“You ready, my dear?” Mr. Harris led the way. Freddie escorted Rosalind into the dining room just as the last of the first-course dishes were placed on the table. It seemed no one took notice of their arrival, which was perfectly fine.
He saw Rosalind to her seat, across the room and on the opposite side of the long table from where he was to sit. Many people separated them and she wondered how he would fare among the tenants.
As it turned out, there was nothing to worry about. The Earl of Brent fared no worse than Mr. Freddie as he mingled with the people around him. He played the gracious lord and Rosalind could see just how easy he took to all this.
She began to relax and participated in the discussion with Mr. Renfield and Mr. Neely regarding the improvements they would like to see to their properties, in the upcoming year.
“No hard feelings, Mr. Morley,” Freddie assured him after he’d just finished pouring a glass of port.
“Jacob, milord.” He raised his glass in a silent toast to him.
“Yes, Jacob it is.” It felt good to finally be accepted as himself. Freddie replaced the bottle on the sideboard and saw Sturgis enter. Freddie made his way around the room to meet the valet.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Sturgis whispered.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Frank has returned, just now.”
“Where is he?”
“In your bedchamber, if you don’t mind. I knew you’d want to see him straightaway.”
“Good man.” Freddie clapped Sturgis on the shoulder. He glanced over to Trevor and mouthed, Frank.
Trevor excused himself and slid out of the dining room without drawing much attention, meeting Freddie in the corridor. From there they went up the staircase. Thomas brought up the rear.
Trevor was full of questions, as was Freddie, but they had no answers. They stepped into Freddie’s bedchamber and closed the door behind them.
“Good Gad, Frank Sturgis, you made excellent time!” Trevor walked right up to him and shook his hand.
“Thank you, sir.” Frank nodded to Freddie. “Your Lordship.”
“What do you have for us?”
“From His Grace.” Frank pulled a thick packet from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Freddie.
“Thank you.” Freddie took possession and addressed Thomas, “See that your brother gets a hot meal and a bed, will you? You must be tired.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship.” Frank chuckled, clearly fatigued.
“At once, sir.” Thomas gestured to his brother to follow him and the two Sturgis brothers left.
With the click of the door latching, Freddie broke the seal of the thick packet, revealing two letters, one with Freddie’s name and one with Trevor’s. They glanced at one another, retrieved their missives, and took a deep breath before reading what their fathers had to say.
Freddie unfolded his letter. Inside it contained a ruby ring—his mother’s ring—and his father’s blessing. Scrawled across the page was only one sentence:
I look forward to your wedding day.
Faraday
His father’s sparse note told Freddie that he had no wish to interfere nor did he wish to influence his son. Not stated outright but the message, as Freddie understood it, was: his father approved of his marriage and he would see him soon.
Freddie took up the ring and brought it near to study. It was an oval-cut stone flanked by two small, round diamonds, and he had a very vague memory of it that made him smile. He slid the ring into his waistcoat pocket, folded the letter and tucked it out of the way.
“Look here, Fred.” Trevor held up a handwritten page. “Father is thrilled with my news. He couldn’t be prouder, and look what he’s sent me!”
Freddie stared at the special license. On it were the names Mr. Trevor Rutherford and Miss Clare Harris.
Rosalind spied the surreptitious exit of Freddie and Trevor after the valet Sturgis made a brief appearance in the dining room. She had no idea what was afoot but something was definitely going on.
Excusing herself, she rose from the table, managed to locate Clare, and whispered to her they needed to find Freddie and Trevor. By her reaction, the gentlemen’s absence had not set well with her either. Together the sisters checked the downstairs rooms, discovering both gentlemen tiptoeing down the staircase.
“We were only gone for a few minutes,” was one’s excuse, and the other proclaimed, “We were on our way to find you just this instant.”
Trevor quickly followed up with, “But I’m awfully glad you came to find us. If you had not, I would have sought you out myself.”
“A likely story, Mr. Rutherford,” Rosalind replied. He had not fooled her one bit; creeping about in silence was not the mark of a forthright soul.
“Please,” Freddie whispered to all three. “Let us not stand in the middle of the corridor bickering like a bunch of Billingsgate fishwives. Do let’s go into the parlor for some privacy before we attract a crowd.”
Everyone went immediately silent and ambled in the direction of the parlor.
“It is famous!” Trevor announced once the door was closed behind them. “Clare, dearest, I spoke to your father some time ago regarding paying my addresses and when he gave me consent, I wrote to my father expressing my wish to marry you.” He held up the letter. “I’ve just received the answer.”
“And what does Lord Rutherford say?” Clare seemed to have forgotten all about the four of them disappearing from the dining room while a houseful of guests celebrated a few rooms over.
“He has sent a special license.” Trevor revealed a second sheet, not page two of his father’s missive but something else entirely.
The document bore the Archbishop of Canterbury’s seal. Rosalind could see her sister’s name listed below Trevor’s, giving them permission to be wed as speedily as they wished without banns.
“We can be married?” Clare stared at the very same paper Rosalind read. She must have been far too excited to understand what it said.
