by Jane Ashford
“Do I?” She swallowed. “You said you didn’t even remember how it was in Salbridge.”
“Well, I was angry. And I’m an idiot.” Wrentham let out a great sigh and shook his head. “Things just seem to pile up and drive me distracted. I couldn’t get any of them right. Will you marry me anyway? Even though I’m a complete bungler? Say you will.”
Miss Reynolds examined him. “You really mean it?”
“Never meant anything more.” He took her hand and gazed down into her eyes.
“Well, then I will. I’ve been trying to for months.”
He laughed and kissed her hand.
“There. That wasn’t so very difficult, was it?” asked Verity.
The finally united couple turned to stare at her. “You must get along great guns with Lady Robert,” said Mr. Wrentham.
It took Verity a moment to realize that he meant Flora. “I do,” she answered.
“I must say the Greshams are better men than I.” He looked at Randolph. “Can’t see the appeal of a managing woman myself.”
“Charles,” said Frances.
“Right. Doesn’t matter. Not my problem.”
“I’m in the habit of speaking my mind,” Frances added.
“Not the same. You’re adorable.”
Frances gave her intended a brilliant smile.
“Small matter of the challenge,” Randolph put in.
“What challenge?” Miss Reynolds looked from him to Wrentham, brightly inquisitive.
“Never mind,” Wrentham told her. “I’ll withdraw it tomorrow,” he said to Randolph.
“What challenge?” Miss Reynolds repeated.
“Tell you later,” Wrentham replied. He gazed at Randolph. And Verity.
The fellow was waiting for them to leave the room and give him some privacy, Randolph thought. Which seemed a cheat. They’d fixed his romantic problem; they should get the reward of hearing how he talked himself out of that one. Or better yet, have this parlor to themselves for a bit. But they weren’t going to; he could see that.
“So that’s done,” said Verity out in the corridor. “On to the archbishop.”
“You are a marvel,” said Randolph.
“I had some help from your mother.”
He wasn’t the least surprised.
A chattering group came out of a room along the hall. He wanted to say how much he loved her. It was nearly unbearable that he couldn’t take her in his arms when he felt he’d waited a long age of the world to find her. But the group surrounded them. It included friends who pulled them along. Their solitude was at an end.
Later that night, rattling around in his bedchamber, too restless to sleep, Randolph came upon his lute in the wardrobe. He took it out, sat down, and opened the case. As he strummed a few chords, his fingers moved automatically to pick out the maddeningly elusive tune he’d been trying to master for months. It lay haunting, poignant at the back of his mind, like a peak he could see but never reach.
He played the first notes. That sounded right at last. He added the next bit. Yes! He hadn’t been able to get that fingering on the strings the last time he’d tried. He started over at the beginning, breath held. And after all this time, he heard the song that had come to him in an odd sort of vision ring out into the air. Anxious, he tried it again. Yes! He had it now. Because of the love in his heart, he decided. He’d had to know real love to play this song.
Randolph exulted. Here was a sign. All would be well. He’d make Verity happy. He played the melody again. He sang the words. He’d really gotten it! He fell into a pleasure of harmonies and variations. Soon he forgot all else in the lovely sound.
Twenty-two
The duke found Randolph at breakfast the next morning and sat down to join him. “I’ve had a thought,” he said.
Randolph came alert. His father’s thoughts were always worth hearing.
“But first, a few questions,” he added. “Your mother told me that Miss Sinclair has dreams of traveling the world. Having adventures.” He smiled. “You, on the other hand, are a rather settled person.”
“Because of my profession,” Randolph replied. “I’ve always envied James a bit, but a church can’t sail away like a ship, and my work is important to me.” He longed to give Verity everything she wanted, yet he had his ambitions, too. “I’d planned to make a difference through the church. I do. Though in a smaller way than I’d hoped.”
“So you’re not averse to traveling, if you could continue your ministry at the same time?”
“Not at all. What do you have in mind? Not missionary work. I wouldn’t care for that.”
The duke merely shook his head. He looked as if he was filing information away. “Is Miss Sinclair on good terms with the archbishop? I’m not sure of her exact connection.”
“He’s her mother’s second cousin.” He and Verity had discussed this when they’d wondered again if her mother could intervene. “They haven’t often met. He gave her a prayer book when she was six.”
His father nodded again. “Well, unless you object, I believe I will go over to Lambeth and call on His Grace.”
“To intercede for me.” While a younger part of Randolph felt relieved, another didn’t like the idea of pushing his problems off on his parent.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. To feel out the situation, perhaps. See what possibilities may be open. Unless you’d rather I didn’t, of course.”
Randolph wavered. And then he realized that he wanted to talk to Verity about this plan first. Her opinions were always cogent, and he thought better when he thrashed a matter out with her. “Can I tell you this afternoon?”
“Of course.” The duke rose. Randolph was relieved to see that he didn’t look at all offended. “Whenever you like. I shan’t do anything without your say-so.”
He went out, and a few minutes later Randolph followed.
