Page 45 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

“ W hy am I so nervous?” Beatrice laughed awkwardly, adjusting the capped sleeves of her wedding gown for the hundredth time.

Beside her on the squabs, Valeria grinned. “Because you actually care about this wedding, dearest cousin.”

“I suppose that must be it.” Beatrice fidgeted with the ribbon of her bonnet, which had been trying to strangle her all morning.

“I am surprised you chose to wear red again, though,” Valeria remarked, in a stilted fashion that suggested she had been thinking about saying something for a while. Rehearsing it first.

Beatrice chuckled, glancing down at the rich, claret color of her skirts. “Vincent insisted. Julianna will kill me.”

“He did?” Valeria frowned. “Why would he do that? Do neither of you think it rather… gives the wrong impression?”

Beatrice shrugged. “I think that is why he insisted. They have had a Red Widow, now they can have a Red Bride. In truth, I do not much care what society has to say, for they have said quite enough about me. I am impervious from now on.” She sighed, resting her head against the upholstery.

“I am so happy, Valery. Maybe, that is why I am so nervous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it not obvious?” Beatrice closed her eyes.

“Now that I have something worth losing, I am rather scared of losing it. Then again, all I need do is look at Amelia and Lionel, and I realize that it is pointless to worry. All one can do is live and be happy in the moment and leave the rest to fate.”

Valeria took hold of Beatrice’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Have you been communing with the trees again?”

“I confess, I went to the yew tree last night,” Beatrice replied, smiling. “I just wanted to keep it abreast of the situation, for I think the trees are gossips; they like to know what is going on. Alas, I received no guidance, but perhaps I need none.”

She had spent the past three weeks since the events at Merricold residing at Wycliffe, anxiously waiting for each of the banns to be announced.

There had been no protest or complaint, and Vincent had visited often, though the pair had been conscious of doing everything correctly.

They did not want to cause a scandal before the scandal of their wedding day.

“You would not have to tell anyone,” Beatrice remembered insisting, when Vincent was about to depart for Grayling again. “You could stay, and no one would know.”

“But I want you to have the wedding you deserve,” he had replied.

“I want you to have the courtship and all the rest of it that you missed out on before. Although, I also want to finish everything that I have left to do in my work, so that when we are married at last, I will be all yours for a fair while. My attention undivided.”

That had been enough to convince her to do things properly, spending time apart before the wedding.

“Here we are!” Valeria squealed, the carriage rolling to a halt outside the church of St. Joseph.

It was the church nearest to the Grayling Estate, which suited Beatrice perfectly. It would have been too ghoulish to marry Vincent at the Wycliffe chapel, and she did not want to be married near to her parents. It was bad enough that Julianna had invited them.

I do owe her that, for being so kind.

In the span of three weeks, Julianna Wilds had been more of a mother to Beatrice than her real mother had been in one-and-twenty years.

There had been moments of conflict regarding the wedding, but, as it turned out, once someone won Julianna’s favor, she was actually a very lovely, engaging, amusing woman.

“Let us hope that this is my last,” Beatrice said with a breath, as the footman opened the carriage door to help her out.

Indeed, all of the staff from Wycliffe would be in attendance. That was something that Beatrice had insisted upon, for she owed them so much. Particularly Davis, the driver who had spared every effort to try and rescue her.

The day was beautiful, the air cool, the sky blue and cloudless. And in the churchyard, a yew tree stood watch over the spirits, its fronds still green though the trees around the perimeter of the church grounds were just beginning to turn into their autumn hues.

The perfect day for her fourth and final wedding.

“I now pronounce you man and wife, the Earl and Countess of Grayling,” the priest said, to the quiet sniffles and delighted smiles of the congregation.

Beatrice squeezed her husband’s hands, so overjoyed she thought she might burst.

“My love,” Vincent murmured, lifting her hand to his lips.