“It means, we can be wed at any place, at any time,” Trevor replied. He, too, appeared to be very enthusiastic about the response.
“Oooooh! Can we wed here?” Clare cried out. “Can we do it now?”
“Now?” Trevor choked.
“Miss Clare, have you forgotten there is a houseful of people?”
“We still need a rector, parson, or vicar to officiate.” Apparently Trevor did not wish to deny her.
Then they heard loud voices shouting, not in anger but as if calling others, coming from beyond the closed doors of the corridor.
“A wedding! A wedding!” Softly at first but soon the words rang out, louder and clearer. More guests joined in and it sounded as if all were saying it. “There’s to be a wedding!”
Apparently the four were not as private as they had believed. They glanced at one another, all realizing their discussion was no longer secret.
Then the chant altered and they said, “Get the vicar! We need the vicar! The vicar! The vicar!”
Freddie shrugged and opened the door to several dozen people. The visitors, in their contagious glee, surrounded Clare and Trevor.
“A wedding!” many called out. “Miss Clare, are you to be married right now?” a few others wanted to know. They most probably never knew such a thing was possible. Rosalind had heard of such things but never had she known of anyone to enter matrimony in that way.
Vicar Strevens was found and brought forth to the couple. Trevor handed over the special license. The vicar donned his spectacles and took up the document to check its authenticity.
“Well, it all looks to be in order.” He browsed it quickly then returned to the top to read it word by word. “Give me a few minutes, if you please.” He strolled away from the gathering to a corner for some solitude.
“You all cannot want our Twelfth Night dinner to be taken over by a wedding party?” Trevor addressed the crowd of well-wishers.
“A wedding! A wedding!” they
cheered.
“Clare, is this what you really want?” Trevor turned to her as if she had the power to put a stop to all this.
“It seems it is quite out of our hands now.” She giggled as if she did not quite know what to do with being the center of attention.
“If you’re to be married, we’d best get you upstairs and get ready.” Mrs. Harris’s color looked to be a bit off. It must have been the excitement.
“You’re not going to swoon now, are you, ma’am?”
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “Now upstairs with you and change into your Sunday dress, girl!”
Clare, helped along by Mrs. Harris, exited the parlor with several other women trailing.
“We’ll put up her hair again, make it fancier,” Mrs. Lowther suggested. Mrs. Walsh added, “I think we should collect the holiday greenery and make up a small bouquet for Miss Clare ta carry.” Another group of women took up that task.
“What about our games? The charades and pantomimes?” Trevor, perhaps experiencing some disbelief, had difficulty accepting his private nuptials had been made into a public event.
“They’ll be replaced with dancing!” someone shouted.
“It all sounds quite pagan,” Vicar Strevens said, not quite objecting.
“Dancing . . . You know what that means, Fred?” Trevor turned to perhaps the only capable musician for the day.
“It’s a good thing I tuned the pianoforte yesterday.” Freddie made no protest about his role in the upcoming nuptials.
“Does this mean we aren’t going to play our duet?” Rosalind had very much looked forward to performing. “We spent so much time practicing.”
“And every minute was a delight.” He took up her hand and kissed it. “Do you not think you should be by your sister’s side? Someone has to keep Mrs. Harris at bay, for Clare’s sake.”
“And keep the hartshorn on hand, just in case.” Trevor shook his head. “I beg your pardon, but she did look as if she’s going to meet the carpet again.”
By the time Rosalind headed out of the parlor, it had been decided. It had quite gotten out of any of the primary participants’ hands, so a wedding celebration was added to the current Twelfth Night festivities. Just as she took the first step to ascend the staircase, Rosalind heard Cook.
“It’s goin’ ta be the best cake we’ve had in years,” she exclaimed. “Oh, yes. Mr. Freddie, there, had a hand in the cake, yes, he did. Now it be Miss Clare’s weddin’ cake! Don’t know what’s ta happen when someone other than the groom gets the pea.”
Vicar Strevens and Trevor stood to the right of the square pianoforte just in front of the back door, flanked by a set of windows. Sunlight shone, as it had not in the days and weeks before, illuminating the snowy exterior. It made for a lovely image and the perfect setting for two to be united in holy matrimony.
The guests stood on both sides of the parlor leaving a clear path for Clare to meet Vicar Strevens and Trevor at the other side of the room and waited but as time passed, the crowd grew restless.
“Fred . . .” Trevor whispered. “Do you think you could play something?”
“What?”
“A bit of music to amuse the guests while we wait.”
Freddie looked about and noticed the unease had grown. He moved to the pianoforte, sat at the keyboard, and began to play. To honor the holiday season, he played a Christmas song, to everyone’s delight. Clare had still not made an appearance. During the interlude, Freddie played several carols and hymns and everyone sang along, keeping them happy.
Then she arrived. Every eye looked upon her standing at the open door. Breathtakingly beautiful as every bride should be, her lovely red hair had been styled around an ivy crown. She carried a small bouquet made up with red holly berries adding color to the sprigs of evergreens that had been bound by red ribbons.
Clare smiled and moved down the empty path toward Trevor, who looked as happy as Freddie had ever seen his friend.
