Page 21 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)
G lenraven took the quill from his wife. The excitement rolled over him like a wave in the great North Sea as he realized his new responsibility. He glanced at Juliet, and his pulse settled. With his work for Barrington and his brigade, he had laid down his life for others. But at this moment, Juliet and her well-being were paramount to him. He leaned over the registry and clearly, proudly wrote Ewan James Alasdair Danford, Marquess of Glenraven.
“Well done, Lord and Lady Glenraven. Now,” the archbishop rubbed his hands together, “we celebrate.”
The small wedding party gathered in the refined elegance of the Archbishop’s Private Chamber. The room was filled with the soft clinking of fine china and the low murmur of pleasant conversation. Glenraven and Juliet, now man and wife, sat side by side, their hands occasionally brushing beneath the table—a silent language of shared joy.
The archbishop’s steward ensured that their guest’s glasses remained full while the archbishop kept the conversation light. Yet, amidst the pleasantries, his gaze often lingered on Ewan, sensing the unspoken concerns that lay beneath his composed exterior.
“Lord Glenraven,” the Archbishop began, his voice carrying a gentle authority that quieted the room, “how fares your father these days? I’ve heard of his accident and have kept him in my prayers.”
Glenraven met the Archbishop’s kind eyes, gratitude warming him. “Thank you, Your Excellency. He is recovering, though it’s been a trying time for us all.”
“Would it be amiss if I were to visit him? Offer some solace, perhaps?” the Archbishop offered, his concern genuine.
Ewan considered the offer, the idea of such a visit bringing a sense of comfort. “That would be most welcome, Your Excellency. I believe he would find great comfort in your visit.”
The Archbishop nodded, pleased to be of service. “Then it shall be arranged. It is the least I can do for a family that has contributed so much to our community.”
The morning was getting late. Glenraven discreetly nodded to Duncan and Hughes. “Duncan, there are other legal matters that need my attention.” Hughes tapped the Scotsman on the shoulder.
“Of course, Mr. Hughes.” As Duncan rose to take his leave and raised his glass, “Friends, raise your glass and join me.” He turned to the newlyweds with a warm smile. “May the love that binds ye be strong as the oak and gentle as the heather. May yer joys be as deep as the lochs and yer sorrows as light as the thistle’s down. And in all yer days together, may ye find peace as enduring as the highland stones.” He downed the last of his drink.
Juliet met the archbishop’s gaze, her expression one of heartfelt gratitude. “Before you leave, Your Excellency, I am truly thankful for all you’ve done for us.”
“Lady Glenraven, you stand beside a man of rare quality,” the archbishop gave her a gentle nod. With a final, respectful bow, he left the chamber as unobtrusive as possible.
Moments later, they emerged into the forecourt, where their carriages waited. Aunt Geraldine reached for Juliet’s hands, holding them between her own. “Juliet, my dear,” she said, her voice warm with affection, “cherish this day no matter how fleeting they may seem.”
Juliet’s eyes met her aunt’s. “I will.” She embraced her aunt, a gentle strength in her hold. “Thank you for everything. Your wisdom has been my guiding star.”
Aunt Geraldine returned the embrace, a soft sigh escaping her. “It takes time to adjust to a husband. Be patient. You’ll have some challenges until you publicly announce your marriage. Remember, I’ll always be here. We’ll navigate tomorrow’s soiree and all that follows.”
“Lady Glenraven,” her husband called to her as he waited by the coach door with his hand extended to her. After a tender embrace with her aunt, he handed her into the carriage, and they both waved goodbye.
She turned and stared at her husband. In the privacy of the carriage, with the steady rhythm of hooves against cobblestone, she deeply understood and felt the importance of the promises they made to each other at the ceremony. These vows were a profound connection to the moment, to each other, and to the future they were creating.
“Lady Glenraven.” He hadn’t let go of her hand. “I am taking you to a very special place. One that no one knows about. It is my secret and a place I’ve never shared with anyone.”
The carriage rolled smoothly out of Lambeth Palace’s forecourt, subtly shifting as it crossed the cobbled streets to a softer path. The route took them through a lesser-known gate, discreetly positioned along the palace’s perimeter wall, which opened onto a secluded lane obscured by overhanging trees.
