Page 20 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)
April 21, 1820
G lenraven’s breakfast was usually a solitary affair, but this morning, he daydreamed of the delightful prospect of sharing mornings like this with his wife, his Juliet. Lost in these pleasant thoughts, he was brought abruptly back to reality when the disheveled figure of Sebastian barged into the room. The man’s appearance was as untidy as the pungent mix of last night’s revelry that clung to him, a combination of smoke, spirits, and a heavy, smoky lemon scented perfume used in a vain attempt to mask the evidence of his indulgence. The scent clashed with the clean morning air of the breakfast room, an unwelcome reminder of the world beyond.
“Good God, Sebastian, do you ever sleep?” Glenraven criticized his cousin with a voice that echoed through the hall.
Sebastian, with a roguish grin that didn’t quite reach his bleary eyes, slumped into a chair across from him. “Sleep is for those without cards in their hand,” he slurred, pouring himself a generous glass of what remained in the bottle of Glenraven’s wine he had taken from the sideboard on his way to the table. “When are you going to let me win back my blunt?”
Glenraven sighed, pushing his plate away. “You lost fair and square, Sebastian. I owe you no chance at redemption.”
Sebastian’s gaze wandered, taking in the room as if seeing it for the first time. “But you do, cousin. I insist we play tonight.” The tone of his demand was insistent.
“I have already made arrangements for this evening.” Glenraven drummed his fingers on the table. “Perhaps next week.”
A sly look crept into Sebastian’s eyes as he leaned forward. A conspiratorial whisper colored his words. “On your birthday, then?”
Glenraven paused, considering, then nodded in resignation. “Very well, on my birthday. I had no idea you were so eager to give me another gift.”
With a satisfied smirk, Sebastian drained his glass and rose, his departure as unceremonious as his arrival, leaving Glenraven to speculate on what the visit was all about.
“Was that Sebastian stumbling out of the door?” Duncan appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “Did you ask him about Wickham?”
“No. It slipped my mind.” Glenraven stared at his friend as a wide grin spread across his face. “You do me a big honor. I can’t recall the last time I saw you in your kilt with your sporran, kilt hose, and ghillie brogues. I must admit, you are a handsome highlander lad.”
Duncan made his way over to him. “Ach, I sport my kilt for the wee lass. Not you. And while I wear my plaid, I have laid out your clothes for this morning. I’ll have you all cleaned up and looking like a prize by the time you say your vows.” Duncan clapped him on his back a bit more forcefully than usual and sat beside him. “So, what was Sebastian doing here?” the playfulness out of his tone.
“He didn’t like that I haven’t given him time to win back his money. I told him we’ll have a go of it next week. He suggested on my birthday.”
“You know he intends to press you about the inheritance.” Duncan spit out the words.
“Yes, and hopefully, I will have a present of my own to give him. Enough about him.” Glenraven got to his feet. “I need to clean up, at least according to you.”
“I don’t know.” Duncan stood up. Next to Glenraven, the tall Scotsman was only a touch taller. “It will take me days to get you ready.”
Glenraven raised an elegant eyebrow and glanced at his pocket watch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work fast. You only have an hour before we leave.”
The two friends laughed as they left the room and headed upstairs.
*
Ninety minutes later, a hush fell over the small gathering in the Archbishop’s chapel. Light from the stained-glass window cast a glow on the intimate setting. Glenraven and Duncan waited with the archbishop. Mr. Wilcox and Mrs. Murthy sat facing them.
Glenraven stood next to Duncan in his bottle-green coat, his cravat two shades lighter, and buff trousers and waistcoat. On his lapel, he wore a pin with his family crest.
“Did you bring the flowers?” Glenraven asked Duncan, a slight fear evident that they had been overlooked.
“Yes. Do you have—” Duncan replied.
“I gave it to the archbishop when we arrived.” Glenraven nodded toward the table to his side and paused. Juliet and Aunt Geraldine entered the chapel. A subtle smile played on her lips when Juliet’s gaze met his. The archbishop’s voice filled the hushed chapel as he held a platter draped with velvet cloth embroidered with the Glenraven crest. “As we gather in the presence of this sacred union, it is with great joy that we witness the Marquess bestow upon his bride a gift, a cherished tradition of the House of Glenraven.”
