Page 24 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)
And then suddenly the wait was over and Clem was walking toward him. Somewhere, music was playing. Presumably, Wright was escorting her. Chris saw only Clem. How lovely she was! What fools those men were who had called her plain.
His heart seemed to fill his chest, pressing his lungs so that his breath came short and caught in a suddenly dry throat.
He loved Clementine Wright, and in a few minutes, she would be his wife, promised to him for a lifetime.
Wright and the minister exchanged a few words, and Wright extended Clem’s right hand to the minister who gave it to Chris.
Chris smiled into Clem’s eyes, and she smiled back.
That smile and her touch anchored him through the rest of the ceremony, when his joy made him feel so light that he thought he might float away.
If Wright reacted to the presence of so many people on the groom’s side of the church, Chris didn’t see it.
He said his responses when prompted, trying to infuse his love, his certainty into his voice. He thrilled to hear the love in her voice and to see the happiness in her eyes when she spoke.
At last, it was time to encircle her finger with the ring he had designed and had made for her. For a moment, it caught on her knuckle, but he pushed firmly and it slid into place.
The minister prayed, asking for God’s blessing on the marriage. He then took their right hands and indicated they should join hands.
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
He then spoke to the congregation. But before he could finish explaining that the bride and groom had proclaimed their consent, made their vows and given and received a ring, there was a commotion—someone shouting from the back of the church. Grandfather, the swine.
“Stop the wedding. Stop this travesty. The boy is promised elsewhere!”
Harry touched Chris’s arm. “I’ll handle it. Carry on, Minister.”
Clem started to turn, but Chris refused to give Grandfather even a look.
“It is our wedding, Clem,” he said. “Ignore him.” And to the minister, he said, “My grandfather disapproves of my choice of bride, sir, as you can hear. But I am of age, and I have the permission of Clem’s father and the blessings of my cousin and my uncle, both earls, who are respectively the heads of the Satterthwaite and the Thurgood families. Carry on with the wedding, please.”
Reassured, the minister raised his voice to be heard over several voices shouting. “I pronounce that they are man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Next came a blessing, and during it, the altercation at the back of the church faded away. Grandfather was, presumably, being dragged off. And a good thing, too.
The minister carried on. A psalm, some further prayers, a short homily about the duties of marriage.
Chris held Clem’s hand. His heart was soaring, and only the occasional word made it through his triumphant joy.
“Love your wife,” the minister said. “Honor her.” And Chris did and would.
As long as they both should live. And may it be long indeed.
*
Mr. Satterthwaite senior’s interruption of the wedding had had a beneficial effect, Clem discovered after they had made their way down the aisle to stand in the foyer of the church receiving the congratulations of those who had witnessed the wedding.
Father had joined the Earl of Halton in ejecting the noisy intruder, and the two of them had adopted the camaraderie of a successful sortie party. And so, since Father had already accepted Lady Fernvale, and now Lord Halton, he did not make a fuss about Lord Crosby.
Though he did tug on Chris’s arm and say, “Did you invite all this lot? When did you get to know them?”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” Chris told him. “The last time I saw the two earls was the evening they cut me in front of everybody.”
Wright harrumphed and then invited all present back to his townhouse.
Clem cast a worried glance at Aunt Fern, who had worked with Mrs. Bellowes to organize the wedding feast. But that fine lady merely smiled and nodded.
“I imagine she has invited them all already, and planned for them,” Chris murmured to her, with that uncanny ability he had to read her mind.
“Your carriage is ready, Mr. and Mrs. Satterthwaite,” said Michael Thurgood, and the minister was growing anxious as the guests began to arrive for the next wedding, so Clem let Chris escort her away.
Perhaps at the wedding breakfast she would find out what happened to Mr. Satterthwaite senior! He was gone, and there was no sign he had ever been there.
They rode to Father’s townhouse in an open carriage, escorted by the younger men of the congregation on horseback, who introduced themselves to Chris and Clem, and to one another, as they rode.
