Page 13 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)

Fernleigh House Drawing Room

Three days later—half of eleven

Robyn glanced up from studying the flickering sunrays on the faded Aubusson carpet.

After two days of pouring rain, the sun had battled through the pewter clouds, almost like an omen of good things to come, or as a blessing on this special day. Because no matter the circumstances, marrying Georgine marked the day as special in his memory for all time.

Appearing staid and solemn as always, Reverend Goodfellow stood near the unlit fireplace, holding a well-used volume of The Book of Common Prayer . The black calfskin prayer book contained the vows Robyn and Georgine would soon exchange.

Georgine entered the drawing room, sandwiched between Matilda and Regina .

Both appeared far happier and radiant than Robyn’s bride.

At Georgine’s behest, only their sisters would act as witnesses to the brief ceremony.

Robyn had expected she would want the other Ladies of Opportunity present, but had honored her request. He hadn’t even invited his cousin, Shelby Tellinger . Shelby would demand an explanation, and once given, would understand.

Because of her arm’s limited mobility, Georgine still could not wear a proper gown.

Matilda and Regina had surprised her with a pretty new wrap.

The champagne-colored silk wrap shimmered as it clung to Georgine’s shoulders, its folds shifting with every step.

Silver thread outlined delicate vines along the edges, and periwinkle blue forget-me-nots bloomed in each corner.

Celadon green tassels swayed at the front, anchoring the wrap in place with effortless grace.

One sister had swept Georgine’s hair into a simple but elegant Grecian updo.

Someone , likely Matilda , had also tucked a few orange blossoms in Georgine’s hair.

She wore no jewelry, but in her good hand, carried a nosegay of pink-striped peonies, delicate lily of the valley, soft pink dianthus, and pale blue love-in-the-mist. A thick white satin ribbon encircled the stems.

Her humble wedding attire caused a poignant lump to lodge in Robyn’s throat.

No wonder she did not want others in attendance.

Not only was Georgine entering a marriage of convenience, but what bride wanted to exchange vows in her nightclothes with her arm in a sling?

She should have been draped in satin and lace, dripping in jewels, and carrying an enormous bouquet that rivaled the church’s floral decorations. All of their closest friends and acquaintances should have been there to mark the joyous occasion after the banns had been read for three weeks.

Afterward , the guests would have been treated to a sumptuous feast, and she would have honeymooned in Italy or Greece or some other exotic location.

Instead , their wedding would be a brief— very brief —ceremony by special license, followed by a modest luncheon as Georgine’s diet remained somewhat restricted.

For certain, consummating the marriage would have to wait.

Robyn wasn’t a monster or so eager to bed Georgine that he would risk injury to her healing shoulder. Besides , every instinct he possessed bellowed for him to tread softly and take things at a snail’s pace.

Let her come to him.

He was a patient man.

What was that old French adage?

“ Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre.”

All comes in good time to those who know how to wait.

And then there was Georgine’s short list of terms.

No intimacy for at least six months— Robyn wouldn’t have agreed to a marriage in name only, but he could abstain for six months.

Unless Georgine decided she wanted to become his wife in truth sooner.

Regina could attend Blenstock that was certain.

The Reverend cleared his throat. “ Shall we begin?”

Panic flashed across Georgine’s delicate features, and for a moment, Robyn thought she would turn tail and bolt.

Hugging her, Regina whispered something in her sister’s ear, and Georgine’s expression transformed from dread to resolve. Swallowing , she nodded, and with admirable poise, crossed to stand beside Robyn .

He smiled down at her, and she offered a tremulous upsweep of her lips in return.

After opening The Book of Common Prayer , Reverend Goodfellow flipped a few less-than-crisp pages until he came to the page he sought.

“ Though it is unusual to have such an abbreviated recitation, we shall skip directly to the actual avowals. Please face each other, join right hands, and repeat after me.”

Georgine passed her nosegay to Regina before extending her hand.

Robyn clasped the delicate appendage within both of his.

Her pulse beat a frantic staccato at her collarbone and beneath his fingertips.

She focused her attention on his chin, and Robyn fought a grin.

His bride-to-be was far from unaffected, and he couldn’t help but admire her composure.

After glancing between them, Reverend Goodfellow began.

“ Will thou Robyn Wade Gillson Fitzlloyd have this woman as your wife?”

“ I will.” Robyn did not hesitate.

This might not have been how he envisioned getting married, but there was no other woman he would rather have taken as his wife.

“ Will thou Georgine Emily - Jane Edwina Thackerly have this man as your husband?”

Georgine parted her lips.

Would she?

Robyn held his breath.

She flicked her gaze upward, searching his face.

What did she seek?

“ I will.”

Firm . Steadfast . Clear .

They recited the binding vows in a blur, and then Reverend Goodfellow said, “ The ring, please.”

Robyn fished around in his coat pocket for a moment before extracting the thin, gold band—elegant simplicity.

He slid it on Georgine’s finger.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her pupils contracted to a pinpoint.

Had she thought he would not give her a ring?

Later , when she recovered, if she desired, she could select another, more lavish wedding ring. But somehow, Robyn didn’t think she would. Though she liked pretty things, from what he had observed of her over the years, she preferred understated elegance.

Reverend Goodfellow concluded in a flourish, “ Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father , and of the Son , and of the Holy Ghost . Amen .”

“ Amen ,” everyone murmured.

Beaming , her eyes bright with youthful excitement, Regina tucked her arm into the curve of Matilda’s elbow. “ We are truly sisters now.”

“ Indeed , we are.” Matilda gave Robyn a bright smile. “ And now you have a brother too.”

A not-so-subtle hint that Regina would have to put aside any romantic notions she may have harbored for Robyn .

The reverend retired to a table, upon which sat the leather-bound parish register. “ Mr . and Mrs . Fitzlloyd , Miss Thackerly , Miss Fitzlloyd , I shall need you to sign the register.”

He held up a turkey-feather quill.

Mrs . Fitzlloyd .

That had a wonderful ring to it, despite the circumstances.

Using dark gall ink, Robyn signed the register’s creamy page first, swiftly followed by the women.

Once done, he clasped Georgine’s good elbow.

“ Mrs . Fennick has prepared a festive luncheon for us.” He winked. “ I have it on good authority that there might be syllabub topped with fresh raspberries.”

“ That sounds delicious.” A tiny spark ignited in Georgine’s eyes, and though minuscule, it gave Robyn hope.

Regina had been all too eager to share Georgine’s favorite foods, and her favorite desserts were syllabub and raspberries.

Her favorite flowers—lilies.

Favorite color—white.

Nevertheless , he had much to learn about his new wife.

He extended his arm toward the doorway. “ Shall we?”

Never one to turn down a free meal, Reverend Goodfellow made a beeline toward the corridor, followed by Regina and Matilda , still arm in arm.

Robyn turned Georgine to face him and stared into her luminous eyes.

“ We shall be happy, Georgine . I promise.”

“ Would you care to bet on that, Robyn ?”

She raised a winged eyebrow, her mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “ Or are the odds too risky?”

He leaned near to whisper in her ear, but her subtle perfume— sweet pea, lily, and orange blossom?— hit him with the impact of a freight wagon. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to rein in his raging desire.

Once he wrangled his passion under control, he grinned and winked.

“ I’ll take that bet, Mrs . Fitzlloyd . Name your terms, my spirited bluestocking.”

She leaned away, the merest hint of a smile playing around the edges of her mouth.

How he longed to kiss those sweet, plump lips.

“ I shall have to think about it, but be warned, I never place a bet I cannot win.”