The Wedding Season

by Deborah Hale

  Dear Reader,

  Sebastian and Rebecca’s story was a gift to me in so many ways. I had submitted a proposal to Love Inspired Historical for a novel set in England during the Regency era, but didn’t have very high hopes that the editors would buy it. When I received a call asking me for that book and a second, plus a bridal-themed novella, it was the answer to a prayer.

  The only catch was that the novella needed to be written quite quickly, and I had no idea what to write! That weekend, my husband and I took a road trip with the Celtic choir to which we belong to provide special music for a church in rural Nova Scotia. While we drove, I jotted down ideas that I hoped might work for the novella. Seeking inspiration from my favorite stories, I thought of Shakespeare’s play Much Ado About Nothing and found just what I was looking for. By the time we returned home, I had fleshed out a story that I couldn’t wait to write.

  Through the summer I sat out on our back deck for several hours each day, enjoying the sunshine, birdsong and the smell of freshly mown grass while I visited England’s scenic Cotswold countryside in my imagination. As the story unfolded, I felt a renewed joy in my work that had gotten a bit lost over the years. Now, I would like to offer this story, that was such a blessed gift to me, as a gift to you. I hope it will touch your heart and stir your soul.

  Deborah Hale

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  At the beginning of the story, when Rebecca allows Sebastian to assume she is Hermione, she doesn’t actually lie, yet her conscience bothers her. What would you have done in her place and why?

  Sebastian’s marriage left him bitter. Have you known anyone who’s been burned by love? How did they learn to let go of their bitterness?

  Though the earl and the governess are very different in rank and fortune, what values do you feel they share that help create a bond between them?

  When Sebastian hears the proverb about a good woman’s value being far above rubies, it reminds him of Rebecca. Do you have a favorite proverb from Scripture? What is it about those ancient, wise words that still speaks to you thousands of years later?

  Rebecca wonders if remorse for our own failings and compassion for the flaws of others breeds hope. What do you think about that?

  Have you ever experienced “pure sweet grace, precious and unfathomable,” as Sebastian does when Rebecca accepts his second proposal? How did it make you feel?

  There is a French proverb: “To understand all is to forgive all.” How do you think this applies to Rebecca and Sebastian? How does it apply to your life?

  THE GENTLEMAN TAKES A BRIDE

  Louise M. Gouge

  This book is dedicated to my beloved husband, David,

  who has stood by my side through my entire writing

  career. I would also like to thank my wonderful agent,

  Wendy Lawton, who works so hard on my behalf.

  I’m proud to be your client. I’m also proud to be

  a Love Inspired Historical author. This is the most

  delightful “job” I’ve ever had! Thank you, Melissa!

  But seek ye first the kingdom of God,

  and His righteousness; and all these things

  shall be added unto you.

  —Matthew 6:33

  Chapter One

  Hampshire, England

  June 1810

  “I will not settle for an untitled husband.” Lady Diana Moberly lifted her pretty little nose and sniffed. “I shall find a peer to marry, or I’ll not marry at all.”

  Seated beside her cousin in St. Andrew’s Church, Miss Elizabeth Moberly listened with rapt attention. After all, Di had just returned from her first London Season and knew everything about courtship and marriage. And in a few minutes, the wedding ceremony would begin, and Di’s older sister would marry a handsome gentleman she had met at Almack’s only two months ago. An untitled gentleman. Di insisted she would do better.

  Before Elizabeth could voice agreement, her other cousin, Miss Prudence Moberly, squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and leaned around her to address Di.

  “But what if the Lord wills for you to marry a good Christian gentleman without a title?”

  Elizabeth swung her attention from Pru back to Di.

  Di sniffed again. “La, such a question, Pru, but just what I would expect from you. Haven’t I told you? The Almighty and I have an understanding about such things.” She gazed down her nose at Pru.

