Say it,she commanded herself.Ask him. What about love?
Instead, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She had intended it to be brief, but his mouth answered before she could retreat, and whatever she had meant it to be, it became something else entirely. Every resolve crumbled. There was nothing left but the scent of musk and forest, and the quiet rhythm of a shared breath. And the final thought that maybe, just maybe, Georg was right and everything would be all right after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The weddingof the Season began with sparkling weather. Winter had melted into spring, and the narcissi and tulips in the Burggarten were nodding their yellow heads in the breeze. Carriages lined the streets all the way to the old church at the Minoritenplatz.
The bride looked somewhat pale but composed, onlookers observed, though a picture of a bride for all that, with her perfect red-brown corkscrew curls, a sweetness about her face, and a shy smile. She would do very well, the Viennese decided, for their field marshal, who appeared decked out in full military glory, uniform and medals and all.
The ceremony passed without incident, and then the assembled guests removed to a second, Anglican rite conducted by a chaplain.
Lord and Lady Castlereagh were not present, having been obliged to return to Britain. In their stead appeared the new representative of His Majesty’s Government, who was no one less than the Duke of Wellington himself. Manyonlookers had flocked to obtain a glimpse of the hero of Vitoria.
“It is a grand occasion, indeed,” he said, probably for the third time, during his, as Evie privately considered, unconsciously lengthy speech at the wedding breakfast.
Georg was leaning back, one arm draped over Evie’s chair, his other hand holding hers.
Then it struck her. She was married. She had a husband.
She looked up in wonder at her husband, who was listening to Wellington with a slightly amused expression playing about his lips.
“…and so we crossed the Zadorra behind their right flank, while Graham went around the north to close the road to Bayonne. The enemy retreated, abandoning their equipment. By the afternoon, their entire baggage train was in our hands. One hundred and fifty-one guns. Gold, jewels, priceless paintings. King Joseph’s own dinner service, as a matter of fact.” He paused to accept a refill of his glass. “In addition to his chamber pot. Entirely in silver, I must point out.”
Evie’s eyes glazed over, for she had heard the story at least four times before, and this made the fifth.
“That is all excellent, Your Grace,” Julius’s voice interrupted with a drawl. “And you have earned your laurels with merit. But this is my sister’s wedding day, and I prefer we do not talk of war, death, and looting on so joyous an occasion. And so, to my sister, and to my old friend and now true brother,” he bowed towards Hartenberg, “I did not believe this day would ever come. Guard her well, old friend. You will never find another like her.”
“And well I know that,” Hartenberg replied softly.
Julius raised his glass. “To you both, in honour.”
“And may you be as happily married as we are,” Catherine added beside him, beaming.
Julius looked at his wife, and something in his face softened. “Indeed.”
The entire company rose with raised glasses. Hartenberg took Evie’s arm and helped her to her feet, and she raised her glass and smiled tearfully at the blurry, beaming faces around her. Her brother, his wife, Clara, and lastly Hartenberg.
“Thank you,” she whispered, restraining herself with difficulty from throwing her arms around her brother’s neck. Why on earth was she so weepy? She swiped at her tears, quite cross with herself. A handkerchief appeared in front of her, Hartenberg holding it out without comment.
She took it and wiped her face.
Wellington, undeterred, took the occasion to embark on another of his anecdotes.
“Now may be a good moment to slip away, I suppose,” her brother murmured.
A slight wave of panic assailed Evie. She was to be alone now, with her husband? They were to leave for Wolfsthal, where they would spend the night before continuing on to their wedding trip to Italy.
The wedding night.
Evie swallowed. “Already? Shouldn’t we take care of the guests, first?”
Catherine smiled mischievously. “We will take care of that, my dear. Why don’t you go and change?” She took her hand and led Evie out of the room.
Evie slipped out of her wedding dress, a confection of cream silk and gold and roses, and changed into a travel dress. She scolded herself for being more nervous now than she had been before the wedding, which made no sense atall, but the scolding had no effect upon her wildly beating heart.
“How was it with you?” she asked, the question coming out smaller than she had intended. “I mean, after the ceremony. After everything was over. Was it very awkward? Because you and Julius were not very close to each other, at first.”
Catherine took the brush from the maid’s hand and sent her out. She began to brush Evie’s hair, and tied it back with a ribbon.
