by Kris Tualla
“I was worried about myself, Pappa,” she replied honestly.
“Your life will be vastly different, married to the soldier,” he observed. “But you know that your mother and I are always willing to help you in any way we can.”
Kirsten leaned against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
She reached for her mother’s hand and gripped her father’s. “I love you both so much. You have always done what you believed was best for me, and I appreciate that more than I can say.” She squeezed their hands. “I promise you, Reid is the perfect man for me. I shall be happy, as long as I am with him.”
When the carriage stopped in front of the church, Henrik helped his wife disembark first. Kirsten’s pulse pounded with anticipation as she laid her gloved hand in her father’s. She stepped to the ground, held his arm, climbed the steps, and walked inside.
Reid stood at the front of the church, his tall frame erect and proud. He turned to look at her and a thrill flittered through her core. His dark blue coat made his eyes look more blue than gray, and the white lace stock at his throat contrasted nicely with his sun-darkened skin. Kirsten decided she liked his shortened hair, its color shot with golden sunlight.
Father Mark hurried up the aisle. “Ah, good, you have arrived. Please come with me.”
Kirsten wanted to speak with Reid but was dragged away by her parents. She looked back at him over her shoulder. He grinned his understanding. Her heart did a cartwheel.
Ensconced in the little office, Henrik confirmed the change of groom. Father Mark was clearly relieved that the story the impressive man conveyed was the truth and not the ravings of a lunatic who must be bodily removed from the premises. Kirsten imagined the eleventh-hour switch of spouse was not the way the cleric’s business normally transpired.
Kirsten applied her signature to the new set of wedding documents, right below Reid’s strong hand. She recalled the dread and resignation she felt just two days ago, signing the same agreements beneath Emil Helland’s name. Today she felt as if a two-hundred pound boulder was lifted from her back, and it made her giddy and grateful.
Thank you, Lord.
“May I speak with Reid now?” she asked.
Father Mark blew on her signature to dry the ink. “I can ask him to come back here,” he offered between puffs. “I don’t believe you’ll want the guests to see you, do you?”
“Are there guests here?” Kirsten asked, looking at her father.
He chuckled. “The church is already half full.”
Kirsten’s cheeks warmed. “I only noticed Reid.”
Marit sighed and patted her arm. “In spite of my many misgivings, I suppose that is a good sign.”
“I shall escort my lovely wife to her seat and ask your groom to come give you a word. A very brief word.” Henrik winked and rested his hand in the small of Marit’s back. “And just before the ceremony I shall announce the change of participant.”
“Thank you, Pappa.” Kirsten watched her parents walk away together. Her mother leaned against her father, and his palm slid around her waist.
For the first time Kirsten understood how much they truly loved each other. She hoped she and Reid would still feel like that once they had been married for thirty years.
Father Mark remained with her in the office as a chaperone, though Kirsten thought that was silly. In less than half an hour, the man approaching them would be her avowed husband and have all the rights incumbent in that status. Did grooms ever ravish their intended in the backs of churches, then sprint away before the ceremony? She giggled at the idea.
Reid cracked the door and stood in its opening rather than enter the room. Kirsten gazed into his face, disbelieving her good fortune.
“You wanted to see me?” he murmured, his expression tender. “You haven’t changed your mind again, have you?”
“No, of course not,” she said softly, finding herself shy of a sudden. “I only wished to tell you how handsome you look, and how glad I am that you came back for me one last time.”
Reid brushed invisible lint from his jacket. “I thought I would have time to find suitable attire. Thankfully, the hotel valet had already cleaned my coat.”
He leaned into the room, then, and looked at Kirsten as if she was a dream which might disappear if he glanced away. “If I had not come back, I would have spent the rest of my life wondering if I had squandered my greatest opportunity for happiness.” He blew a sigh through his teeth. “Thank God I arrived in time.”
“I do,” she whispered, her throat thickening.
Reid grinned. “Remember those two words, Prinsesse. They’ll come in handy later.”
*****
Standing in the front of the church beside Henrik, Reid took a military stance out of habit—back straight, feet apart, and hands clasped behind him—as the father of the bride introduced him to the incredulous crowd.
“Some of you met Colonel Hansen at my daughter’s charity ball, when he returned to Philadelphia to testify in the court martial and trial,” he explained. “Now he’s retired from the army, and a land owner in the Missouri territory. He returned to Philadelphia just yesterday to press his suit with my daughter.”
Henrik rubbed his jaw, his eyes twinkling. “As you can see, he was successful in that endeavor.”
A tentative chuckle rippled through the visibly shocked guests.
Henrik threw up his hands. “Her mother and I celebrate her sudden happiness, and hope you all will as well.”
A smattering of applause echoed off the high walls as heads tipped and comments were murmured to neighbors. The reception after the ceremony should prove interesting.
Reid stepped to the appropriate side of the altar, turned, and waited. Henrik leaned over the front pew to kiss Marit on the cheek before striding toward the back doors of the sanctuary. In the high loft at the back, a quartet resumed their stringed instrumentation. The smooth, melodic sound filled the bright space and Reid wondered if he was glimpsing Heaven itself.
