Page 43 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)
T hamsine tugged at the low bodice of the outmoded, much-darned amber satin gown the twins had produced for use as a suitable wedding dress. She picked up a wide collar and fastened it to her neck.
‘Oh, don’t wear that!’ May protested. ‘It looks nice without it, it does. That colour suits you. Now hold still while I try to do summat with this hair.’
May tugged a comb through Thamsine’s shorn locks.
‘Hated having to cut it. You’ve such pretty hair,’ May mumbled more to herself than Thamsine.
‘It will grow back,’ Thamsine said.
‘I know, but still.’
‘Well,’ began Nan, who sat on the edge of the bed threading flowers for a wreath. ‘I always knew there was something with you and the Captain.’
‘What do you mean?’ Thamsine asked. ‘How could you see something I didn’t even suspect?’
‘Go on with you.’ Nan guffawed. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What wouldn’t I give for him to have looked at me that way. In’t that right, May?’
‘Potty about you, he is,’ May agreed. ‘Maybe we know him better than you do.’
Something about their familiarity when talking about Kit made Thamsine aware that, in their own way, these two probably did know Kit Lovell better than she did.
‘I don’t think you understand,’ she said. ‘He’s not marrying me because he loves me.’
But the twins just laughed.
‘You just wait till he gets you into bed. He’s a gentleman, he is. Not like most.’ Nan said.
‘That’s right,’ May agreed. ‘Likes to make sure a girl has a good time too, if you know what I mean.’
Thamsine felt the colour rising to her cheeks. ‘No, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Go on! How old are you?’ Nan asked.
‘Twenty-six.’
‘And you’ve never ’ad a man?’ May enquired.
Thamsine shook her head. ‘No.’
May stared at her in disbelief. Thamsine felt the colour rise to the roots of her hair.
‘Well, love, you’ve chosen well, then,’ May continued. ‘The Cap’n, he’ll be as good a teacher as any, I reckons. Taught him a few tricks ourselves, haven’t we, Nan?’ May winked at her sister.
Thamsine looked from one to the other. Surely a bride did not normally hear such candid revelations about her future husband’s skill as a lover, but then nothing about her relationship with Christopher Lovell had been the least conventional.
Nan arranged the circlet of flowers on her curls. ‘There, you look lovely! Turn around.’
Thamsine obliged. ‘Come on, they’ll be waiting for us!’ May said.
Kit had found an obliging priest, happy to fulfil the requirements of a speedy marriage.
With banns and licenses outlawed, the only requirement was for a priest or Justice of the Peace to announce the impending nuptials in a public place.
The letter of the law had been complied with, and Kit waited at the church of St. Sepulchre at the end of the Old Bailey for his bride to appear.
Thamsine walked slowly down the aisle and stood beside him, looking up at him with a small, shy smile. Not for the first time that morning, she wondered whether she had made the right decision. Had she merely jumped from the frying pan into a fire?
Kit smiled back at her. He found her hand and gripped her cold fingers. Hidden from general view within the folds of her skirt, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
In the space of a short ceremony, Christopher Lovell of the parish of Eveleigh in Cheshire became tied in the eyes of God and the State to Thamsine Granville, spinster of the parish of Hartley in Hampshire.