The lane meandered, its bends shielding the newlyweds from the city’s eyes, and continued across the Thames to a place enclosed by tall hedges and the remnants of an old stone wall. The garden was a green oasis, a breath of tranquility amidst the bustle of London. The carriage came to a simple wrought-iron gate that stood at the threshold of the garden’s entrance. The coachman stopped, unlocked the gate, returned to the carriage, and carried on.
The carriage wheels came to rest on the gravel of the hidden garden’s path. Glenraven assisted Juliet from the carriage, their hands lingering in each other’s grasp.
They walked side by side, each step on the garden’s winding paths a step further into their own private area. As they strolled, they were accompanied by silent sentinels—statues and fountains that stood as quiet witnesses to their promenade.
“This is a remote part of our estate.” Glenraven’s voice was a quiet echo amidst the rustling leaves. “Only a few know of this summerhouse, hidden by ivy and ancient walls. It is here where one can escape the clamor of London.”
Juliet’s fingers gently pressed his in acknowledgment, her steps beside him unhurried. “To think such a treasure has been kept from view. Do you find this secret garden the same as our situation? We cannot tell anyone about our wedding. We must keep it from view as well.”
As he passed a bush, he carefully picked a violet-blue bloom and handed it to Juliet. “It’s not what I want. But there is little choice.”
“I understand the necessity. We don’t have to like it.”
“No, we don’t.” They moved on.
“The bouquet,” Juliet sniffed the bloom he gave her, “was thoughtful of you, to say nothing of its beauty. Duncan mentioned you selected each bloom.”
A smile found its way to Glenraven’s face. “There was so much you gave up for your wedding. I hoped that the flowers might brighten the day. Yet, it was you who were the most breathtaking flower. And I will say we made a handsome couple in our matched attire, you in your dark green gown and me in my bottle-green coat.”
“We both chose the same color. Does that mean we are ‘well suited.’”
A soft chuckle escaped Glenraven as he caught the playful twinkle in Juliet’s eye. “Indeed, we are ‘well suited’ in more ways than one.” The delight in his voice mingled with the afternoon air. They continued their stroll, the shared humor drawing them closer together.
As they neared the summerhouse, he halted beside a venerable stone statue of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, which stood sentinel at the entrance. With a conspiratorial wink, he reached behind the quiver slung over the deity’s shoulder, his fingers brushing against the hidden niche to the divine huntress. He pulled out a small, aged, and ornate key and unlocked the door. At the threshold Juliet could see it was a place untouched by time, where the outside world could not intrude.
“The summerhouse was built by my great-great-great grandfather as a gift to his new bride. It has sturdy stone walls that have weathered over time.”
Juliet’s gaze swept across the summerhouse, her eyes landing on the small, lattice-paned windows. She took a deep breath, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the delicate pattern on her wedding ring.
She glanced out of it and was rewarded with a view of the garden. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice, full of awe and nervousness, was barely audible. “Almost like a dream.”
The walls painted a soft buttery yellow with crisp white wainscoting, created a cozy warmth. She ran her fingers over the antique wooden furniture—a sturdy table set in the center of the room, flanked by matching chairs, and a sideboard resting against the far wall, all polished to a gentle sheen. Along one side of the room was a modest bed draped with handmade quilts. The scent of aged wood, enriched by the delicate fragrance of dried herbs hanging from the beams, filled the air, creating a room steeped in history and charm. A comfortable armchair and a plush sofa were positioned by the hearth, promising warmth and hearthside cooking. Behind the sofa was a small table with a chess set, ready to play, with two chairs placed on either side.
Glenraven gently closed the door behind them, the soft click a final pause to the world outside. They moved toward the sofa, their steps in quiet harmony. He paused a moment for the stillness of the summerhouse to settle around them.
“I hoped you’d like the cottage. This place,” he spoke softly, “is where we can speak freely, away from prying eyes. I want you to feel as much at home here as I do.”
Juliet turned to him, her eyes searching his face. “You’re correct. This isn’t what either of us planned.” Her voice trembled slightly. “But I’m glad we’re here together.” She picked up the queen and placed it back on the chess board.
“Shall we play?” Ewan asked with a smile, as he held out the chair for her.
Juliet nodded, her fingers delicately placing the knights and bishops. “It’s been too long since our last match. Let’s see if I can still outmaneuver you.”
Ewan chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I doubt I’ve improved much. But let’s talk as we play. There are important matters we need to discuss.”
Juliet mirrored his move, her eyes focused on the board. “Agreed. Where shall we start?”