When the song ended, and the next tune began, the back doors opened.
Kirsten stood in the double doorway beside her father, one arm looped through his and the other holding a bouquet of pink roses. Reid noticed earlier how the blue watered silk of her gown matched her eyes, yet he was struck again with her deceptively delicate beauty. Her smallish stature housed a willful nature and a determined strength. Without those qualities, she would not have claimed his heart. Nor would she be walking toward him now, her head high and her face beaming.
When they reached the altar Reid faced Father Mark. The cleric’s words sounded like gibberish to him, so consumed was he with the thought that he very nearly missed this chance. Reid moved when told to, answered in the affirmative when spoken to, and kissed Kirsten solidly when finally allowed to do so.
“I love you, wife,” he whispered.
Her eyes glittered up at him. “And I love you, husband.”
*****
Kirsten gazed out at the hundreds of wedding guests on her lawn and was quite certain that more people were here than in the church by half. She suspected that several guests went to gather their friends, regaling them with the scandalous tale of her switching the groom, and urged them to come see for themselves.
She didn’t care. With this particular groom at her side, she didn’t need to feign her happiness.
Reid leaned toward her and touched her crystal goblet with his. “This wine is excellent.”
“No expense was spared, I assure you,” she replied.
Her new husband smiled at her. “I want you to thoroughly enjoy yourself this day. Drink the wine, eat the food, dance to the music. Show the world that you are confident in your decision.”
“I will, if you will,” she challenged.
His smile softened. “Happy?”
“More than you can know,” she murmured.
“Good.” He planted a lingering kiss on her lips, again stirring up reactions that were foreign to her.
“I wa
nt to make a toast,” he stated when the kiss ended.
Kirsten swallowed her disappointment with a gulp of wine. “What sort of toast?”
“One which I believe will surprise your mother,” he answered.
Kirsten grabbed Reid’s arm. “Don’t say anything controversial,” she begged.
“Of course not,” he promised, though his puckish expression belied his words.
“Please, Reid, I mean it,” she said.
He laid a hand over his. “Your parents are now my parents. I will never do anything to intentionally upset them.”
Kirsten snickered. “Beside marrying their only daughter and spiriting her away to St Louis, that is.”
“Cheltenham,” he countered before rising to his feet. His baritone voice rose over the noise of the crowd as he lifted his glass. “Might I have everyone’s attention?”
Bit by bit, conversation died out and bodies twisted to face Reid.
“First and foremost, I would like to thank Henrik and Marit Sven for this beautiful feast. I am well aware that this celebration was planned for another, but even so, the food and libations are superb. Don’t you all agree?”
Applause broke out in different areas of the lawn. Kirsten felt a blush rise in her cheeks at his blatant acknowledgement of her seemingly fickle nature. Reid took a sip from his glass before he continued, and she followed suit, hiding behind the crystal goblet.
“Secondly, I had quite an opportunity to think recently,” he chuckled and rubbed his thigh, “as I traveled on horseback the nine hundred miles from St. Louis to Philadelphia.”
Several people smiled and a few laughed.
“I came to convince Miss Sven to marry me.” Reid made a show of relief, mopping his brow with his napkin. “Thank goodness I made it in time!”
More laughter tittered through the crowd. Kirsten realized her new husband was winning the guests over by stating the obvious, and doing so in a good-natured manner. She lowered her goblet and smiled her support.
“Somewhere in… Ohio, I believe it was… I came upon a startling realization.” Reid flashed her a crooked smile. “So I’m going to tell you all a little story.”
Kirsten gasped. There had already been enough startling realizations for one day. She refused to allow her smile to fade, but her eyes tightened in a warning which he ignored.
“I had a great-uncle in Norway who was the Baron of Hamar.” Reid turned to Marit and Henrik, who stared at him in surprise. “Don’t become overly excited, Marit. He married into the title.”
Marit flipped her hand at him and forced a smile, allowing the joke to go unanswered. Kirsten’s mother evinced good breeding in awkward circumstances, that was certain.
“My father spent quite a bit of time with this particular uncle before he immigrated to Boston, and he told me more stories than I can count about this man’s escapades,” Reid continued. “He was quite unique in many ways.”
The crowd was silent, enthralled by the prospect of gossip-worthy information.
“As it turns out, my great-uncle was well acquainted with your father, Marit.” Reid gestured toward Kirsten. “Who is, of course, your grandfather.”
“Christian? The sixth?” Marit yelped, pulling Reid’s attention back to her. “How well acquainted?”
Reid grinned. “My uncle, the Baron, provided discreet services for King Christian whenever something of a sensitive nature arose.”
Marit’s gaze danced between Reid, Henrik, and Kirsten. Obviously this connection both impressed and disconcerted her.
“What was his name?” she demanded.
“My uncle?” Reid clarified, though Kirsten recognized a dramatic pause when she saw one. She bit back her mirth, not wanting to spoil her husband’s carefully constructed moment. “His full name was Brander Edvard Hansen, Baron of Hamar.”
Marit’s mouth and eyes rounded, mimicking each other in shape. “Brander Hansen—the deaf man—is your great-uncle?” she cried.
