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Ten

Fernleigh House Drawing Room

Three days later—half of eleven

Robyn glanced up from studying the flickering sunrays on the faded Aubusson carpet.

After two days of pouring rain, the sun had battled through the pewter clouds, almost like an omen of good things to come, or as a blessing on this special day. Because no matter the circumstances, marrying Georgine marked the day as special in his memory for all time.

Appearing staid and solemn as always, Reverend Goodfellow stood near the unlit fireplace, holding a well-used volume of The Book of Common Prayer. The black calfskin prayer book contained the vows Robyn and Georgine would soon exchange.

Georgine entered the drawing room, sandwiched between Matilda and Regina.

Both appeared far happier and radiant than Robyn’s bride.

At Georgine’s behest, only their sisters would act as witnesses to the brief ceremony.

Robyn had expected she would want the other Ladies of Opportunity present, but had honored her request. He hadn’t even invited his cousin, Shelby Tellinger. Shelby would demand an explanation, and once given, would understand.

Because of her arm’s limited mobility, Georgine still could not wear a proper gown.

Matilda and Regina had surprised her with a pretty new wrap.

The champagne-colored silk wrap shimmered as it clung to Georgine’s shoulders, its folds shifting with every step. Silver thread outlined delicate vines along the edges, and periwinkle blue forget-me-nots bloomed in each corner. Celadon green tassels swayed at the front, anchoring the wrap in place with effortless grace.

One sister had swept Georgine’s hair into a simple but elegant Grecian updo.

Someone, likely Matilda, had also tucked a few orange blossoms in Georgine’s hair.

She wore no jewelry, but in her good hand, carried a nosegay of pink-striped peonies, delicate lily of the valley, soft pink dianthus, and pale blue love-in-the-mist. A thick white satin ribbon encircled the stems.

Her humble wedding attire caused a poignant lump to lodge in Robyn’s throat.

No wonder she did not want others in attendance.

Not only was Georgine entering a marriage of convenience, but what bride wanted to exchange vows in her nightclothes with her arm in a sling?

She should have been draped in satin and lace, dripping in jewels, and carrying an enormous bouquet that rivaled the church’s floral decorations. All of their closest friends and acquaintances should have been there to mark the joyous occasion after the banns had been read for three weeks.

Afterward, the guests would have been treated to a sumptuous feast, and she would have honeymooned in Italy or Greece or some other exotic location.

Instead, their wedding would be a brief—very brief—ceremony by special license, followed by a modest luncheon as Georgine’s diet remained somewhat restricted.

For certain, consummating the marriage would have to wait.

Robyn wasn’t a monster or so eager to bed Georgine that he would risk injury to her healing shoulder. Besides, every instinct he possessed bellowed for him to tread softly and take things at a snail’s pace.

Let her come to him.

He was a patient man.

What was that old French adage?

“Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre.”

All comes in good time to those who know how to wait.

And then there was Georgine’s short list of terms.