by Sharon Page
She followed him to the church, the one they had gone to for Sunday services. With easy grace, Nigel swung off his huge horse. She watched the play of his muscles under his coat.
Once they were wed, they could make love whenever they wanted.
Did she want to wait until they traveled to New York?
She tensed on the saddle, causing her mare to skitter on the spot. Quickly she stroked the silky white neck. “Easy, easy.”
What did she want to do? It had been so easy before, with Sebastian. Make a marriage in name only, free Mother from worry, then return to her life in New York, return to flying as fast as she could.
Now she wanted her marriage to last. But she was scared, too—she didn’t know England and English law. Was she willing to relinquish control? “If I insist on marrying in New York, will you do it?” she asked.
She expected him to refuse.
“If it is what you really want, I’ll do it.”
He was willing to bend for her? “Then why are we here?”
“Just give me this one chance.” He held out his hand to her.
She would do this, but she had no intention of marrying in Brideswell. Taking his hand, she dismounted. He led her into the old stone church.
Reverend Wesley came forward, hands outstretched. Zoe put out her hand to shake his, but he clasped both her hands and held them warmly. His was a kindly face, the smile bright and welcoming, his eyes brilliant blue. Wrinkles led out from his eyes and surrounded his mouth, as if he smiled often.
“Miss Gifford, I am so delighted to learn that you are to be His Grace’s bride. The entire village is filled with great cheer at the news. His Grace has told me to sing the praises of my little church. He tells me I am to tempt you away from returning to America to be married. I would not be so bold, I assure you, if His Grace had not assured me I have his full approval when I say I would be most honored if you do hold the ceremony here.”
She looked to Nigel.
“The whole village loves a wedding,” he said softly.
She didn’t want to offend the reverend. She was annoyed with Nigel. He was trying to back her into a corner. Well, Giffords didn’t allow themselves to be—
She had been already backed into a corner by her mother’s mistake.
But she didn’t want to be railroaded by her husband. Why had he not just talked to her?
“His Grace was christened here, by me,” the reverend continued, smiling kindly at her. “Many years ago, of course. But I have watched him and all his family grow from infancy. It would be a great honor for me to perform the ceremony.”
The reverend led her up the aisle, toward the altar.
“I promise, Miss Gifford, we will make the church look grand. It would be filled with flowers—we have some of the most spectacular roses in the country here, and if you were to wed in June, they will be blooming.”
He let her go and shuffled along the aisle. “We would have a choir, of course. And our organist is most skilled, as you no doubt observed in Sunday services. I know we are but a modest church, but the building dates from the Tudor period. Many great gentlemen and ladies have sat in our pews.”
Nigel had stood in the background. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Reverend Wesley, do not pressure Miss Gifford too strongly. I wanted her to see the church through your eyes and learn of its history. But I am not going to, as they say, use strong-arm tactics. I came to Sunday services here, as did my father. We’ve come for generations.”
“Your church is lovely, Reverend,” she said. But this was not her world. “Let’s walk around outside, Langford.”
Outside she wheeled on Nigel. “You brought me here because you thought I couldn’t say no to that kindly old man.”
“I don’t want to trick you, Zoe. I want to marry you here because I want to be married to you as fast as I can.”
“For Brideswell.”
“For me. I want to save my home, but I want you to be part of my life. I want you to stay with me.”
That took her breath away. A smart dame always had a perfect response. But nothing came to her lips. Nigel stepped close to her—tall and dark with stunning eyes.
“Zoe.” Just her name, and in his husky, tender voice, it made her melt.
In an old-world, gentlemanly gesture, he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips. She’d believed herself modern, but at this moment she felt like a princess being courted by the most wonderful prince.
“You touched my scars and told me you didn’t despise them. You’ve eased my fears about how wretched they look. But I feel I have not been honest with you.”
“What have you lied to me about?”
He winced at that. “I do not believe I’ve lied. But I have not told you the truth. Zoe, I am haunted at night by nightmares of battle. I wake shouting, drenched in sweat. That is why I use a bedroom in Brideswell that is away from my family’s rooms. Sometimes, the images I see in my head—sometimes I think I could lose my mind, Zoe. It has been four years, and I am still a wreck. Do you still want to marry me even knowing all that?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “That hasn’t changed my mind at all.” She thought of the dowager’s words. “I can make you happy.”
“I want to believe marriage will give us both a glorious future.”
She gazed into his clear blue eyes. “Do they really care about this wedding—all the people in the village?”
“It will be a grand fete. The entire village will come out to see you pass in the carriage on your way to the church. There will be cheering and joy.”
She could marry in New York, and there would not be crowds on the street. New York might be her home, but she felt a tug in her belly. Nigel had something she had never known—a true sense of belonging. “If we were to marry here, what would we do for a reception?”
A soft smile touched his lips. At her hint she might change her mind, he looked as if the sun had shone on him.
“Brideswell,” he said. “Tents would be set up on the lawns and the wedding breakfast would be served outdoors.”