He turned to Glenraven, who stepped forward and removed the cloth from the small table that stood close to him, revealing a delicate circlet of diamonds set in gold vines. He lifted the heirloom and turned toward Juliet.
“This coronet symbolizes my family’s past, which we welcome you into. You and I will add our mark on the family history. May this circlet rest upon your brow as a sign of our shared future and all that binds us. As each stone has been carefully set into place, so too are our lives now intricately intertwined.” He held the coronet over her head. “I crown you my wife, my partner, and the new matriarch of the Glenraven lineage.”
With steady hands, he placed the circlet on her head, the diamonds catching the light. Juliet’s eyes met his, a silent affection reflected in their depths.
Glenraven gently adjusted the circlet, then leaned closer, his voice a hushed echo of the solemn chapel around them. “With this circlet, I vow to honor the legacy of the Glenravens who came before us,” he whispered. “To cherish you as they cherished their beloveds, with a heart steadfast and true. Our union shall be as unyielding as my love for you, enduring through all our days.”
“I had no idea.” A soft blush painted her cheeks, and the corners of her lips curved into a smile that radiated the surprise and joy of the moment.
“This bride gift is part of an ancient ceremony and is traditionally bestowed upon the new marchioness at the discretion of the marquess. Are you ready for the archbishop?”
Juliet nodded. “Yes, I am.”
They both turned and stood before the archbishop. In a gentle voice that resonated through the chamber, he began, “We are gathered here to join this man and this woman in matrimony, witnessed by those they hold dear.”
As the archbishop’s words echoed through the stillness, vows were exchanged. Glenraven turned to Duncan, who placed an etched gold band in his hand. He faced Juliet and took her hand. He placed the ring on her finger and stared into her bright hazel eyes. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
*
As they stood before the archbishop, their eyes remained locked on each other, a silent conversation between them. The archbishop cleared his throat softly, a smile dancing on his lips as he drew the couple’s attention. “By the sacred trust placed in me, I declare you husband and wife. May your journey be rich with love, steeped in understanding, and abundant in joy.”
Aunt Geraldine, Mrs. Murthy, Mr. Wilcox, Hughes, and Duncan moved closer, each competing for the biggest smile. Duncan’s hearty slap on Glenraven’s back and wide beaming grin clearly reflected his genuine happiness for them. Hughes gave a subtle nod. A man of few words, the small gesture confirmed he was happy for them.
Aunt Geraldine whispered her congratulations before pulling Juliet into a warm embrace with tears in her eyes. Mr. Wilcox and Mrs. Murthy exchanged knowing smiles, their affection for Juliet clear and from their hearts.
“Thank you,” Glenraven said to everyone, his voice filled with gratitude. “Your presence here today means more than words can express.”
Juliet nodded in agreement, her voice soft but filled with emotion. “You have all been a part of our journey, and we are happy to share this moment with you.”
“May your journey together be filled with love that deepens, challenges that strengthen, and joy that endures,” the archbishop said, his voice warm and sincere.
“Together, we will create—” Glenraven began.
“Our own destiny,” Juliet whispered, finishing the phrase. A smile touched her lips. “I didn’t think you’d remember the lines from our Punch and Judy performance.”
“How could I forget? That’s when I found you.” Glenraven’s eyes reflected the truth of his words. “Come, we don’t want to keep the others waiting.”
“There is one last formality.” The archbishop stood before them. “Come into the vestry. You must enter your marriage lines. You and your witnesses need to sign the marriage registry,”
Standing before the registry book with Glenraven looking on and the archbishop at her side, Juliet took the quill in hand, her signature flowing across the page—Juliet Anne Hayward.
There was a sad sense of farewell to her maiden name, a name that connected her to her family’s history. Yet, along with the bittersweet farewell was the thrill of beginning a new chapter, the excitement of adopting the Glenraven title and all it signified. And as she handed the quill to her husband, her heart skipped a beat. Her husband. She was a Glenraven, ready to step forward as the Marchioness and face the future with whatever it would bring.