Page 39

The lane began to slope downwards and, lifting the umbrella higher, she glimpsed Ballydarry in the distance, the spire of St Canice’s standing out even through the downpour. She gripped her skirts tighter and tried to walk faster, despite being hampered by the mud and her entirely inappropriate footwear. If she had been cursed with seven years’ bad luck because of that mirror, then she supposed there was every likelihood that she might turn her ankle. But she didn’t slow down.

By the time she reached the vestibule of St Canice’s Church and dashed into its shelter, her slippers were soaked and filthy. Dropping her skirts, she discovered that her efforts to save her gown had not been successful; the hem was smeared with mud, and she cringed at the sorry sight. Perhaps her bad luck had been her own reckless decision to leave the carriage behind.

The doors leading from the vestibule into the nave were closed, but she thought she could hear faint murmurings beyond them. Was Cormac in there? Her whole body itched with her urgent need to know. Hastily closing the umbrella, she propped it in the corner of the vestibule and approached the doors, her posy dangling limply from her hand. She would just take a peek without anyone seeing her – once she had assuaged this irrational sense of foreboding, she could wait for the others to arrive.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on the ear-splitting creak that the door made as she pulled it back – she could hardly have announced her presence more loudly. Numerous heads turned in her direction from the pews, but she peered past them, seeking the one face that mattered most.

And there he was, standing to the side at the top of the aisle. He was angled towards the altar but he turned at the deafening noise of the door. Her heart settled back into place as she took in his tall, handsome figure, present and unscathed. How striking he looked in his black frock coat, fitted at the waist and flaring down to his thigh – although a damp sheen to its shoulders indicated that his day had not been without its tribulations either.

His smile slipped into an expression of concern, and she wondered just how shambolic she appeared. She shook her head, trying to convey that there was nothing to worry about, but she instantly realised her mistake when his eyes widened in shock. Oh, dear God, how had he misconstrued the gesture? Had it seemed like she was saying no, like she was refusing to go up the aisle?

She was prepared to sprint straight up there to disabuse him of that notion when she heard a frantic whisper behind her.

‘Mama!’

Glancing over her shoulder, she found Emily, Ellen, Polly and John standing in the vestibule. All three women had mud splatters on the hems of their dresses, while John was filthy up to his knees. She let the door creak shut and gaped at them.

‘The horses eventually pulled the carriage free,’ Emily said, her features full of distress, ‘but not until after we’d got out and ended up in the mud ourselves. And then poor John tripped when he was climbing back into the driver’s seat. Oh, Mama, we are all in such an awful state!’

Bridget couldn’t help herself – she laughed. ‘We are! And there’s nothing we can do about it, so let’s go in there, shall we?’

‘Wait, wait!’ Polly said quickly. She stepped forwards and adjusted Bridget’s lace mantilla, then smoothed the gown over her petticoats as best she could. ‘Take small steps so your shoes don’t peek out,’ she advised.

‘And here, use this,’ Emily said, holding out her posy. ‘It’s in fresher shape.’

Bridget sheepishly swapped one posy for the other. ‘We’d better hurry,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, Cormac’s going to think I’ve called off the wedding.’

Alarmed, Polly and Ellen both hastened through the door into the nave. They must have given some sort of indication that all was well, for in the next moment an organ began to play.

‘Off you go, gooseberry,’ Bridget said with a smile, moving back to let Emily through.

That left just her and John in the vestibule. She had seriously considered walking up the aisle alone – after all, it was her second marriage and she did not need to be ‘given away’ this time. But if fate had been kinder and she had married Cormac from the start, John would have undoubtedly stood in for her late father. It felt only right, then, to have him by her side for this new beginning.

He held open the creaky door and guided her through on his arm, prompting everyone in the church to rise. This time, she let her gaze focus on the pews and she experienced a dart of astonishment to see them so full – a great many of Oakleigh’s tenants were in attendance, despite the fact that this wasn’t a Catholic ceremony. Among them, she recognised Ben Bracken and his sister, Annie, standing next to Maisie McKinty and her husband, while even Dr Lynch had come. Polly and Ellen had slipped into a pew occupied by Ellen’s three children, along with the maid Cathy, whose attention appeared to be drifting towards the bridegroom instead of the bride. Further up, Bridget spotted Mr Enright, his hat and coat saturated, as well as Mrs Kavanagh and Denis, who seemed to be competing over which one of them could beam the brightest.

For a brief moment, a pang of sadness swept over her for those who were absent on this special day. If only Orlaith and the rest of the family in Chicago didn’t live so far away. She dearly wished they could all be here – yes, even Tess.

Then her spirits brightened as she and John approached the top of the aisle and the occupants of the front pew came into view. Gus’s tricorne wobbled on his head as he waved energetically at her, while Jack just smiled in his own quiet way. Beside them were Rory and Patrick, who had become noticeably more cordial with each other since the family visited Ashbrook Lodge.

Bridget felt a particular rush of fondness towards Patrick, for he was the reason they were all here today. If he hadn’t provoked Garrett into bettering himself for the sake of his son’s respect, the divorce would never have happened. They truly owed Patrick so much.