There were half a dozen Satterthwaites, several Thurgoods, some other cousins with different surnames, and a smattering of wealthy merchants’ sons, all of them relaxed and cheerful in one another’s company.
Did men find it easier to ignore the bounds of class? Or was it the wedding that had them so egalitarian?
When they arrived at Father’s townhouse, Clem met the senior members of the various families, and their wives and daughters. She was a little disappointed that Ramping Billy and his people did not arrive at the wedding breakfast, but perhaps they were correct to stay away.
She watched in awe as Aunt Fern encouraged the two groups to blend, recommending a young aristocrat to a blushing merchant’s daughter as a dance partner, encouraging two grandmothers who would normally never have encountered one another to compare stories of their cherished grandchildren, and setting off a rousing debate on the corn laws among the older gentlemen.
But the debt collector-come-gambling den and brothel owner and his minions might have been beyond even Aunt Fern’s powers to spread social harmony.
The breakfast had been laid out buffet-style on long tables, solving the problem of seating more than sixty people, which would have challenged even the generous space made by opening the doors between the dining room and the adjoining parlor.
Aunt Fern had organized little groups of seating in those rooms, the large drawing room, and the spacious hall that connected the two, each group with tables on which people could place their food and drink.
In addition, she had augmented Father’s footmen from her own staff, and they circulated through the rooms, some with trays of food, and others with drinks.
“Did you know that lot were coming?” Father demanded, gesturing towards Chris’s relatives with his chin. Chris had left Clem’s side because his uncle had asked for a moment of his time.
Father was trying to glare, but his chest had the proud puff of a pigeon. He had never hosted such a company under his roof, and he was thrilled.
“No, Father,” Clem was able to tell him. “Aunt Fern might have known, but I didn’t, and neither did Chris. He is pleased, though, especially after the fuss his grandfather made at the wedding. Having his family acknowledge our wedding has made him very happy.”
She glanced at Father’s chief rival, who was the nearest person he had as a friend. “I do not believe I have ever seen Mr. Morton so flummoxed. He has long said you were foolish to try to marry me into the aristocracy, and he certainly never expected to meet two earls under your roof.”
Father chuckled. He actually chuckled ! “That he didn’t, Clementine.
That he didn’t. Well, it is done now, and the boy is signed up to a contract.
And after all, how much trouble can they cause?
This could all work out for the best.” He wandered off toward Mr. Morton, undoubtedly going to see if a little salt could be applied to the man’s wounded pride.
“Yes,” he was muttering as he went, “this is excellent.”
Chris had been talking to his uncle while Clem was occupied with her father, but he joined her to say, “There really is an estate, my love. My cousin Lord Crosby wants to meet with us to tell us all about it. I told him we shall be away for one week, and that we’ll come to see him as soon as we are back in London.
” He examined her with a slight frown. “Have you had anything to eat or drink, darling?”
“I have been too busy talking,” Clem admitted.
Chris took a drink from one passing footman and beckoned to another who carried a tray of food. “Here,” he said. “I don’t know how long we are supposed to stay, or what you had for breakfast, but these will help.”
“These” were little savories—small pastry parcels with tasty fillings. They were the only food Clem had had since a slice of toast early that morning, and she washed it down with a mouthful of wine, before one of Father’s business rivals and his wife came to present their good wishes.
I hope we will be able to leave soon. As the thought crossed her mind, it suddenly occurred to her that she was actually married.
To Chris. And presumably tonight he would want to go to bed with her.
To do what married couples do. And wicked couples who were not married to one another, if that was the same thing. Logic suggested it must be.
Clem only knew what she had overheard of the conversations of servants, full of words she only half-understood and copious giggling, and short on detail.
She should have asked Aunt Fern. She should have asked Martha, even! She had been too embarrassed and now it was too late.
Another footman passed with a tray, and Clem finished her drink and took another.