Jeremy and Charlotte were there, Charlotte well into her pregnancy, smiling, looking utterly beautiful, glowing, Jeremy, so proud, so possessive of her, standing close by her, always. Meggie had greeted them warmly, so very warmly. As for Jeremy, he’d had time to say to her, “I need to speak to you sometime, Meggie.”
She’d nodded, having no intention whatsoever of listening to him lecture her on something, probably on copying dear Charlotte, the perfect obedient subservient wife.
Mary Rose sat between Alec and Rory on the very front row. She was trying to hold Rory still since he was bouncing up and down, wanting, Meggie knew, to walk along beside her. She’d seen him just the day before practicing how to walk. Meggie saw her father try to frown his son down, but then she realized he just couldn’t. It would be like scolding a racing kitten. When Tysen smiled at his son, Rory managed to pull away from his mother and dash to his father and Meggie. Laughter erupted from the congregation. Tysen swooped down and grabbed up his son, even as Rory tried to climb over him to get to Meggie.
Meggie took the little boy’s face between her gloved hands and kissed him, then said, “Rory, will you and our papa both give me away?”
And Rory beamed and said loud enough for everyone in the church to hear, “Oh yes, Meggie, let me, let me. Meggie, is that really you under that white sack?”
Meggie lifted a corner of her beautiful veil and winked at Rory.
There was laughter until finally Bishop Arlington raised his hands.
Rory stood proudly by Tysen until the bishop asked who was giving Meggie away, to which both males replied, “I do.”
More laughter. Meggie looked up to see that her groom was smiling, a relief since he was very pale, probably as scared as she was.
Bishop Arlington had a booming voice that probably reached even the folk down at the tavern. He spoke of all sorts of expectations for Meggie, all blessed and approved by God, which made Meggie want to roll her eyes. She peeked up at Thomas, saw that he was looking quite severe, and so didn’t make a sound.
The marriage service barely lasted fifteen minutes. Now, she, Meggie Sherbrooke, was a countess and Thomas, at Bishop Arlington’s kind direction, was pulling back her veil, kissing her, smiling, looking immensely relieved as he said close to her ear, “You’re mine now, Meggie. Mine.”
“And you are mine, Thomas. Forever.”
And something deep moved in his eyes as he stared down at her, something deep and thick and veiled. He kissed her again, a quick light kiss because there were many people avidly watching. They turned toward the congregation, both smiling so big some feared their jaws would crack.
Meggie said out of the corner of her mouth, “This is so very exciting. Do you think you will drink champagne out of my slipper?”
* * *
Chapter 13
WASN’T UNTIL nearly six o’clock that evening when Mary Rose was fastening the small buttons of her traveling gown up Meggie’s back.
“Has Thomas told you where you are spending tonight?”
“No, the man has refused to tell me a thing. Not even a single hint. I have wheedled and promised all sorts of wicked favors if he would just give me one sentence, but he refused. I even offered to put my tongue in his mouth, but he refused to speak a word about it. Oh, forgive me, Mary Rose, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that this tongue business—I think I like it. Ah, I do hope we’re on a packet to Calais, then to Paris. I should love to go to Paris again, Mary Rose. Remember when we went last time? I was thirteen and we walked in the Luxemburg Gardens and visited Versailles and Notre Dame, how magnificent that was, and—”
Mary Rose interrupted her, laughing, “Yes, love, I remember it well.” She sighed then. “I believe I would have preferred to have your father to myself, but I endured having my interfering stepdaughter along.” For just an instant Meggie didn’t laugh at her jest. Mary Rose took Meggie’s face between her hands and kissed her. “I loved you from the moment you rescued me and sneaked me into your bedchamber at Kildrummy. I loved you even more when I heard you try to convince your father that you were innocent as a shorn lamb, that you weren’t hiding a thing from him. And I loved all the excuses your father had to invent to keep you out of our bedchamber at night.