When Clare stopped, Trevor took her hand.
“No, not yet,” the vicar whispered.
“Oh, sorry.” Trevor quickly let her hand loose. “I beg your pardon, I’ve never done this before.”
Vicar Strevens began the ceremony. The bride looked beautiful. The groom was very handsome. Both looked a bit nervous but very happy.
Trevor took Clare as his wedded wife. “‘To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.’”
Clare took Trevor as her wedded husband. “‘To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part.’”
“Now we need the ring . . .” The vicar prompted Trevor.
“Ring?” Trevor blanched and glanced at Clare then turned to Freddie. “I haven’t got one.”
A ring . . . Freddie had the one resting in his waistcoat pocket. His mother’s. The one he was going to give to Rosalind. He fished it out and handed it to Trevor. “It’s only a loan, all right? I want it back after the ceremony.”
“Done,” Trevor agreed. He turned to Vicar Strevens and whispered, “I’ve only borrowed it.”
The vicar nodded. “Repeat after me: ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with my worldly goods I thee endow . . .’”
The vicar led them through a prayer, joined their right hands together and proclaimed: “‘Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.’”
Vicar Strevens added his blessing and proclaimed Clare and Trevor married.
“Now, sir,” said the vicar. “You may kiss your bride.”
Which Trevor gladly did.
After the New Year’s wishes had been said and the well-wishing for a happy marriage had been given, everyone left for home hoping to arrive before it was dark. Rosalind and Freddie stood by the window, where they had once shared a kiss, watching the last of the guests leave.
“Clare looked so very happy today.” Rosalind could not recall a more festive party. Everything had turned out very well.
“As did Trevor. He’s a married man now.” Freddie sounded envious. “Are you still determined to wait for me?”
“I will probably be the oldest bride ever to wed. It’s not a record I’m anxious to break.” Did he not realize she loved him for richer for poorer . . . the stubborn man could not see beyond his pride.
“I want you to know how dearly I love you.” Freddie clasped her hands into his. “Watching them marry today only makes me desire it more.”
It was good to know his feelings had not changed. Rosalind supposed she would have to wait her turn . . . even if it took years.
“Trevor was not the only one who received a letter this afternoon.”
“Did you?” Why had the man not said so in the first place?
“I wrote to my father telling him of my plans for rebuilding the estate and my intentions toward you.” Freddie looked at her and when Rosalind said nothing he continued to stare at her.
“And?” He was going to make Rosalind draw every word from him. “What did he say?”
“His Grace has sent me my mother’s ring and his blessing.” He held up a ruby ring.
“Is that the one Trevor used to marry Clare?” Rosalind squinted at the familiar-looking piece of jewelry.
“I told Trev I’d only allow him to borrow it. You don’t mind that I loaned it to them, do you?”
“That makes it more precious to me. It is truly a family ring now. It has meaning to both our families.”
“If you are firmly bent on waiting to marry me, I beg you will wear this ring.” He held it upright between his thumb and index finger. He smiled. “It will be the longest engagement in recorded history.”
“You are incorrigible.” Rosalind felt he was really quite shameless.
“No, I believe I am quite reformed.” He smiled at her. “Thanks to you.”
&nbs
p; “Here—” Rosalind held out her left hand. “Let’s have it, then.”
“It’s all I have of my mother and I am very happy to pass it on, with a slight detour, to you.” He slipped it onto her finger and it fit fairly well.
“Thank you. It is beautiful.” She stared at the ring, admiring the stone and allowing memories of marriage, family, and mothers to fill her thoughts. “All I have left of my mother is her pianoforte.”
“Your mother? But Mrs. Harris . . .” Freddie’s brows furrowed.
Rosalind understood his confusion. “Mrs. Harris is Clare’s mother, my stepmother. My mother passed away when I was very young. The pianoforte and the inher— The inheritance!” Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him, smiling from ear to ear. “Freddie, oh, Freddie! I have forgotten all about it. I am to have it when I marry! I never thought—”
“What?” He looked startled by her excitement and released her hands.
“I’m not sure how much. I hardly think it could pay your debts, nor would I wish to contribute to that, but it might be enough to get started on rebuilding the estate, much sooner than you could have done on your own.” Rosalind received a letter annually listing the principle and interest earned for the past year. Now that the new year had started the letter would come very shortly.
“No, no, Rosalind, I cannot take your money. It is too unseemly for a lady to loan—” There was his stubborn pride again.
“It is not unseemly for a wife to bring money into a marriage. We are to be wed, are we not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Sir, if you do not marry me, you will not have my money. It is as simple as that.” It was the perfect solution, why did he not see it?
“I am at a loss. Honor tells me I should not offer for you because of my present penniless position but together we can begin renovating the estate in earnest.”
“It is what we both want. What do you say, my lord?” Was Rosalind truly blackmailing the Earl of Brent into marriage?
“I say come here, my sweet, and I will kiss you thoroughly.” Freddie pulled her willingly into his arms.
“You cannot kiss me, sir, there are no berries on the kissing bough.” Just when everything was about to work in their favor, would he dare tempt luck to turn ill on their household?
A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) Page 19
