“Daniel—”
The door opened, and Jemina came inside.
She wore the silver gown he’d had made for her. She sparkled as she moved, like a beautiful light fit for a chandelier. The woman was a vision. His vision.
He clasped her hand. “You look lovely, Jemina. My aunt was just giving me . . . us her blessing.”
Lady Shrewsbury looked up at him, then she nodded. “Yes, I have. Take her hand, Daniel.”
Wrapping her arm about his, he tucked her fingers within his palm.
His aunt looked at him, then her gaze lowered toward their entwined hands. “You stay happy, Jemina, and you keep Daniel and Hope safe and loved. Promise me that, my girl.”
Lady Shrewsbury came forward; she took a ribbon pinned on her hat and wrapped it about their wrists. “You two are bound together in so many ways, theMinerva, Bedlam.”
“Pomegranates,” Jemina said.
She must’ve noticed the pomegranates and cherries, symbols of sweetness and fruitfulness, embroidered in the lace of her sleeves.
Aunt squinted and shook her head. “Maybe this was inevitable. And who am I to stand in the way? Be good to each other. And above all, you’re still both members of the Widow’s Grace. No long wedding trip.”
“We’re in the middle of the Season. My trial load is large. I haven’t purchased a country estate yet.”
His bride-to-be squinted at him. “We don’t need to go anywhere but Finchely.”
He sort of forgot to mention his thoughts on retiring. He’d postpone that for now. “You’re absolutely right, Jemina. See, I’m already taking to this agreeable husband role.”
“And this is my gift to you.” From her pocket she pulled his watch fob. “I found it that horrible night. I had the glass fixed and springs repaired. It shall work now.”
Daniel grasped it and the tips of her fingers. His throat felt a little thick, and the man who loved words was speechless.
Mr. Gerard poked his head in. “The minister’s here. It’s time to begin.”
Putting the Thackery treasure into his pocket, Daniel clenched her hand and then claimed his aunt’s.
“Shall we, ladies? I’m not sure how long the duke and baby Lionel can keep little Hope occupied.”
“Mr. Bridgetower is in there,” Mr. Gerard said, and held open the door. “His music is keeping your daughter entertained.”
The butler led them into the hall.
Strains of the violin punctuated each step. The tempo raced like Daniel’s heart. Palms still clasped, he slid his thumb along the soft flesh at the crook of her hand and they stepped into the infamous parlor, where everything changed.
With the special license in hand, Peregrine Daniel Thackery, the Earl of Ashbrook, would take his vows with Jemina Monroe St. Maur, the woman who stood beside him.
This marriage was true and right. He took away the sliver band Aunt gave to her widows and offered her a gold and ruby one.
A distant look overtook the joy in Jemina’s eyes. She held the license and stared at him. “Peregrine Daniel Thackery?”
“Yes. Like my fob, a parting gift from my father.”
“Peregrine?”
The sooner his bride was enrobed in wedded bliss, the safer and happier they’d all be. With the exchanging of their vows, the past was done, buried at the bottom of the sea.
CHAPTER 40
JEMINA—THEWEDDINGNIGHT