  Elizabeth released a quiet sigh. She and her two cousins had been born within months of each other eighteen years ago. The youngest daughters of three brothers, they looked almost like triplets, with blond hair, blue eyes and ivory complexions. They had enjoyed a merry childhood together, yet these days their views on most everything were different. Di was always ready with an opinion on any topic and brooked no contradiction. Pru was the sweetest soul, but she never backed down from differences with their titled cousin, especially on spiritual matters. Elizabeth vacillated between the two, but these days she tended to follow Di, who always seemed to have more fun.

  Still, Elizabeth could not deny the peace she felt in this small stone church, which her family had attended for over two centuries. Countless relatives had been baptized here, and many lay buried in the ancient graveyard outside. Whenever she came here, it seemed to enfold her in sheltering arms, encouraging her always to seek God’s will, whatever she might undertake in life.

  Perhaps she could take the advice of both cousins. She would ask the Lord to send her a titled Christian husband.

  But this was Sophia’s day, and Elizabeth wished her great happiness with Mr. Whitson. Today, all things seemed to smile upon the bride. The sun shone brightly, and no one in their vast family had succumbed to illness to spoil the celebration. Flowers from Aunt Bennington’s garden and bright green and white ribbons bedecked the altar and the pew ends, filling the air with the heady fragrance of roses.

  The rustling of ladies’ gowns and the shuffling of leather shoes on the wooden floor caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she glanced over her shoulder. Across the aisle, several people had moved down so a tall young man of perhaps three and twenty years could slide into the pew.

  Goodness, he was handsome, if a bit untidy. His wavy black hair appeared to have been arranged by the wind, and his black coat, while quite the mode, had a leaf caught under one lapel and perhaps a stray burr or two clinging to the sleeves. His lean, strong jaw was clenched, and his blue eyes gleamed with the look of a man set on accomplishing an important task. The gentleman must have ridden post-haste to arrive in such a condition. At the sight of him, Elizabeth’s heart seemed to hiccough.

  Or perhaps it was Pru’s elbow in her ribs. “Tst,” her proper cousin admonished. “You shouldn’t stare.”

  “Humph.” Di’s ever-uplifted nose punctuated her disapproval of the latecomer.

  Wishing to please her cousins, Elizabeth stared ahead. The bride’s mother, Aunt Bennington, sat in the front row with her eldest son, the viscount, his viscountess and her two eldest daughters and their husbands. In the second row, Elizabeth’s parents, Captain and Mrs. Moberly, sat with one of her brothers. Pru’s parents, who lived outside of London, had sent her to represent the family for this happy affair.

  Soon the door beside the altar opened, and the vicar, Mr. Smythe-Wyndham, entered, followed by Uncle Bennington, the bride Lady Sophia and Mr. Whitson.

  Elizabeth’s resolve about titles wavered when she saw the groom. Tall, with broad shoulders and blond hair that curled around his well-shaped face, Mr. Whitson’s appearance more than made up in form what he lacked in rank. Elizabeth could not deny cousin Lady Sophia had found a handsome man, even though Elizabeth preferred darker features.

  As if driven by her own thoughts, she turned toward the dark-featured stranger across the aisle. Seeing the stormy expression on his face, she drew in a quiet gasp. His strong, high cheeks were pinched with…anger? Dark stubble shaded his clenched, sun-bronzed jaw. His black eyebrows met in a frown over his straight nose, which poi
nted like an arrow toward the wedding couple, while his blue eyes shot flashing daggers.

  Alarm spread through Elizabeth, but she had no time to think or act.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” Mr. Smythe-Wyndham intoned the opening words of the solemn rite in his rich baritone. He read of God’s purpose for marriage, then moved on to charge the couple to confess it now if there existed any impediment to their union.

  Suspicion shot through Elizabeth, and her gaze again slid across the aisle to the dark-browed stranger. His face exhibited a controlled rage much like her father’s when indignation filled him over some serious matter. The man edged toward the front of his seat, like a lion about to spring upon its prey.

