Page 57 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)
Penhalwick, St. Petroc’s Church
T he current Earl of Pender, Lucius Oshea was past caring what anyone thought save for one person—Lady Meredith Jephson-Oshea, the current Countess of Pender.
No longer did he consider his bride at four and twenty to his four and thirty obscene.
There was no one more perfect for him in every sense of the word.
St. Petroc’s church was a humble yet striking example of Cornish ecclesiastical architecture, blending medieval heritage with the rugged character of the land itself.
Inside, he found an air of quiet resilience, much like the people of Penhalwick themselves.
The scent of stone and wood lingered in the cool air and mingled with flowers and the wax of the many candles burning.
Though humble, the church held a sense of sacredness—a solace and unity—that touched him.
Lucius thought of the last time he’d entered a church, remembered how tempted he’d been to knock over one to two of those candles to set St. George’s ablaze with his fury.
An entirely different feeling engulfed him now.
Last time, he couldn’t recall his bride’s name.
Today, he wanted to shout her name to the rafters.
Make certain the church—full to bursting with villagers, family, and friends—knew that he not only recalled his wife’s name this time around but realized exactly how much he adored and cherished her.
Hence, the recent interrogation from her three closest friends.
All of whom seated prominently in the first two pews of the church along with Lucius’s own brothers, Noah and Julius, his cousin Isabelle, his Aunt Verda and Uncle Sander. Baron Ruskin, now betrothed to Lady Abra, was also in attendance.
Lord Blackstone sat in the back row, determined to keep a low profile for the time being and for reasons unknown to Lucius.
The gown Meredith wore, if he wasn’t mistaken, was the same ice-blue gown she’d donned the first time they’d wed. Three years ago, the blood had congealed in his veins. Now, his blood ran hot as an Italian’s and matching depth of passion.
The same veil of stark white lace covered her face.
The Queen’s trend in covering the bride’s face he’d gladly approved of at the time.
He now abhorred it with his every breath.
His fingers itched to see her lovely face.
To see her eyes shining with her love he vowed to bask in for the remainder of his life.
Vicar Bosworth’s deep voice jarred Lucius from his radiant and hope-filled reflections. “Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her—”
Yes! He would love her. He would comfort her. He absolutely would keep her in sickness and in health.
“Lord Pender?”
Lucius flinched.
“Your vow, sir.” The vicar’s low timbre caught him unawares. The stab of Lady Abra’s stare pierced the skin between his shoulders. Surely, he was bleeding profusely.
Lucius cleared his throat and spoke loudly, proudly. He wanted no doubts of his intentions this time around. “I absolutely will.” His voice bounded with renewed confidence through the ancient church.
His wife’s fingers shook just as they had three years before. But this time it was with excitement and anticipation. Insides smiling, Lucius steadied her hand and slid the gold band in place then brought her hand to his lips and kissed the ring and finger he’d placed it on.
“You may lift her veil, my lord.”
The Brussels’ exquisite lace was soft within his fingers. His heart pounded, and it was a wonder it didn’t drum against the stone walls. With a shallow breath, he forced himself to calm, then lifted.
The streaks of chestnut in her blonde, goldish hair was in keeping of their reenacting that day three years ago—swept from her face in a bun that set at the crown of her head just like before, encircled with that same diamond-studded tiara—the promise of starting anew from that moment.
Her moss-green eyes stared up at him, twinkling with mirth, joy, contentment.
God, she was so beautiful, so lovely. For a long moment he was caught in the exhilaration he saw there.
Her plump pink lips curved, revealing her true desire.
Him . This journey they were on, destined to one another for the remainder of their lives.
“I now pronounce you Lord and Lady Pender of Penhalwick. Kiss your bride, my lord.”
With great enthusiasm, Lucius did as the vicar commanded.
The congregation broke out into deafening cheers. He was almost certain Lady Abra and Geneva’s were among the loudest.
Lucius took Meredith’s arm and faced the standing assembly. “Please join my new wife and me at Perlsea Keep for the traditional wedding breakfast. All are welcome.”
More rousing cheers greeted this announcement and together, he and Meredith took the long walk to the open doors at the back of St. Petroc’s. On the church steps, no raindrops splattered the cobblestones. It was pure bright, cleansing sunlight.
The gaze of the crowd didn’t judge or dissect or wait for cracks to appear. These people, his people, were here to celebrate; they were here to witness and share the new beginning Meredith and he had chosen.
As before, Bartlett stood beside the carriage and swung the door back as they approached. Lucius assisted Meredith up and leaped in after her, grinning. He settled across from her and met her… worried eyes.
Lucius took her hands in his. “What is it?”
She lowered her eyes and shook her head, her lips trembling.
He lifted her chin, stunned to find tears shimmering. “Darling, tell me. It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s terrible,” she whispered. After a moment, she breathed in through her nose and seemed to stiffen her spine. “I-I have a confession to make.”
Lucius’s stomach dropped like a dive from the cliffs and hit the depths of the underworld where Poseidon ruled. He was being fanciful, ridiculous. “Whatever it is, my love, we shall weather it together.”
“I’ve been… unfaithful,” she whispered again.
His grip on her fingers tightened but he waited. Jumping to conclusions was the old Lucius. The scared child Lucius. He meant it. They could, would weather this together .
“I… I used my fingers to… to pleasure myself. In the bath. I’m sorry.”
He barely kept from gasping, or his laughter from erupting. “And, er, were you thinking of someone in particular when you embarked upon this heinous crime of… passion?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she whispered, dropping her gaze. “I was thinking of you.”
“I… see.” Lucius pushed a hand through his hair, trying to decide how to handle this miscarriage of justice—the fact that he hadn’t been there. “Well,” he said briskly. “There is only one punishment for such a flagrant infraction.”
Her eyes quickly lifted to his.
His lips twisted at the earnestness in her expression, but he met it with mock disapproval. “I believe I shall be required to witness this transgression firsthand.”
Meredith’s mouth parted in an ‘O’ before her gaze narrowed on him. Wisely so. “Firsthand,” she repeated slowly.
“Definitely. Firsthand.” He tugged her onto his lap. “I must ensure you are doing it correctly, of course. At the first opportunity. Right now, however, I just wish to kiss you.”
Her arms weaved their way about his neck.
“All right,” she breathed hotly against his cheek.
“I suppose I can agree to your decreed punishment. And, perhaps, other edicts as long as such ‘transgressions’ as you call them are reciprocal.” This was said with a coy smile, because, by God, his wife was quick on the uptake.
She then locked her lips to his that lasted all the way up the hill to the Keep that overlooked—oversaw—their commitment to this land, these people of Penhalwick.
Perhaps his reputation as The Shadow could finally be laid to rest.
Thus, began the Earl and Countess of Penders’ marriage in earnest.