“Did you know him?” Reid asked, surprised.
“Yes!” Marit’s gaze moved over the lawn, though Kirsten believed her mother saw nothing but the past. “I remember him coming to the palace several times when I was a girl. I was always so fascinated by his hand motions.”
Reid glanced at Kirsten, his triumph cloaked in tenderness. “It would seem our families share a royal connection after all,” he said.
He faced the guests and lifted his glass. “To the unexpected twists and turns of life. May all of yours turn out as well as ours!”
Kirsten stood and clinked her glass against Reid’s. When he kissed her before they drank their champagne, the cheerful crowd applauded.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Reid saw the joy in Kirsten’s eyes and felt as if his ribs might actually crack, his chest unable to contain his happiness. His life today was so completely different from eleven months ago, the day of the warehouse explosion. He was amazed by the good which rose from the ashes of that tragedy.
When Marit admitted to knowing his great-uncle Brander, he was shocked. Of course it was possible, he just hadn’t considered that it might have happened. If his father and his new mother-in-law ever met, they would have interesting stories to share.
Another pang that his family was not here at his wedding jabbed him. Before going to bed the night before, Reid wrote out a long narrative of what had occurred. In his detailed explanation, he apologized that he was unable to delay the wedding until they could attend.
As he wrote the letter, however, he realized that he and Kirsten could travel to Boston—by coach—and sail from that port to New Orleans. She could meet his family, and they could meet her. He hadn’t said anything to Kirsten as yet, intending to surprise her with the journey.
Reid counted his money, then, and made a decision. Their life in Missouri would sustain itself for a large part, so if he spent the equivalent of one year’s salary as a soldier on their travels during the next month, he would consider the expenditure worthwhile. He had a wife to woo, after all.
He sat back in his seat and judged the angle of the sun, wondering how long he and Kirsten were expected to remain at the celebration.
Henrik tapped his shoulder. “Care to take a walk?”
Reid squeezed Kirsten’s hand before he stood, curious as to Henrik’s purpose. He followed Henrik toward the house and around one corner. They could still see the lawn, but the solid building blocked some of the sound.
“Cigar?” Henrik asked, offering the rolled tobacco to Reid.
“Yes, thank you.” He held the cigar to his mouth, drawing air to allow the cheroot to light.
“Marit hates the smell, so I have to smoke out of doors,” Henrik explained.
He lit his own cigar. The two men puffed in contemplative silence as Reid waited for Henrik to speak his mind.
“You have married into the royal family, Reid,” Henrik stated after a pace. “I’m not certain you understand what that means.”
“Tell me,” Reid said simply.
Henrik nodded. “First off, she has been gently raised. You’ll need to ease her into your rougher life.”
“Understood,” Reid answered, wondering if Henrik knew how his daughter chafed under the restrictions of that gentle raising.
“Secondly, she is our only heir. As such, your firstborn child will eventually receive all of Marit’s holdings in Norway.”
That was surprising. “I didn’t know Marit had holdings.”
“She does,” Henrik continued. “About ten thousand acres in Rollag. She receives an annual income from what is produced on that land.”
Reid wanted to ask how much that income was, but knew his query might not be taken well. It would be better all around if he waited and found out when the time came. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
Henrik shot him a glance. Obviously he expected the monetary question. “Yes. Marit’s brother is king. Kirsten is technically in line for the throne.”
Reid stepped back, stunn
ed. “Could that happen?”
Henrik made a face and shook his head. “Probably not. Frederick has had two wives and a mistress. Together they have produced seventeen offspring, and the legitimate ones all have a claim superseding Kirsten’s.”
Reid heaved a relieved sigh, before taking a steadying puff from the pungent cigar.
“Even so,” Henrik continued, “you need to be aware. Your children might face that someday, though the circumstances would necessarily have to be extreme.”
“Like a continental war or a devastating plague,” Reid offered. “Unlikely.”
“Exactly.” Henrik drew on his cigar and blew out the smoke. “How’s the cigar?”
*****
Kirsten wondered what her father said to Reid, but had no chance to ask him until they climbed into her carriage and left the wedding celebration behind.
“Nothing important,” he answered with a chuckle and a wave of his hand. “He only wanted me to know about your Norwegian inheritance, and your claim to the throne of Norway and Denmark.”
“Oh, that.” Kirsten giggled. The afternoon spent drinking champagne made her giddy. “So nothing of importance, then?”
Reid laughed and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “No. He did give me this note, however, and said we should read it privately.”
Kirsten grabbed the missive. “We’re private now, aren’t we?”
She unfolded it and read the words twice, assuring herself that the inked letters dancing on the page really said what she believed they did. She looked up at Reid, who appeared as surprised as she felt.
“Did you know about this?” she asked, stunned.
He shook his head. “Your father didn’t say anything about it.”
Dearest Kirsten ~
I struck a bargain with Lord Helland. The majority of your income is safe, as I only gave him thirty-percent. (Why he agreed is between he and I, so don’t bother asking.) Once you reach St. Louis, and establish a banking account, forward me the pertinent information. I shall have the funds transferred to your account twice a year, in June and December, beginning this Christmas.