“This is England. It will probably pour rain.”
“Then we would have it in the ballroom.”
“I don’t know.”
“Give me the chance to make you want to stay. I do not want to lose you to America, Zoe. I want a lifetime with you.”
“I—I wanted to marry for love, Nigel. I think it is time I was honest with you. You know that I lost my fiancé. I was deeply in love with him. I know you think it was a scandal. I am sure you think I was bold and shocking and wrong. But I was not the reason for his divorce. I loved him with all my heart and I lost him. I thought I would never fall in love again. But I was wrong—I think I am falling in love with you.”
“I won’t push you to do anything you are not ready to do, Zoe. I do love you.” He cupped her cheek and his palm caressed her skin. She turned her face into his hand.
Nigel kissed her in the churchyard. Not a sensual kiss, but a warm one. It sang of love.
She’d never kissed anyone like this before. She’d never shared a moment like this with anyone, even Richmond. The very air felt filled with lightning. Full of love and tenderness. But also of heat and such sensuality it made her weak in the knees.
Strong and firm, his hand splayed on her back and drew her tight to him.
Children’s squeals broke in on their kiss and she pulled back. A group of village children ran into the churchyard, chasing each other in play. Nigel didn’t pull back from the kiss—he leaned in and gave her one last quick one. Even though she’d thought a proper, staid gentleman would stop kissing her in front of children. He was changing.
“I will marry you here,” she whispered. “At Brideswell.”
* * *
Mother and the dowager had sc
rapped like two terriers over the engagement ball. That was nothing compared to the arguments over the wedding.
Zoe hurried down the stairs, pulling on her coat. She stalked up to her mother and the dowager. “Stop arguing, both of you. This is my wedding and it will be done exactly as I want it.”
As she turned and left, she heard Mother declare, “Well, really, when I am trying to ease some of her burden. Heaven knows a wedding is such a lot of work.”
“I agree.” The dowager sniffed. “I know very well what a wedding reception at Brideswell requires. And someone must ensure Reverend Wesley does not meander when he does the service.”
“I know. Our pastor used to wander off in his sermons something fierce,” said Mother. “My Zoe is a capable girl, but a wedding requires experience.”
“I could not agree more,” declared the dowager.
Zoe grinned. She’d known there was one thing that would give those two women common ground—the threat of someone else taking charge. She intended to have exactly the wedding she wanted. To do it, she would have to know when to negotiate, when to do things secretly and when to stand her ground.
And having her wedding her way was the reason she was driving down to the village church.
Isobel caught up with her at the garage and slipped into the passenger seat of her car. “I’m going to the hospital,” Isobel said. “Would you give me a lift, Zoe, please?”
“All right,” Zoe said. “I have to see Reverend Wesley. About the vows.”
Isobel frowned. “What about the vows?”
“There’s a change I want to make in them.”
Isobel proved to be so curious she followed Zoe to the manse beside the church, instead of walking on to the hospital. With her young sister-to-be at her side, Zoe waited in the doorway of the reverend’s study, hands clasped in front of her, as Wesley got to his feet and came to her.
“May I help you, my dear?” he asked kindly.
She held out a folded piece of white paper. “At the wedding tomorrow, these are the vows I want you to read.”
The elderly man frowned. “I don’t understand. I intend to use the traditional vows of the Church of England.”
“These are the ones I want.”
“But, my dear young lady—”
“It’s only a slight change, Reverend. Nothing to be upset about. All I’ve done is taken out the word obey from my vows. This is the nineteen twenties. I’m to be a wife, not a serf.”
“The word obey is part of the vows. I have no authority to remove words.”
“I won’t say it. You can go with the standard vows, but you won’t get that word out of me.”
Isobel let out a small squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth. But a smile blossomed behind Isobel’s hand and her eyes glowed with excitement.
Reverend Wesley spluttered. “A woman obeys her husband, Miss Gifford.”
“A woman is her own person, Reverend.”
“My dear, these vows have been used in this church for centuries! Even if I had such authority, I would not stand before God and tinker with what has been ordained for his pleasure.”
“You aren’t marrying the duke. And neither is God. I am,” Zoe said. “These are the vows I’m willing to make, so I’d advise you to say them.”
13
WEDDING AT BRIDESWELL
Zoe turned slowly in front of the cheval mirror. This dress would surprise Nigel, she was sure. She bit her lip. Modern girls were fearless. But her heart hammered and her hands trembled as she drew the material of the train into her hands so she could step off the stool.
Mother had always spun fantasies about what her wedding day would be like. At least she had when Father made millions. Mother wanted something to set New York society back on its collective heel. Girls worried more about one-upping each other on weddings than they did about their futures with their husbands.
Zoe wanted her wedding to be about love. And not an old-fashioned love. Not marriage as a social triumph. But two equal people who belonged together. She had been the one to sit down and sort out how her dowry would be dealt with—she’d set out her rules to Nigel and his lawyer. Instead of turning over her entire fortune of four million dollars to Nigel and Brideswell, she was giving half to the estate. The rest was to stay in her name. Nigel’s lawyer had looked shocked that she wasn’t giving everything to her husband.