And then her eyes found Cormac’s. He stood waiting ahead of her, his hands clasped calmly before him, but the shining emotion in his face belied his composed stance. She felt her feet quicken until she was leading John instead of the other way around. When they reached Cormac, he extended his hand to John and grasped his arm with unspoken gratitude. John clapped him on the shoulder and kissed Bridget on her cheek before stepping back into a pew. Cormac turned to Bridget and his fingers closed around hers, warm and sure. Her anchor.

‘I’m glad you made it,’ he murmured. ‘I was halfway down the aisle to find out what was going on when Ellen and Polly came in and shooed me back up to the altar.’

‘I’m so sorry for causing unnecessary alarm,’ she mumbled. ‘And also for my dishevelled appearance.’

His mouth curved upwards. ‘Dishevelled is always how I’ve liked you best.’

He winked and she blushed.

They faced the celebrant, who was the only stranger in the church. She would have much preferred to be married by Father Macken, but of course he couldn’t officiate within these walls. The celebrant began to speak, welcoming them all, especially the bride and groom – if he harboured any disapproval of her divorced status, he kept his opinion to himself, for which she was thankful.

His words washed over her in a happy blur until he enunciated in a very serious tone, ‘If any man can shew any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’

She tensed.

Silence fell.

And it remained unbroken.

She let out a breath as the celebrant carried on, guiding them through their vows. Cormac spoke them first and she thrilled at every word of commitment he uttered, feeling the promise of them settle in her very bones. When it was her turn, she poured every ounce of devotion into her oath, declaring before their family and friends that she belonged to this man and no other. The rain continued to beat against the church windows, a reminder of all the storms they had weathered to reach this point.

Then Cormac produced the gold ring that he had taken from her the day before. Its metalwork depicted two hands cradling a crowned heart, and it embodied the truth of all that they had pledged to one another – their friendship, their loyalty, and their love, woven together in an unbreakable bond.

At this juncture, Emily moved forwards to take Bridget’s posy, beaming even as tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Bridget passed her the posy and cupped her chin tenderly before turning back to Cormac, who lifted her left hand.

‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ he said in a clear, steady voice.

He discreetly touched the ring to the knuckles of her thumb, index finger and middle finger, before slipping it onto her fourth finger – a subtle nod to the Catholic custom. It settled back where it belonged and she felt a sense of deep fulfilment.

There was no ring for him, but she caressed his left wrist where the leather band lay hidden beneath his cuff and whispered, ‘With this, I thee wed.’

He gave her a look full of affection, and they both comprehended the band’s new significance.

The celebrant’s voice rose once more. ‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’

The hypocrisy of the pronouncement pricked at her conscience. By its decree, her first marriage should not have ended. But she had made those vows to Garrett against her will – how could that be considered sacred? This second union, however, she had chosen freely and entered into it wholeheartedly. It would endure until she and Cormac took their final breaths.

After the celebrant finished his blessing, they signed the marriage register, and then it was done. She gazed up into Cormac’s warm blue irises, her heart brimming with joy. Finally, after all these years, they were husband and wife. He bent his head and kissed her, the touch of his lips gentle and reverential.

When they turned to the pews, she sought out the faces of their children first. All three of them were glowing with pride. Beyond them, the church was a sea of smiles. As Cormac led Bridget down the aisle, murmurs of congratulations pressed in on them from all sides. Mrs Kavanagh waved her handkerchief before blowing her nose loudly.

They reached the vestibule, at which point Bridget expected they would need to make use of the umbrella again. But then she peered out the doorway.

‘I think the rain has stopped!’

She and Cormac emerged into the churchyard to find that the deluge had indeed passed over at last. What was more, it had left a stunning rainbow in its wake, arcing across the sky through breaking clouds.

‘How breathtaking!’ she marvelled.

‘My breath is taken away for an entirely different reason,’ he said and he swept her into a passionate embrace for one swift second before they were inundated with well-wishers coming out of the church behind them.

They didn’t have another moment to themselves until much later that evening, when he tugged her gently away from their family and friends who were still celebrating inside the manor – every single person seemed determined to make the most of this rare occasion to be joyful after so many blight-ravaged years. Leaving them to their merriment, he led her down to the kitchens and out the back door into the cobbled courtyard. The sky above was streaked with the orange of sunset. She assumed he wanted to bring her to the orchard, but instead he guided her past the stables and to the furthest hay barn. Inside, he glanced around the dim space and then steered her to an empty point near the centre.

‘I think this is it,’ he said with a nod.

‘This is what?’ she asked, nonplussed.

‘The exact spot where we first said “I love you” to each other.’

Her pulse pounded.

‘The haystacks are obviously not in the same places,’ he said, gesturing to their surroundings. ‘But there was one right here that night, and this is where we sat.’

She swallowed as the memories heated her skin. ‘I remember.’

He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. ‘Wife,’ he said softly, as though seeing how it tasted on his tongue.

She smiled and murmured, ‘Husband.’ It tasted wonderful. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you.’ He cupped the back of her neck and leaned his forehead down to touch hers. ‘God, how I love you, Mrs McGovern.’