The love and the promise in his eyes was all she needed.
Guy would find Vincent’s death hard because they were twins, Hetty decided. Genevieve didn’t suffer the same sense of loss. She confessed to missing her children but remained her exuberant self, contributing much to the preparations.
Hetty was grateful for her enthusiasm and her flair. She happily granted Genevieve full rein over the decorations for the church and the great hall at Rosecroft. The wedding dress had arrived from the modiste in London to be admired by those allowed to see it.
Aunt Emily claimed the wedding breakfast as her domain and spent time discussing it with Guy’s new chef. Still concerned about her troubled bridegroom, Hetty was happy to leave it to them.
Her father and Marina arrived home two days before the wedding. How fond they were of each other. Hetty was delighted that he’d married a kind and capable woman and wouldn’t be alone.
The day before the wedding, her father called her into the library. “I hope you’ll be as happily married as I have been, first to your mother and now to Marina.”
“I know I will, Papa,” Hetty said. “I love Guy very much.”
“Good, my dear.” The tips of his ear tinged red as he tapped out his pipe. “I can’t prepare you for marriage as a mother might. Perhaps your aunt?” The flush spread to his neck. “But then, my sister is herself unmarried.”
Hetty hurried to spare him. “There is no need. I am marrying a patient loving man. I’m sure I shall manage.”
“Yes, yes. Of course, you will.” He rose, easing his shoulders with relief. “Shall we join the others for tea?”
*
Guy led hishorse over a gate and into the fields of Rosecroft Hall as the setting sun cast shadows over the ground. After an earlier deluge, the air was redolent with earthy smells. A cold breeze touched his face. The nights had turned chilly as summer tipped into autumn. He’d arrived in England in winter full of confidence and ready to take up the mantle of a country gentleman.
So much had happened that his dreams had lost relevance in his fight to stay alive. Now he must take up those dreams once again. He would not let Vincent’s memory destroy the present. Even though his brother had chosen to disregard it, a special bond existed between them. Through the years, Guy had sensed Vincent still lived. And now he knew his presence was gone from the earth.
The prospect of his life with Hetty filled him with hope. He loved her optimistic nature. Once they’d married, the world would right itself. He urged his horse into a canter and rode back to the stables. His best man, John, would arrive this evening, and he looked forward to his company. Guy valued their friendship. John had trusted him and stood by him when he had little reason to do so.
Guy’s spirits lifted as he approached the house. Tomorrow was his wedding day.
Chapter Thirty
Thankfully, after daysof intermittent rain, the day dawned fine, the sky the soft blue of a duck’s egg. Hetty, her stomach fluttering with nerves, stood while her aunt, Genevieve, and Molly fussed around her. Aunt Emily smoothed the boat-necked, white Indian muslin gown decorated with a band of seed pearls high under the bosom. Genevieve arranged the dainty silver and pearl tiara she had lent Hetty over her soft curls. Hetty wore her mother’s pearl drop earrings and the matching pearl necklace.
They stood back to admire their creation. Genevieve clasped her hands. “Tres magnifique!”
Aunt Emily kissed her cheek. “You make a beautiful bride, Hetty.”
Hetty stared at her reflection and smiled. “You have been wonderful, thank you.” The woman in the glass, who surely wasn’t her, smiled back. She dabbed on a delicate floral scent, which Genevieve had given her, and picked up the ivory fan, a gift from her aunt. She performed one last slow revolution in front of the mirror. Could this eradicate Guy’s memories of her shoeless in that horrid warehouse, smelling of something indescribably awful?
The villagers and tenants who couldn’t fit into the church hovered around the entrance as Hetty, on her father’s arm, walked down the aisle. Fanny followed in white muslin with blue ribbons decorating her bonnet. The Digswell ladies, seated on the pews, craned their necks to take note of the gowns in the first stare of fashion. Genevieve had festooned the church with every available white, hothouse bloom, filling the air with sweet scents. The pews were decorated with silver ribbons and bunches of flowers; the like of which Digswell had never seen.
Guy, handsome in an indigo tailcoat, a jabot peeping from his waistcoat embroidered in silver thread, stood at the altar with John Strathairn in gray beside him. He turned to watch her.
Hetty joined him at the altar and her father slipped away. She thrilled to see deep appreciation in his eyes. “Belle,” he murmured.
“You look very handsome.” She smiled up at him.
The vicar cleared his throat.
*
Guy gazed athis bride standing beside him at the altar. Her lovely mouth trembled, and her slim fingers shook slightly in his as he slipped on the ring. Their eyes met, and his heart swelled. How blessed he was. He would protect and love her for all the days the good lord allotted him.
He repeated the words that joined them in wedlock, and she responded, her love for him shining in her warm brown eyes.
After signing the register, they left the church. Guy put his arm around his bride and assisted her into the landau decorated with silver ribbons and bells. Hetty smiled at him. His gaze on her mouth, he wanted to kiss his beautiful, spirited bride.
“I’d like a kiss,” she said, guessing his thoughts.
