Page 30 of Murder in Matrimony (A Lady of Letters Mystery #4)

The point bothered Amelia more than she cared to admit.

At one time, Amelia would have completely agreed with Winifred, but that was a time before Captain Fitz.

Now that they were engaged, Amelia understood her desires had changed.

The same change had occurred in Amelia when Simon had entered her life.

Her love did not lessen; it grew. Madge didn’t love her life in Somerset any less; she loved Captain Fitz more. At least she hoped that was the case.

“Speaking of the wedding, I am going to the church to make final arrangements. The Hamsteds will be here any minute.”

Winifred stood up. “Is Mrs. Hamsted arranging the flowers? If so, I’d like tiny pink roses for the braid at my crown.”

“Tiny pink roses it will be then.” Amelia tried to muss Winifred’s hair, but the girl was too quick.

“Don’t forget,” Winifred instructed as they parted at the steps.

“Never.” The promise was easily kept as Kitty’s driver approached the next moment and Amelia entered the carriage. After greeting Oliver and Simon, Amelia told Kitty of Winifred’s wishes, and she promptly agreed, adding that Winifred looked best in pink.

“I, myself, am wearing yellow, but that is only because it is my last chance to don my chiffon before the change in seasons.”

Oliver grasped her gloved hand. “I love your yellow chiffon.”

“I know you do,” Kitty answered with a quiet giggle.

Simon looked at Amelia and rolled his eyes. She would have done the same if she didn’t find their admiration for each other a little bit adorable.

“What are you wearing?” Kitty asked Amelia.

“Madge prefers light blue, and all her bridesmaid sisters will be wearing it. I confess I’ve been too preoccupied to think much of her selection.”

“Really, Amelia.” Kitty censured her with a look. “Fashion waits for no one—even murderers. The day will come, and you will be unprepared.”

“I assure you it will be fine.” Amelia enjoyed a nice dress as much as any woman, but it was hardly the time to discuss fashion.

All Saints on Margaret Street was in view, and she dropped the subject.

“Now, remember the plan. Lord Bainbridge and I will keep Penroy busy. Kitty will keep watch on the curate in the nave. And you will slip into the vicarage and examine the contents of the fireplace. Are we all agreed?”

Three heads nodded back at her.

“If I am in danger of detection, please give a whistle.” Seeing their surprised looks, Oliver continued, “Any tune is fine to alert me. I do not require more than a few notes.”

“What of a cough?” asked Simon.

Oliver shook his head. “Anyone might cough accidentally.”

“I am not an excellent whistler.” Simon sniffed.

The footman opened the door, and Amelia whispered, “For heaven’s sake, I’ll whistle for Lord Bainbridge. If you are in danger, Mr. Hamsted, you will know it. I’ll make certain.”

Amelia took the footman’s hand and descended the newly placed steps.

The church was quiet, a respite amid the bustling streets.

Morning service was finished, and only a few stray beams of sunlight hung in the church.

It was hard to imagine a murder had been committed so near this place of peace.

Yet it had and against one of its foremost members.

She still couldn’t reconcile herself to it.

Mr. Penroy was talking to the curate but immediately dropped the conversation when he saw the group enter.

Although he smiled briefly, his brown eyes remained as dull as dust on hard-to-reach furniture, and the effect was one of judgment and pride.

“Lady Amesbury, I must owe the pleasure of such a visit to the nuptials of your sister.”

“Good day, Mr. Penroy. Indeed, you do.” Amelia motioned to her friends. “This is Lord Bainbridge, and he and I are principal bridesmaid and groomsman, and Mrs. Hamsted is assisting with the flowers. We thought to all come at once so as not to disrupt you more than necessary.”

“Come any time.” The words were welcoming, but Mr. Penroy’s stance was not. He hadn’t made a move in their direction, and they were forced to approach him. “Mr. Dougal would be pleased to assist you.”

Mr. Dougal appeared to have enough to keep him busy, for despite it being early afternoon, his forehead was wet with perspiration, and his shirt collar clung to his thick neck.

Yet he nodded cheerfully, his fair complexion, which was prone to flush, giving him an air of willingness. “Certainly, I would.”

“I wonder, Mr. Dougal, if you might give us a tour of the church—for reference purposes.” Kitty smiled her prettiest smile. “I wish to be as helpful as I’m able the day of the wedding, and I have been inside this masterpiece only once.”

“I would be honored.” No one was immune from Kitty’s charms, and the curate displayed a full set of large teeth.

“Let us begin at the beginning.” Whatever Mr. Dougal and Mr. Penroy had been speaking of was left off entirely for the sake of the tour, and Kitty and Oliver trailed behind him as he walked toward the altar.

Penroy followed the group with his eyes. “Mr. Dougal is enthusiastic about his work. I will say that for him.”

“Mr. Cross esteemed him very much,” Amelia put in. It was always this way with her and Mr. Penroy. She felt the need to counter every word he said with another.

“Mr. Cross esteemed many people, which perhaps said more about himself than the persons in his regard.” He turned his face from the group, and despite being young, it was a collection of hard lines.

