda glanced sideways at Philip. He might not be a wealthy nobleman for long. It didn’t bother her except for how Philip would lose his family’s estate. She knew that was a crushing blow.
Her husband, looking a little grim, merely ordered for the two of them.
“I put mine on your account, too,” her father said to Philip. “After all, it’s your fault I am eating away from home instead of in my own cozy dining room.”
“Of course,” Philip said. “I am only too happy to pay.”
But Miranda didn’t think he was overly happy, not by the hard line of his mouth.
Suddenly, her father barked out a short laugh.
“What is funny, Papa?” she asked, thinking they could use some good humor.