A few of the maids began to cheer, much to the chagrin of the two guests who had been placed among them, as far from the front as possible: Henry and Unity Johnson. The maids were undeterred, their excitement infectious, beginning an adorably awkward round of applause throughout the church.

To that sweet sound, Beatrice and Vincent made their way back up the aisle and out into the pristine morning.

“You look beautiful,” Vincent said, helping her into the waiting carriage. “I doubt you have ever looked more beautiful, in truth, but I think the same thing every day.”

“Stop it,” she chided playfully. “You shall inflate my pride until I cannot fit into this carriage. Indeed, you had best save that thought for when you see me tomorrow morning. You might be more horrified than enamored.”

He shook his head. “Never.” He leaned in, stealing a kiss before the congregation emerged. “Why, I am very much looking forward to waking up with you tomorrow morning.”

“Vincent Wilds, what an uncouth tongue you are beginning to have,” she teased. “Everyone will think I am a terrible influence after all.”

He chuckled, getting in. “I shall not let them.”

As they sat together on the squabs, Vincent put his arm around her, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to her hair. Both of them relishing the singular pleasure of just being together, knowing they were married, and nothing could tear them apart again.

But as the carriage began to move away from the church, taking them toward the celebrations that Julianna had prepared at Grayling, Vincent began a slightly gloomier topic.

“Frederick is to be hanged,” he said apologetically. “I did not want to tell you today, but my mother thought it would be a comfort rather than a burden. Either that, or she wanted me to tell you before you read of it in the papers.”

Beatrice peered up at him. “I have been avoiding the papers, as you well know.”

“They are very complimentary about you,” he told her, smiling.

“Indeed, they are pretending as if they thought you were the innocent party all along. One paper said they knew someone so extraordinarily beautiful could not be a killer. Their nicknames for you have not changed, but their tone has. I would say that is a victory.”

She cast him a mock-withering gaze. “They did not say I was extraordinarily beautiful. You are trying to inflate my pride again.”

“Perhaps, I embellished with my own opinion,” he conceded, dipping his head to kiss her.

With that, there was nothing more to say for the duration of the journey back to Grayling House.

They did not need words when they had the sweet enchantment of kisses, and time alone to indulge.

Beatrice savored every moment, every graze of his lips, every light caress of his fingertips against her neck, her waist, her cheek.

By the time they arrived at what would be Beatrice’s new home, they were both rather breathless and a little pink.

And they stood together on the porch steps, grinning at each other, as they waited to greet their guests for the wedding festivities.

Indeed, it was plenty of time for their faces to cool and their breathing to even out, so no one would suspect they had kissed their way home.

“You are the most resplendent bride!” Teresa gushed, as she hurried forward from her carriage, dragging Cyrus.

He gave a small nod. “A lovely ceremony. Congratulations.”

Beatrice embraced Teresa, clinging to her for a moment, before the couple were ushered aside by the next well-wishers: Edmund and Isolde, Amelia and Lionel, Rebecca and her grandmother, Caroline; then Noah and Catherine, Anthony and Silas.

It was all going so well, until Beatrice looked upon the stony faces of her parents, approaching next.

“Daughter, what a happy day,” Henry said tightly. “And what a glorious manor.”

Unity gazed up at it, a flicker of something like envy in her eyes. “I would not have chosen a red gown, though.” She smiled at Beatrice, the expression cold. “Anyone would think you were trying to draw attention to yourself.”

Vincent bristled. “She looks beautiful, and I chose the color.”

“Besides, it is my wedding day,” Beatrice interjected, matching her mother’s cool tone.

“Now, Henry, there is no need to call me ‘daughter.’ We are not anything to each other anymore. You need not pretend otherwise. Indeed, you do not even need to stay for the celebrations if that would be too much of an inconvenience.”

Unity heaved out a sigh. “Thank goodness. Yes, I think we will leave. We would not want to intrude.”

“But you are my daughter,” Henry insisted. “It would be strange if your parents were not in attendance at the wedding breakfast.”