Sensing the difficulty, Simon switched topics. “I confess I am unfamiliar with weddings, being party to none until now. Maybe you can enlighten me.”

“I understand.” Penroy nodded. “The ceremony can be intimidating, frightening even, for ones not accustomed to participating in the ritual.”

“Intimidating, yes,” Simon repeated, but Amelia hardly imagined he was intimidated by church rituals. It would behoove Penroy to believe so, however. Nothing pleased the young priest more than explaining protocal.

“And your own wedding, Lady Amesbury? How familiar are you with weddings in town?”

“Not at all,” answered Amelia. “My own wedding was an informal affair in Mells, but it was no less meaningful or happy. My groom was ill and did not want to wait, so he obtained a special license. It was a cloudless blue day and the best hour of our marriage, I’m afraid.”

A wrinkle flitted across Simon’s forehead, and she knew he was feeling sorry for her.

She didn’t want his pity, however. Albeit short, her marriage was satisfactory in most senses of the word.

She gained an aunt and a child and a best friend in Kitty.

It was true that theirs hadn’t been a love match—she understood that from her time with Simon—but they had been friends and companions at a time Edgar desperately needed one.

“Which is to say, I’d appreciate an overview of the ceremony as much as the marquis.” She nodded at Simon.

Mr. Penroy paced back and forth, perhaps preparing a long speech, which was fine with her. The more time he took the better.

“Marriage is a commitment that should be entered into with much gravity. Months, not weeks, should be taken to consider the enormity of the promise one makes.” Mr. Penroy stopped and looked pointedly at Amelia.

“The ceremony itself, while enjoyable to plan for women like yourself, is a mere trifle compared to a lifetime vow. In fact, the matter ought to have been discussed with the couple before now. I should really check their appointment date, as well as go over the registry with you, in my office—”

Alarms went off in Amelia’s head. Oliver would be in the office by now; he needed time to investigate the contents of the fireplace.

The small pieces would prove difficult to decipher.

“First, if you wouldn’t mind.” Amelia motioned to the nave.

“It would be helpful for me, and probably Lord Bainbridge as well, to walk through the ceremony.”

“Exactly so,” added Simon. “I, like Lady Amesbury, would like to know what I am to do during the ceremony.”

“Your task is simple.” Mr. Penroy waved a hand toward the altar.

“All you must do is walk up the aisle with Lady Amesbury. She will take your left arm, and you will walk last before the bride and groom. My job is the one that takes real preparation. I must give the homily, and I haven’t even met the bride or groom. ”

“I understand, but could we attempt the walk up the aisle, as a sort of trial?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” agreed Amelia, seeing how it would cause further delay. “It would be ever so helpful.”

Penroy released a breath of exasperation. “Fine.”

Simon held out his left arm, and she took it.

They started up the aisle slowly, methodically. Surreptitiously, Amelia looked for Kitty and Oliver and, when they reached the front, spotted Kitty near the left of the pulpit. Oliver was nowhere in sight. She turned to Simon and smiled. Oliver had begun his first investigation.

It was then that she noticed Simon’s eyes.

The church, harkening back to medieval times, was naturally dark, but his eyes were as green as the vales of Somerset.

A new spark appeared, a flicker, like wind through leaves of a tree.

One couldn’t see the wind until it moved something or someone, and in this case, it was she.

A twist rippled through her chest, a quickening of her heart.

It felt as if her life had led her to this very moment.

No other time would have been right. Life was a twisted path that afforded many lessons, and sometimes it took many turns to find what one was looking for.

It was Simon. Perhaps it had always been Simon.

And it had taken her this long to find him.

Penroy continued, ignorant of the breath leaving her body. “The bridegroom stands to the right of the bride. The father stands just behind her so that he is ready to give her hand. Lady Amesbury, you will stand to the left of the bride, ready to take her glove.”

“I will,” Amelia murmured.

“I will as well,” said Simon.

“You do nothing, my lord. It is only Lady Amesbury who waits for the glove. The vows are said, the ring is given, and the ceremony is over. Now, let us proceed to my office to discuss the registry of marriage.”

It was only then that Amelia was shaken from her trance to see Mr. Penroy turning toward the vicarage, where Oliver was certainly sorting through the ashes of the fireplace. She called after him, “Wait! One moment.”

He turned around.

She wracked her brain for something to say, some question that had been left unasked. But the last several minutes were a fog. She might have been standing at the altar of All Saints on Margaret Street, but her mind had been somewhere else. “Uh … uh … then we leave our posts?”

“Why yes, of course.” Mr. Penroy turned and continued walking.

At this point, Simon tried a whistle and failed miserably. What came out was a hiss that might have come from a broken tea kettle. It wasn’t even enough to catch Penroy’s attention, let alone the attention of the intended receiver: Oliver Hamsted.

She frowned at Simon.

He looked as sheepish as a boy who has been caught taking a second dessert. “I told you I am an inadequate whistler. I said I needed a different signal.”

Ignoring the complaint, Amelia grabbed his hand and pulled him down the aisle after Penroy, whistling all the way.