Despite her warm manner, Lady Erina seemed a little subdued for a bride. “You might have to tread carefully with your lady wife,” Jack said, watching her chatting to a lady in canary yellow.
Harry’s expression turned grave. “Erina suffers from the silly notion that I don’t love her.”
“But you do?”
“I’m mad about her. Fell for her almost from the first. But shedidn’t want me back then, so I decided to wait it out, hoping she’d change her mind. I’m not entirely sure she has.” He stroked his chin. “Erina is a little like a wild bird. She believes marriage will cage her.”
“You’ve told her you love her, of course?”
Harry shook his head. “I thought I’d ease into it gradually.”
Jack’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That ball in your shoulder must have shaken your brains, Harry. You are usually such a perceptive fellow.”
“Not so perceptive, as it turned out. We had a bad beginning. I was a bit of a fool in thinking I wanted Miss Florence Beckworth for my wife. I imagined I wanted a quiet life while I attempted to resist my feelings for you. Miss Beckworth knew what she wanted, however. Women always have a better compass when it comes to these things, don’t you think? She and the vicar would be perfect for each other. I wonder if they managed to persuade her parents to agree to it.” Harry shrugged. “So, you see, it would have sounded insincere to turn around and declare my feelings earlier. Erina would not have believed me. And that would’ve been the end of it. Words mean little in the scheme of things. Better for me to show her.” He looked over at his bride. “Which I am eager to do.”
Jack followed the direction of his gaze to where Lady Erina, a vision in white, stood talking to the vicar. She plucked a leaf from her bouquet with nervous fingers. “I wish you all the good fortune in the world, my friend,” he said.
“Thank you. Now tell me what you’ve discovered during the hunt for Lord Butterstone’s murderer.”
Jack obliged, though he suspected Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere. And rightly so. Jack found himself a little envious of his friend. Whether it was to enjoy wedded bliss or a passionate, fiery relationship, the married state had never seemed so appealing.
In the ballroom, after a welcome breakfast of hot chocolate, ham and bacon, kidneys, eggs, and a tasty selection of breads, Jack watchedLady Erina and Harry cut the wedding cake before they were toasted with champagne. Lord Rountree’s brief speech brought tears to his daughter’s eyes. Sir Ambrose Feather followed, and he was just as warm, if a trifle more verbose. Harry reddened with pleasure at his fulsome words. Jack realized Sir Ambrose was very fond of his son. With a sad pull at his heart, it caused Jack to think of his own father. A wise and generous man always, fond of a good pun. And they had shared many over the years.
The small orchestra struck up a waltz, and Harry led his wife onto the floor. She appeared happier now in his arms, laughing at something he’d said. Jack thought they moved well together, which was a good sign. Weddings always made him a little pensive. His mother had been denied a life with the one she’d loved, and his father had been cursed with an unhappy marriage.
When the rest of the guests took to the floor, Jack bowed before Lord Rountree’s sister, Lady Abigail Stratham, who had the remarkable ability to converse without pause throughout.
*
As the brideand groom danced, Harry smiled and squeezed Erina’s hand. “You look very beautiful, Erina.”
“Thank you, Harry.” She gazed from his chestnut hair to his crisp cravat with the sapphire tiepin, to his dove-gray suit with the white camellia in his buttonhole. “How clever of you and Captain Ryder to both dress in gray. You both looked very handsome.”
Harry lifted his brows. “You noticed Jack? Your eyes weren’t only for me?”
She laughed and shook her head.
They were married! It had happened so fast that Erina wanted to pinch herself. She studied his handsome face for a sign that he loved her. His gaze was warm and filled with promise, which made her bodytingle down to her toes in anticipation.
But Harry was Harry. Consistent in everything he did. He managed all situations with surprising calm and efficiency. They were so different. She was impetuous and volatile in comparison. Might that mean this marriage meant less to him than it did to her? Was he capable of strong passion? She certainly hoped so. Just being close to him made her want to throw her arms around his neck and press her lips to his. But she held back, afraid that her ardent nature might repulse him, or even worse, amuse him. And she mustn’t forget that he’d been forced to marry her. She dropped her gaze.
Harry’s hand tightened on hers, causing her to look up. His eyes caught and held hers. “Are you tired, sweetheart?”
“Heavens, no. I am taking in every detail of this special day so that I might remember it always.”
“An excellent affair. Your aunt is to be commended.”
“Yes, she worked very hard to make it so and with very little time in which to do it. I am extremely grateful to her. She was thrilled with your gift.” Harry had presented Aunt Abbie with a beautiful diamond-and-ruby brooch. Erina admired her gold wedding band, and the diamond betrothal ring Harry had slipped on her finger when they’d had a quiet moment together.
“The first of many. I plan to shower you with pretty trinkets and gowns when we are in Paris.”
She drew in a breath, visualizing a Parisian gown in gold silk taffeta. “You are very generous, Harry.”
Harry gave her a slow smile. “I shall enjoy seeing you in them.”
Marrying one’s best friend was a very good idea, she decided, smiling back at him. She just wished she were confident about what lay ahead.
She glanced across at her aunt, who’d become quite pink in the cheeks while she talked animatedly to their neighbor, Mr. Grenville, also a widower. Perhaps something might come of it. Erina hoped so.