Beatrice smiled. “I have no parents. You essentially said it yourself when you told me never to return. I am merely abiding by your wishes, so, please, do leave if you want.” She paused. “But I do hope you have a long and happy life together, as I intend to have with my beloved.”

“Apologies, coming through,” Julianna’s loud voice severed the awkward silence, as she pushed past, putting herself between Beatrice and her parents. She flashed a smile at Henry and Unity. “Excuse me, but I must borrow my son and my daughter-in-law for a moment.”

Without another word, Julianna grabbed the newlyweds by the hands and pulled them into the house, leaving Beatrice’s parents to mutter things to one another. The beginnings of a quarrel, no doubt.

“What did you need us for?” Vincent asked, as Julianna brought them to a halt outside the drawing room door.

“Oh, nothing, I just could not bear to watch them speak to my dear Beatrice like that,” Julianna replied, shoving them into the drawing room.

“Now, you two stay in here for… ten minutes, while I add the finishing touches to the dining table. I forgot the ribbons! I cannot let you see the room until I have arranged the ribbons!”

She hurried off, closing the drawing room door behind her. Although, Beatrice heard her cries of “Ribbons! The wretched ribbons!” long after she had departed.

“I think they are leaving,” Vincent said, walking to the window.

Beatrice joined him, slipping her arms around his waist as she leaned into him. “I think that is for the best.” She glanced up at him. “Promise me that we will never end up like them. Two people who can barely stand one another.”

He chuckled, lifting his hand to cradle her cheek. “We did that part first, so I do believe there is nothing but joy and utter contentment in our future.”

“I had not thought of it like that,” she said, laughing softly.

“And now?” he asked, brushing his thumb across her cheek.

“Now, I love you so very, very much.”

He dipped his head. “Now, I love you so very, very much.”

She smiled against his lips as he kissed her, neither of them caring that some guests might still be arriving and might see them through the window.

She did not care if the whole world knew how much they loved one another.

Indeed, she hoped they knew. She hoped the world could see it on their faces, whenever they were together.

As the sound of “Where are those ribbons! They must be somewhere!” echoed down the corridor outside, the happy couple broke their long, lingering kiss and smiled at each other.

“You get used to her,” Vincent said, laughing.

“I adore her,” Beatrice assured, looping her arms around his neck.

They swayed together as if in a dance, gazing at one another.

“Of course, it will be twice as loud once Prudence returns,” Vincent warned. “I had hoped she would come back for the wedding, but it seems she rather likes the north. Either that or she is punishing me.”

Beatrice gently stroked the silky curls at the back of his neck. “It is undoubtedly the former. In her letters to me, she could not speak highly enough of her aunt and where she is, and the events she has attended.” She paused. “If you like, I could escort her through the London Season.”

“Next year,” he said, to her surprise. “I have other plans for the rest of this year, until the spring.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Plans? What sort of plans?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out,” he murmured with a smile, as he leaned in to kiss her once more. “All I shall tell you is that I have no work to do for several months, and I have something of a desire to do what I have never done before.”

She raised her other eyebrow, giving a low whistle. “So uncouth.”

“That is not what I meant!” he rushed to reply, laughing. “I have a desire to travel, my love. With you. An extended honeymoon, if you have no objection?”

She raised up on tiptoe, pulling his head toward her as she whispered, “No objection at all,” and kissed him softly on the lips. Indeed, she could think of nothing more wonderful.

Just then, the door flew open.

“We are ready for you now!” Julianna cried. “I found the ribbons.”

Breaking the kiss, Vincent slid Beatrice’s arm through his and cast her a pointed look. “All those months away from here,” he whispered. “I can hardly wait.”

“Nor can I,” Beatrice whispered back, for she had been ready since their first kiss in her theater to begin their life together.

Whether that was at Grayling House or Wycliffe Manor or somewhere else entirely, she did not care, so long as she was with him. For wherever he was, was her home: the one place she would always belong, at long last.

The End?