Love Among the Spices

by Briggs, Laura

  She drew her aunt's arm closer through her own, as if comforting the elder woman for the loss of Marianne's prospects. In other circumstances, it might have been enough that Marianne was married to anyone–and by a special license, at that, through the generosity of Lord Roger Easton–but there was no escaping the rather dramatic circumstances surrounding Marianne's future as Mrs. Adam Nimbley.

  Her aunt sniffed. "It is fitting, I suppose, that Marianne marry someone as outlandish as herself in these matters. As for myself, I could never see fit to be groveling about in the dirt where insects and all manner of unpleasant creatures might be found."

  "And that," said Flora, "is what shall make Marianne the happiest of all." With a playful squeeze of her aunt's arm as they continued on from the church to the wedding breakfast awaiting on Donnelly Hall's green lawn.

  Marianne's curls had escaped their elegant style, now a mantle of blackness wreathed with orange blossoms as she danced in a ring with her young nieces and nephews, her veil tucked high upon her shoulders.

  "She is quite the child herself in some ways," Sir Edward had charged his future son in law upon their first meeting. "Are you certain that you wish for such a wife?"

  Adam Nimbley smiled, despite the nervousness evident in his manner upon this interview with Sir Edward, the two of them closeted in the good man's library. "I believe that it shall be good for me, sir; for I have spent a little too much time considering propriety and not enough with the easy grace with which Miss Stuart surveys the world," he ventured. "It is only society that makes us seem different; when there are no reminders of fortune or elegance, we are quite alike."

  Beneath his tan, his lean face was as homely as ever in the estimation of Marianne's harsher acquaintances. With glasses neatly polished and a fine wedding suit, however, he was as presentable in their eyes as his father the baronet, who had seen this occasion as grand enough to warrant a fashionable coat and new walking-stick for the occasion.

  "God bless you, my dear," he said, kissing Marianne's cheek. "You shall do Adam good, I think. He needs a bit more carefree in his nature–to be more like John, who has such a genial countenance in society when he is not at Oxford."

  "I think you do not credit Adam's ease in the right society," Marianne answered. "There are so many people with whom he converses so easily. Sir William of Cambridge and the professor from Glasgow–"

  "Oh, on insects he is easy enough, I suppose," said the baronet. "But then, I suppose you are also–so there, it shall be a good match, eh?" With another kiss upon his daughter-in-law's cheek, he continued onwards in the celebration.

  "If you repent of this, there is no coming back, you know," Mrs. Fitzwilliam warned her niece. "Ships do not sail for England everyday from port, my dear. And I hear the natives can be frightful–men with pigtails as long as serpents and women in strange dresses like sleeping robes. A dreadfully strange place to end up altogether."

  "Marianne shall be very happy in the Orient, I think," said Adam, with a laugh. "She shall see everything from the crickets in their gilded cages to the red wasps of the countryside and no doubt help me document them all." His hand encircled Marianne's warmly, their eyes meeting with a glance that conveyed much more than words.

  "There is nothing that should make me happier, aunt," she answered, kissing Mrs. Fitzwilliam's cheek. "I shall bring back ever so many things and have such stories! You shall see, I shall be quite the same when I return, only better in ways that I ought to be."

  "Let us hope so," was all Mrs. Fitzwilliam was willing to venture. She could not be persuaded to the truth of such happiness, even as Marianne and Adam appeared every bit as carefree and happy as any other newlywed couple–for how could one be content with no proper drawing room, no promise of a steady income or new carriage? In her heart of hearts, she was deeply regretful, good woman, that Marianne had fallen short of the peerage after Flora's triumph– to think young Lord Hepperly was not yet engaged, too!

  But they were happy; and in the midst of their friends, there was every sign that their affection was rooted in something deeper than the mere promise of pleasant society with one another and the momentary attraction of a London Season's charms. It was the extraordinary circumstance which Marianne Stuart claimed would have her accept a proposal, with the kind heart of Adam Nimbley possession enough for a girl who claimed to care nothing for title or fortune.

  "I certainly hope your prediction is correct on this matter of your sister's happiness," Mrs. Fitzwilliam sighed to Flora, as the couple set forth upon their wedding journey to London, where their ship would disembark in a week's time. "That when Miss Marianne returns–no, it is Mrs. Nimbley now, I suppose–she will be as pleased as ever for her adventures and not be regretting that she married so quickly."

  "I know she will be happy," Flora answered. "For am I not always right on these matters?" She stole a glance at her husband as she spoke.

  Roger replied in a serious voice, despite the threat of a smile upon his face. "I would say that there is little advice worthwhile on the subject of relationships that you have not already offered," he ventured, although the warning look upon Flora's face only served to increase the mischief in his smile.

  With that, he took his wife's arm and strolled on with her in the direction of their home before Mrs. Fitzwilliam could ferret the true meaning of his words.

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