* * *
A great part of the season was people pairing up, Verity thought as she sat alone in their rented drawing room. Emma was certain she’d gotten just the mate she wanted, and for all Verity knew, she was right. Frances Reynolds had come to town with her sights set on a particular gentleman, and now she had him.
Verity looked down at her original London plan, with the items she’d ticked off weeks ago and those that remained. She’d made inquiries about the Derbyshire town where Randolph was newly posted. He’d called it pleasant, not the least bit countrified, but she couldn’t quite agree. Ashbourne seemed picturesque; several coaching roads came together at the center, but it was far from a metropolis. Life there would be like the one she’d grown up with and had been determined to leave behind. The rectory would resemble her childhood home. She would make some friends and do good works. It wasn’t what she’d dreamed. However, she would have Randolph.
Randolph would provide tempestuous, passionate elements that had not featured in her placid childhood. And if her experience so far was any measure, life with him would be an adventure in itself. Perhaps it would do. She suppressed a sigh. Of course it would! She loved him.
As if her thoughts had called him, Randolph walked in. “I told the maid she needn’t announce me. This is a stealthy visit.”
Verity folded up her plan and set it aside. “Mama took Papa to see the circulating library.” She stood up and walked into his arms.
They welcomed her joyfully. So did his lips. They belonged together, Verity thought; all would just have to be well.
A delightful, enflaming time passed in kisses.
“I hope your mother finds something wonderful to read, and that it takes her an hour or more,” Randolph murmured in her ear.
Verity laughed breathlessly. She ran her hands over his ribs, deploring the shirt and waistcoat that kept her from touching his skin. Randolph murmured his approval.
At last, regretfully, he stepped back. “
I don’t suppose we could just elope? I could get a special license.”
“The Archbishop of Canterbury grants special licenses,” Verity pointed out.
“Ah…yes. Dash it.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I’ve come to talk to you about him. My father offered to go to Lambeth Palace.”
Verity stood straighter, transfixed by this news. “To talk him ’round?”
“My father said he had a suggestion.” Randolph frowned. “But I’m not a boy, running to Papa with a skinned knee.”
He was sensitive in this regard. She knew that. But they couldn’t reject such a powerful ally. Verity thought quickly. “He should go,” she said. “And we must go with him.”
“We?”
The duchess’s principle of clear and open discussion had worked with Mr. Wrentham. There had been a few bumps, true, but they’d won through. Verity felt bold and mighty. “We’ll all talk to him,” she said. “I can remind him of our relationship. Of course. That’s better than having Mama do it.”
“I don’t know what else I can say to him,” Randolph replied. He sounded resentful. “I’ve apologized. Repeatedly, and thoroughly.”
“Oh well, you can just stand by, looking penitent and stalwart. Perhaps I’ll weep a little?” She framed the scene in her mind—the influential duke, the sad young relative. Tears were too much, she decided.
Randolph gazed at her as if surprised. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
* * *
The three of them left at midmorning the following day in one of the duke’s carriages. Verity had told her parents she was going to see Olivia and left a note to be found in case she should be missed. But there was no reason she should be, she thought. The archbishop’s residence was on the south side of the Thames, only a few miles from Mayfair. They’d be there and back in no time, if all went well. Indeed, it seemed so simple now, with the duke on their side.
From the coach window, Randolph watched the passing scene. He was a bit worried that they hadn’t sent ahead to make an appointment. His companions had decreed that it would be better to surprise their quarry. And when he’d tried to argue that the archbishop didn’t care for surprises, he’d been overruled. The combination of Papa and Verity was irresistible.
All too soon, they arrived at the palace. At the entry, the duke handed over his card. “I’ve brought along a young relative of the archbishop’s,” he said, indicating Verity. “Miss Sinclair. And my son.”
“The archbishop is extremely busy,” said the clerical gatekeeper.
“I’m sorry. It’s rather important.”
Papa didn’t sound the least sorry, Randolph thought. He also noted that his own first name hadn’t been mentioned.
After a few minutes dithering, they were admitted into the presence of Archbishop Charles Manners-Sutton, who was a few years older than Papa, smooth-faced and aristocratic. He greeted the duke cordially. Randolph hung back behind his tall father. “Your wife has been in our prayers,” said the archbishop.
“Thank you, she’s much better.”
The archbishop nodded as if taking credit.
“I’m sure you remember your cousin, Miss Sinclair.”
“Of course.”
“She’s recently betrothed to my son Randolph.”
Forced to come forward, Randolph offered a graceful, and he hoped humble, bow. “Your Grace. I’m glad to see you well.”
The archbishop’s eyes widened. “Ah. You.”
“Shall we sit down?” said the duke. Verity didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked over and sat on a small sofa. She gave their host a melting smile.
“Does your father know you’re here?” he asked.
“Of course not. He follows your lead in every way.”
Both the words and her tone appeared to startle him considerably. Randolph’s doubts flared.
The rest of them sat.
“I thought you might be pondering a wedding gift for your young relative,” the duke said.
