Page 22 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“Aye, God help me, brother, for no one else will!”

wheezed Alex.

In that moment their old relationship was completely restored, and by late afternoon when they sighted the chimneys of Queen’s Malvern it was as if they had never quarreled. Riding up to the door of her childhood home, Velvet felt a lump insinuate itself into her throat, and then the door was flung open and dear old Dame Cecily came hurrying out. Several quick tears slid down her cheeks, which she swiftly wiped away. Slipping from her saddle without waiting for aid, Velvet wordlessly flung herself into the old woman’s open arms. Dame Cecily hugged her tightly, tears running down her worn face as well. Velvet pulled away at last and wiped the old lady’s face gently with her hand.

Dame Cecily finally mustered a smile and, regaining control of herself, said briskly, “Well, now, you bad thing, you’re home again!”

Her eyes moved to Alex, who had dismounted with Robin and stood waiting to be introduced. “And is this great craggy man your husband?”

she demanded, and Velvet nodded. “He doesn’t look at all like a devil to run from, child, but then you always were willful and would have your own way.”

“I haven’t had it this time.”

Velvet chuckled. “He kidnapped me off to Scotland and tricked me into marriage before I knew what was happening.”

“You don’t look any the worse for wear,”

remarked Dame Cecily. Then she looked with snapping eyes at Robin. “Introduce me, you mannerless scamp, fine milord though you may be!”

Robin laughed warmly. “Alexander Gordon, may I present to you Dame Cecily Small, sister to our mother’s trading partner, Sir Robert, and adoptive grandmother of all the children of Skye O’Malley. Dearest Dame Cecily, the Earl of BrocCairn, Velvet’s husband.”

Dame Cecily curtsied as low as her stiff joints would allow her to, but Alex put out his hand and raised her up. Kissing the old, gnarled hand with its beautiful diamond and sapphire rings, he said, “I can see ye’re one of the few good influences my wife has had, madame. I hope that even though we will live in Scotland ye’ll continue to be a part of our lives.”

Dame Cecily’s eyes sparkled with delight. “You’re a rogue, my fine Scot! That I can certainly see! Nevertheless, I suspect you’re well matched with my girl. Come in now! Come in! ’Tis far too cold out here, and I’ve several warm fires going in the house.”

Her eyes lit on Pansy. “You, girl! Your mother wants to see you, and then hurry and draw a hot bath for your mistress. There’ll be time enough later on to flirt with that evil-looking Scot with the naked knees you keep eyeing!”

With a mumbled “Yes, ma’am!,”

Pansy scrambled from her pony and hurried around the side of the house, out of sight.

“Take your animals to the stable,”

Dame Cecily commanded the waiting horsemen. “Then come into the house. It will be crowded, but there’s ale and meat for all.”

Then she led Velvet and the gentlemen into Queen’s Malvern.

Inside, the house was toasty and fragrant with the smell of applewood fires. From the small family hall came a tall man, and Velvet ran toward him, her arms outstretched. “Uncle Conn!”

Lord Bliss hugged his wayward niece, muttering, “You get more like your mother in temperament every day!”

“Have you come for my wedding?”

“Aye, and your aunt Aiden, too, and all your little cousins.”

“All my cousins? How lovely,”

Velvet replied, but her tone of voice lacked sincerity. “ ’Tis only to be small ceremony! Alex and I have already been wed twice.”

“Surely you don’t consider what happened in Scotland as a true marriage, Velvet?”

Conn asked.

“I will not be happy until I have been wed in my own church, Uncle Conn, but perhaps we had best consider the Scots ceremonies, should I already be carrying a child.”

Her eyes danced merrily.

“Velvet!”

He was shocked. She was far too young to be saying such things, wasn’t she? Then he realized that she was quite shamelessly teasing him. “You’re impossible!”

he grumbled.

Velvet laughed while Conn St. Michael looked at her closely. The half-grown girl who had left Queen’s Malvern six months ago was gone. This was an incredibly beautiful and headstrong woman. He looked at the Earl of BrocCairn and was startled to see in the amber eyes of that craggy-faced Scot a look of pure love and devotion directed toward his niece. God help Alex Gordon, Conn St. Michael thought to himself. Velvet has her mother’s magical allure.

“Come along, come along!”

Dame Cecily fussed at them all. “If there is to be a wedding here tonight, then we must all work together. Robin, my lad, take your Scots friend to the Tapestry Room, and I’ll send his man and a bath along.”

She fixed Alex with a sharp gaze. “You’ve something respectable to wear, I trust?”

“My kilt, madame,”

he replied soberly.

For a moment they all thought that she would argue with him, but Dame Cecily finally nodded, saying, “ ’Twill serve quite nicely, my boy. Get along with Robin now.”

Alex’s eyes were dancing with delight. It was plain that he liked the tart-tongued Dame Cecily mightily. He bowed elegantly and then, turning, followed Robin upstairs.

