Page 52 of Forever Her Bachelor
She found it rather difficult not to gaze at him herself. He was handsome and debonair, commanding the attention of both women and men as they exited the carriage and headed straight to the blacksmith shop. There was a small line, but being a duke, St. Clara took no notice, striding up and stating that they wanted to be married posthaste.
Her eyes shifted to St. Clara, who stood tall beside her. He had been quiet, a rare thing for him. She understood the shift in her own behavior. The previous night had appeared to baffled him, but Pippa could not hide her feelings any longer. The events of the past fortnight, had caused a shift inside of her.
Stretching her neck, Pippa tried to relieve the knots that had formed from her lack of restful sleep. It had been impossible to find the sweet peace she so desperately needed while the thought of trusting him again after years apart churned through her mind. Behind her, she knew that like her, St. Clara was also unable to find rest.
With her body still tingling from her orgasm and her mind replaying their past over and over, Pippa couldn’t help but notice the difference between the man she thought he had become and who he really was. Like the scientist she was, Pippa dissected everything anew, and now, as a more mature woman, she found that the things that happened in the past did not logically make sense.
The man, the Duke of St. Clara, was very much like the boy Chauncey. He was older to be sure, but still the same kind, happy, yet sometimes sad boy she had met years ago.
Now, he was to be her husband.
Once, it had been all she could think of, but in that moment, the thought terrified her. Because Pippa knew that after last night, no matter how much she wanted a carnal relationship with him, she was very much in fear of trusting him again.
Maybe more.
The mantra that she had chanted over and over in her head seemed weak and insufficient.
Their murky past had become clearer. Instead of the anger and resentment she had felt for so long, Pippa now had an overwhelming need for the truth. Her younger self had accepted what the old duke had presented to her, yet she’d never heard the true story from St. Clara himself. It was there in the blacksmith shop as she bound herself to him for the rest of her life that Pippa decided she would speak to her husband about their past.
“Are ye ready, lass?” Mr. Campbell asked, causing Pippa to jump a bit.
Her heart was beating at a highly irregular rate, and her hands were sweaty. The weather might have been cool and breezy, but she was sweltering.
“Yes, we’re ready,” St. Clara answered, his eyes finding Pippa’s. The dark pools of liquid danced in anticipation.
Seeing the brightness and excitement in their depths calmed her. She had been fretting over his true reasons for marrying her since the moment she had awakened.
“Good.” Mr. Campbell turned to Pippa, his face hard as he asked, “Are ye here on yer own free will, lass?”
Pippa found the question rather odd, but she recalled women being forced to marry in Gretna Green. “Yes, I am.”
She gripped the colorful display of wildflowers in one hand, their sweet aroma swirling around her. She was proud to say he had decided for herself to accept St. Clara. After her altercation with Summerset, it seemed as if she had no other choice, but it was always going to be him. St. Clara was the only man she would bind herself to. Even with the possibility of heartbreak, it was her decision.
Mr. Campbell nodded before he continued. “Wednesday is a fine day to be married, and I ken ye two are deeply in love?—”
“Aye, Wednesday is da best day of all!” Mrs. Campbell called out from the side where she stood by a forlorn-looking Bonnie. “It’ll be a long and happy marriage with lots of bairns, ye ken.” She winked at Pippa, who could feel the heat in her cheeks, thinking about the previous night’s activities.
“Thank ye, Mo Ghradh.” Mr. Campbell said to his wife before he returned to Pippa and St. Clara. “An old Gaelic Proverb says,Thig crìoch air an t-saoghal, ach mairidh gaol is ceòl.” He smiled at them both as if they were supposed to understand what he had just said.
“The world will end, but love and music will endure,” St. Clara’s deep voice pierced her heart, her head whipping toward him in question.
He spoke Gaelic? She had never heard him say a word of it.
“Aye! Are ye Scots, lad?” Mr. Campbell asked, bouncing on the soles of his feet.
“My mother was,” he said simply enough, but Pippa hung on to this morsel of information, categorizing it for another time.
She couldn’t recall the late duchess, whom she had interacted with briefly, having a Scottish accent.
“Fine Scots blood, ye have. I knew it when I saw ye,” Mr. Campbell rang out before he continued with the ceremony. “Aye, love and music will endure. I urge ye both to let love and music into yer marriage, and I promise it will be a happy one.”
“Aye, even when I dinna love him, all I’d have to hear is one song from our youth, and I’m back in love with him all over again, d’ya ken?” Mrs. Campbell interrupted again. Pippa could tell from the look on both Mr. Campbell and St. Clara’s faces that they did not enjoy her interruptions.
Pippa welcomed the interruptions; it made her feel like her aunt was there with her. She smiled over at the woman, who tilted her head at Pippa in a knowing way. Pippa sensed Mrs. Campbell knew exactly how she’d felt for the last nine years.
“D’ya have a ring for the lass?” Mr. Campbell asked St. Clara.
Pippa had forgotten her mother’s ring in the carriage and was shocked when St. Clara reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, removing a small gold band in the shape of vines.