The archbishop looked at him as if he was speaking an unknown language.
“She’s very keen on travel, you know.”
Verity picked up his cue as if they’d planned the whole exchange, when Randolph knew for a fact they hadn’t. “Oh yes, it’s been my lifetime ambition to see the world.”
“And so when I heard that you were about to appoint a roving envoy to look into needs of the church abroad…”
Papa let the sentence trail off. Randolph watched Verity’s eyes light up as she assimilated the implications. He watched the archbishop’s eyes narrow with calculation. The man didn’t like being manipulated, naturally, but Randolph could almost see him thinking that such an appointment would get Randolph, and the story of the ram, out of England for an indefinite period. Perhaps forever, Randolph thought a little uneasily. It was a fascinating opportunity, though he’d miss having a congregation of his own.
“An interesting possibility,” the archbishop answered. “I’ll consider it.”
“Liverpool was telling me about the position,” the duke replied. His tone, and his mention of the leader of the English government, indicated that thinking about it wasn’t good enough. “He seemed to think that such a man would need connections and a talent for diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy?” repeated their host irascibly.
“Someone who wouldn’t dream of repeating awkward stories, even when they’re quite amusing.”
The two elders locked gazes. The air seemed to crackle with tension. Randolph had to resist grinding his teeth. He met Verity’s bright gaze and took the risk of hope. The silence stretched and stretched until he could scarcely breathe.
“Very well,” said the archbishop at last.
The duke gave him a charming smile. “You won’t be sorry. Randolph will do an exemplary job for you. He has many talents, and he’s eager to do so.”
Randolph caught the cue this time. He nodded. And didn’t smile.
“And he’ll be so well trained for wider responsibilities in the church when he returns.”
This was a step too far. Randolph could tell from his superior’s face. He’d give no further guarantees. But seeing Verity’s glowing expression, Randolph didn’t care. They could meet up with James and travel with them a bit, he thought. And they’d see so many marvelous things. He was actually quite interested in the far-flung outposts of the church and how they got on.
His father rose. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m very grateful.”
As they took their leave, Randolph saw the archbishop calculating how best to use the gratitude of a duke.
“That went rather well,” the latter said as they climbed back into the carriage.
“Splendidly!” cried Verity. “You do think so, don’t you, Randolph?”
He nodded. As usual, his father had known best.
Epilogue
The entire Gresham clan was present at St. George’s in Hanover Square just two weeks later, filling one side of the church while members of Verity’s family sat on the other. The archbishop himself had suggested a special license for Randolph’s wedding, not so much granting it as thrusting it upon them. Now that the appointment had been made, he seemed eager to get his new envoy out of the country as quickly as possible. Verity’s hastily assembled wedding clothes had been sewn with an eye to the heat of the tropics. Her intense delight in this had been one of the high points of Randolph’s recent days.
Verity’s father presided at the ceremony, wholly reconciled now that the archbishop had shown signs of his favor. No one told Mr. Sinclair how the appointment had been achieved. And he didn’t ask, which suggested he had a good bit of diplomatic talent himself.
Alan stood up with Randolph, having drawn the long straw in a contest suggested by Robert, after Randolph confessed himself unable to choose a best man from among his brothers. The youngest of the
m did his part with assurance, even though his gaze kept straying to his new son, held by the lovely Ariel in the front row. Next to her, Nathaniel hovered over his wife Violet, due to deliver very soon.
The wedding breakfast was held at Langford House, since the ceremony had taken place so far from the Sinclair home. The duchess was up and about again, with limits, and had been pleased to give Mrs. Sinclair free rein in organizing the event. The crowd filled a great reception room, chattering and browsing the lavish buffet.
When the time seemed right, Randolph slipped away to fetch his lute. Then he stood before them all with his new wife beside him. Together, they sang the song that had come to him in a kind of dream, apparently for this moment precisely. That was what Verity had said, anyway, when he told her the story and taught her the tune.
More than honey, the words you speak are sweet,
Honest and wise, nobly and wittily said.
Yours are the beauties of Camiola complete,
Of Iseult the blond and Morgana the fairy maid.
If Blanchefleur should be added to the group,
Your loveliness would tower above each head.
Beneath your brows five beautiful things repose:
Love and a fire and a flame, the lily, the rose.
They let the harmonies twine and soar. Variations emerged unexpectedly, chiming sweet in a minor key. What one began, the other caught and embroidered. Their voices were perfect complements; their artistic instincts beautifully matched. This was what their life would be like, Randolph thought, as the ancient words vibrated in his chest. Thrilling. Reciprocal. A marvelous edifice built together, not all easily, but with delight.
There were tears here and there in the crowd when the last notes died away. The duke and duchess had twined hands.
“I got him the lute,” Randolph heard Sebastian explaining.
“I beg your pardon,” Nathaniel replied. “You taxed me with finding it.”
Sebastian grinned. “Oh well, Randolph wouldn’t know the song if it wasn’t for us, would he, Georgina?”
His wife nodded, smiling with wet eyes.