Nigel had said, “If it is what Zoe wants, I accept. She is turning a substantial fortune over to my care. Enough to take care of the estate.”
She’d gathered, though, it was not the way it was done. She couldn’t tell exactly how Nigel really felt about that.
The door to her bedroom opened, and Julia and Isobel rushed in.
“Golly!” cried Isobel, who had adopted the expression.
“You look lovely, Zoe,” Julia exclaimed.
It was Nigel’s expression she wished to see, but that would not be until they were in the tiny church. The church in which he’d been christened. This was his world. Julia made her feel she belonged. But did she?
Hadn’t that been her vow, after all those rejections by staid, old New York society? She would make her own world where she belonged.
“So do you both.” Zoe hugged both her soon-to-be sisters-in-law. “You have been so good to me.”
Julia held out the bouquet. White roses and delicate, white baby’s breath in a small, tight group, tied with long satin ribbons. “Are you nervous?”
“I’ve had times in the air when I thought I was a goner. Yet for this, I am nervous.” And excited. And filled with wicked, exhilarating anticipation.
“What do you think Reverend Wesley will do about the vows?” Isobel took her turn in front of the mirror, holding out her rose-colored skirts. Her hair was in curls, tied with ribbon.
“The vows?” Julia was adjusting Zoe’s train. Zoe twisted to see it in the mirror. Mother had wanted yards of lace—and a train long enough to stretch from the upper landing of Brideswell’s stairs to the bottom—had wanted feathers and diamonds. The dowager had wanted a demure dress—high neck, long sleeves, floor length. This dress was what Zoe wanted. It had slender lines and no sleeves. No diamonds or pearls. It was white satin and soft flowing tulle. It felt as if she’d wrapped a cloud around her. She had allowed a small train of satin, embroidered with delicate petal shapes—silver on white.
She adjusted her veil. It was a cap of lace on her bobbed hair, trimmed with soft yellow roses, and a length of lace that skimmed down her back.
Isobel had grabbed a biscuit off Zoe’s tea tray—she had too many flutters in her tummy to eat anything.
“What about the vows?” Julia asked again. “Do stop eating biscuits, Isobel. You’ll make yourself sick.”
How would Julia react to her request? Julia had embraced being modern but also loved her brother. Would she understand why Zoe could not agree to “obey” Nigel? She had to be her own person. She simply had to be. “I wanted the reverend to make a small change to the vows. Of course, he said he could not do it.”
Still chewing, Isobel said, “Zoe asked old Wesley to take out the part about her obeying Nigel.”
“It’s being removed from vows in America,” Zoe pointed out. “Reverend Wesley refused, of course. Now I’ll simply have to skip that part.”
“It’s being removed from vows? I didn’t know that,” Julia breathed.
“Because women aren’t chattel. We don’t need to obey a husband.”
“Goodness,” Julia said. Then she giggled. “Poor Reverend Wesley. I am surprised he didn’t swoon.”
“He went pale as a ghost.” Isobel grinned. “Zoe said that the reverend wasn’t marrying Nigel, nor was God. She was and she would only say the vows she wanted. And I think she’s right! Most of the boys I know don’t know as much abou
t things as me. I doubt they know more just because they’ve grown up to be gentlemen. And my boy cousins insist that women are useless at science, when obviously there have been brilliant women scientists. They also say women can’t understand how engines work, but you do, Zoe.”
Zoe smiled at the girl’s look of admiration. “You’re right, Isobel. It has nothing to do with whether you’re a man or a woman. It depends on whether you have smarts—and if you’re willing to use them.”
“If you don’t have to obey Nigel,” Isobel said thoughtfully, “can I say I don’t have to either?”
“That is different,” Julia said. “Now hurry, Isobel. We must get Zoe to the church.”
Julia and Isobel went downstairs first. Zoe followed, holding up her modest train herself. Carefully, she negotiated the front steps, but she stopped halfway down. Uncle Hiram stood by the drive—he had arrived three days ago to see the wedding. He was to give her away in place of Father.
Fortunately, Hiram had ambitions. The thought of being related to a duke had made him promise he wouldn’t do a thing or say a word about the check.
Mother stood beside him, wearing a hat bearing more feathers than an albatross. Half of them dipped into Mother’s face.
Uncle Hiram turned in a circle and whistled. “This sure is some place.” He’d said that many times since his arrival. A grin split his fleshy lips. He was not as handsome as Father had been. Father had always looked strong and smart and elegant. “You’ve done well for yourself, Zoe. A duchess in the family. A duke for a nephew-in-law.”
She knew she couldn’t antagonize her uncle, even though she and Mother were almost safe. “You look very charming, Uncle, in your morning coat.”
“The duke loaned it to me. Belonged to his father. I cut a fine figure, don’t I?”
Since he could still cause trouble for Mother, Zoe smiled sweetly. “You do indeed.”