  “If any man do allege and declare any impediment,” the minister read, “why they may not be coupled together in Matrimony, by God’s Law, or the Laws of this Realm—”

  The stranger shot to his feet, holding high a folded sheet of vellum. “Indeed, sir, I do declare an impediment.”

  Chapter Two

  Philip could hear the waver in his own voice and could barely control his trembling arm as he held up the condemning contract. It was no small thing, even a dangerous enterprise, to thwart the plans of an aristocrat as powerful as Lord Bennington. Yet honor demanded that Philip must attempt it.

  The moment he spoke—shouted, actually—the couple before the altar turned. Philip felt a surge of satisfaction when Whitson went pale and his jaw dropped. But the horror and fear in the bride’s plain face stung Philip’s heart just as his sister’s tears had done when she learned of her fiancé’s treachery. Every person in the rows ahead of Philip turned to stare or gape or glare at him.

  “How dare you?” The short, portly, gray-haired man standing beside the bride, no doubt Lord Bennington, sent Philip a haughty glower that should have flattened him. “What’s this all about?” What he lacked in stature, he made up for with his commanding voice and presence.

  At least he didn’t dismiss Philip out of hand. Nor did the youthful minister, who closed his prayer book and watched the proceedings with a troubled frown.

  “Sir.” Philip gulped down his anger and nervousness. “I have here a signed marriage contract between one Gregory Whitson of Surrey and myself on behalf of my sister, Miss Lucy Lindsey of Gloucestershire.”

  Her mouth agape, the bride nonetheless stared up at Whitson with confusion. “Mr. Whitson?” Her voice shook.

  Philip took some satisfaction that she, too, didn’t immediately dismiss his claim.

  Whitson tugged at his ruffled collar but didn’t look at Philip. Instead, he bent down and whispered something to Lord Bennington. The earl stiffened, shot another glare at Philip, then gave the bride a softer gaze and squeezed her hand. The gesture imparted an odd reassurance to Philip. The man loved his daughter and would see to the matter. Just as Bennington was known for his arrogance, he also had a reputation for honesty and integrity.

  “My lord.” The brown-haired minister appeared concerned, but didn’t cower before the earl. “Shall we adjourn to the sacristy?”

  Bennington replied with a curt nod, gave Philip a brusque summoning gesture with a bejeweled hand and ushered his now-tearful daughter toward the side door.

  Philip could only partly attribute the buzzing in his ears to the murmuring congregation. Nerves tight with anxiety, he moved into the aisle, glancing briefly at three look-alike sisters in the third row on the other side. No, not look-alike. One blonde miss openly sneered at him while the other two sent more kindly gazes his way. The young lady in the middle, whose face was a model of perfection, gave him the tiniest nod. He couldn’t guess what it meant. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps his nerves were playing tricks on him.

  One thing that played no trick on his senses was the image in the window above the altar. With morning sun shining through the stained glass, the likeness of Christ the Good Shepherd glowed as a symbol of Truth, and Philip’s quivering heart quieted. God had sent him on this mission of honor, and He would see it through to the end. With that assurance, Philip straightened his shoulders and strode toward the front of the sanctuary for the imminent confrontation.

  Like Daniel marching into the lion’s den.

  “Well, of all the ridiculous things.” Di waved her lace fan languidly. “Poor Sophie.” Her amused tone suggested anything but sympathy for her elder sister.

  “Di, how can you be so cruel?” Elizabeth shuddered, not knowing where to place her own emotions. While she loved Sophie and wished her happy, the young man had displayed great sincerity during his protest. But then, Mr. Whitson also presented a sincere demeanor. Whom could one believe? With everyone in the room all aflutter, Elizabeth could tell others were asking the same question.

  “We must pray for them.” Pru did not wait for agreement but bowed her head and mouthed her petition.

