Having ridden on the driver’s seat of their hantour, Mahmood had already stepped down and was nearly to the door when it opened.
An older gentlemen garbed in a light robe, his hair white and his shoulders rounding forward, regarded them with curiosity before turning his attention to Mahmood.They spoke for a moment before a grin split the man’s face.He waved them forward, and the four of them approached.
Randy held out his right hand.“Lord Randolph Forster, sir,” he said.
“Reverend Thomas O’Malley,” the man replied, a hint of an Irish accent tingeing his voice.His eyes sparkled with delight.“Whose whelp might you be?”
Randy blinked.“Uh, my father is the Earl of Gisborn.”
“Ah, the inventor,” O’Malley replied.
“You know him?”Randy asked, his eyes rounding at hearing the reverend’s comment.
“Never met him, but I know someone back home who uses one of his plows.You on your Grand Tour, I suppose?”
“Indeed.My younger brother, Thomas, wishes to marry Lady Helen Tennison,” Randy explained, waving to the couple.“He gained her father’s permission this morning.Lord Everly is drawing up the contract now for the dowry.”He stopped speaking when he saw how O’Malley was shaking his head.
“I canna marry them.”
Randy’s face fell, and he audibly groaned.
“Legally,” O’Malley added, mischief apparent in his expression.“But I can perform the ceremony.Do you have a ring?”
“I do.”Tom held up Helen’s hand and gave her an apologetic glance as he removed it from her finger.
“I think I might even have a marriage certificate around here somewhere we can have all of ya’ sign, but ye’ll have to do it all over again when you get back to England.”
“We understand,” Tom replied.
“Ye can’t be havin’ any babes before ya’ do, or they’ll be considered bastards.”
“Understood,” Randy said, directing an apologetic glance in Helen’s direction.
“Well, all right then.We can do it in here if you like,” he said, pointing into his house.“The Coptics get away with it, so I don’t see why we canna.”
“Thank you, sir,” Helen said, her voice sounding breathless.
They entered the small house, where a desk overflowing with papers and a small bookshelf took up most of one wall.A leather chair was in front of it, the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
O’Malley indicated the chair and nodded to Mahmood to sit.“We won’t be long, Captain,” he said.He shuffled through some papers on his desk and pulled a parchment from one of the many cubbyholes.“Here we are,” he said triumphantly.“Now I just need my book of prayer,” he murmured, reaching for a small volume from the bookshelf.He waved them into another small room featuring a worn settee in a deep blue velvet and a low table.A silver tea set on a salver was in the middle of the table.“Was my mum’s,” he said absently.He raised the flame on a lamp and turned around.“Couple in front of me...”
Tom and Helen stepped up to face him.“My aunt is going to be rather upset with me that she’s not paying witness to this,” Tom whispered for only Helen to hear.
Helen winced.“My mother will be so relieved I’m finally wed, she’ll forgive me,” she replied.“I hope.”
“...Witnesses back there,” O’Malley said with another wave.“Are we ready?”
The four grinned and nodded.
Holding out the prayer book in one hand, O’Malley opened his mouth to begin when a commotion sounded in the front room.
“Where are they?”Barbara could be heard, her query directed to Mahmood.
She appeared on the threshold, Stella at her side.Behind them, Will, Harry, and David, all breathless, came to a halt.
“Ah, and these are...?”O’Malley asked, not the least bit surprised by the appearance of others.
“My aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Bellingham, and their son, Viscount Penton.”