  Elizabeth followed her example, beseeching the Lord on behalf of all concerned. At a touch on her hand, she looked up to see Papa reaching over the back of his pew. His troubled gaze told her exactly what he was thinking. Unlike the rest of the family, he’d not cared much for Mr. Whitson. As a former captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, Papa never failed to correctly determine a man’s character. But Uncle Bennington never denied any of his eight children their whims and desires, and so the engagement had proceeded.

  The door opened, and Mr. Smythe-Wyndham beckoned to Papa. Papa traded a look with Mama, then rose and exited the sanctuary. Elizabeth found it significant that Uncle Bennington was seeking Papa’s counsel.

  Aunt Bennington had been fanning herself furiously for some time. Now she stood and followed Papa from the room. Returning within minutes, she appeared to have regained her composure. Always the perfect hostess, she gazed around the sanctuary and tapped her folded fan on her opposite hand. A hush fell over the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am certain this will all be resolved soon. In the meantime, I should like to invite you to our…hmm, what shall I call it? Not our wedding breakfast.” She faltered briefly.

  Elizabeth heard Di gasp beside her. Aunt Bennington never faltered.

  “To breakfast.” Aunt’s voice had regained its strength. “Mustn’t waste all that fine food. You cannot imagine how busy the cook has been these past weeks.” She beckoned to her eldest son George, Viscount Bampton, who hastened to offer his arm. Then, pointing her fan toward the back of the church, she strode down the aisle, head held high. “Shall we go?”

  In order of precedence, the viscountess followed on a brother-in-law’s arm, then the other brothers and sisters and their spouses. After them, Elizabeth’s family filed out. Although Di belonged with her sisters, in these country settings, she always begged permission to be with Elizabeth and Pru. Among her sisters, she held the least rank. Among her cousins, she was first.

  As Elizabeth awaited her turn, she saw Uncle Bennington and Papa return, along with Sophia, Mr. Whitson and Mr…. was it Lindsey? Sophie’s eyes were red, but she still clung to Mr. Whitson’s arm. The departing guests made way for them to leave the church. Mr. Lindsey, however, hung back and sagged into an empty pew. No one spoke to him. In fact, he might have had the plague for the way people cleared the area around him.

  Elizabeth’s heart ached when she saw him kneel in the pew, his shoulders slumped forward as if in defeat. He must have received a verbal beating from Uncle Bennington. But Uncle did not recall the guests so that the wedding might proceed, and the vicar did not reemerge from the sacristy. There must be some validity to the man’s claim.

  With Di and Pru tugging on her arms, Elizabeth cast one last glance at the handsome, brave young man before she took her place in the line of departing guests. A twinge of guilt struck her as she realized she would far rather meet him than attend Aunt Bennington’s breakfast.

  Chapter Three

  Philip finished his prayer and sat back in the pew, wonderin
g where he would find the energy to ride down to Southampton to take a room. He’d ridden hard for five days to get here, and his horse needed tending. But at least he’d achieved his purpose. Lord Bennington had declared he would summon his solicitors to examine the marriage contract Philip had presented to him. Whitson wouldn’t get away with taking Lucy’s ten thousand pound dowry and using it to court an earl’s daughter.

  At the thought, an unpleasant sensation began to rise from Philip’s stomach to his throat, and he swallowed hard. He hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning but pushed his poor horse at top speed after a short night’s rest in an inn. He shuddered to think of how matters would have been complicated had the wedding been completed. As it was, he planned to fully prosecute Whitson for his treachery.

  Philip gazed at the comforting image in the window over the altar, knowing it held no power but was merely a reminder of God’s mercy. Still, he couldn’t deny that the reminder had given him confidence to face a powerful earl and his influential brother. But with the confrontation over, weariness was closing in.

  Now his stomach rumbled in earnest. Before he could stand, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he looked up into the lined face and icy blue eyes of Captain Thomas Moberly. The gentleman’s black hair was shot through with silver, giving him a distinguished look that surpassed his titled brother’s appearance.