“Now as for you, Velvet de Marisco, go directly to your room. Pansy should be there by now. Daisy and I have a surprise for you,”

Dame Cecily said.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Nay, child. I have a great deal to do before Father Jean-Paul weds you and your Alex in the chapel.”

“Will you give me away, Uncle Conn?”

Velvet asked.

“Aye, sweetheart,”

came his heartfelt reply. “If Adam cannot be here to do it, then I’ll be proud to stand in his place.”

Velvet felt tears start, and Dame Cecily snapped at Conn, “You’ve no sense, Conn St. Michael! No sense whatsoever!”

Then she gathered Velvet to her bosom. “There, child. I know you wish your parents were here, but your wild Scot has taken that choice away from us. Don’t cry. There, there!”

She held Velvet close as she waved Lord Bliss away with her other hand.

“I’m all right.”

Velvet sniffed. “Just for a moment I had the most terrible longing for Mama and Papa. Oh, Dame Cecily, what would I do without you?”

“A pity you didn’t think about that before you went running off to court, Mistress Willful! Go along now and get ready for your wedding!”

The old lady released Velvet and hurried off down the hall toward the kitchens. With a little sigh, Velvet climbed the stairs and followed the familiar route to her bedchamber. As she drew near she could smell the lovely fragrance of her gillyflower bath oil and knew that Pansy was awaiting her. Entering the room, she found both Daisy and her daughter bustling about.

“Welcome home, Mistress Velvet,”

said Daisy, coming forward to give her a hug. “I have a lovely bath ready for you, but before you bathe come and see our surprise.”

Taking Velvet’s hand, she led her into the dressing room. There spread out in magnificent array on a pair of chairs were two of the most exquisite dresses Velvet had ever seen.

One was an apple-green silk, with a low bodice embroidered with gold thread and tiny pearls that matched the panel of the slightly darker underskirt. The leg-of-mutton sleeves were held by a profusion of tiny gold ribbons, the wristbands turned back to form cuffs with gold lace ruffs. The bodice of the gown had a long, wasp waist that ended in a pronounced peak, and the bell-shaped skirt separated in front to reveal the elegant undergown.

The second gown was of a rich, heavy, candlelight satin that was mellowed with age. Its simple bodice was cut low and embroidered with seed pearls. The puffed sleeves, which ended just below the elbows, were slashed and the openings filled with delicate cream-colored lace. Below the elbows the sleeves hugged the arms in alternating bands of satin and lace, and the wrists were ruffled with wide bands of lace. The underskirt was embroidered with delicate seed pearls and tiny diamond flowers. The dress had a small, starched, heart-shaped lace collar edged in tiny diamonds that rose up behind the neck, and the skirt shape was that of a bell.

“Daisy! Where did you find such marvelous gowns?”

Velvet demanded.

“The green was your mother’s wedding dress when she married your father. I thought perhaps you’d like to wear it tonight. There’s gold roses for your lovely hair. As for the cream, your mother wore it when she wed Lord Southwood at Greenwich Palace twenty-five years ago! Dame Cecily and I hoped that you would take it with you to London when you marry before the queen.”

“Oh, Daisy!”

Velvet was astounded. “My sisters never wore mother’s dresses. Do you think she’d mind if I did?”

“Mistress Willow wanted her own gown so that she could pass it on down to her daughters one day. She puts great store by tradition as you know, particularly those she starts herself. As for Mistress Deirdre, she was so relieved when your parents allowed her to marry Lord Blackthorn that she cared not what she wore. Your mother didn’t feel that these gowns were suitable for Lord Burke’s daughter. Besides, she’s not as tall as your mama, and has more bosom than my lady did at her age. Mistress Skye wanted Mistress Deirdre to have everything new. I know, however, that she would fully approve of Dame Cecily’s and my choices. You, however, may not want to wear them.”

“Oh, yes, I do! If I have Master Hilliard paint my miniature in each gown, Mama and Papa will know how I looked on my wedding day! If Robin doesn’t mind my wearing the cream-colored gown, I should love to take it to London, but tonight for the ceremony with Father Jean-Paul I want to wear the gown in which Mama married Papa.”

Daisy smiled. “Then let us hurry and get you ready, though I never thought I’d see the day I’d be preparing your mother’s youngest child for her wedding!”

Velvet hadn’t had a bath in several days, and the hot, scented water was wonderful. She loved the hard-milled soap, perfumed with the elusive gillyflowers scent, that Daisy and Pansy used with the boar’s-bristle brushes when they scrubbed her back and with which they lavishly lathered her dusty auburn hair. Velvet regretted that there was no time to soak, but it had been close to sunset when they had ridden into Queen’s Malvern. The evening meal was being held up until after the wedding ceremony.

Stepping from her tub, Velvet stood quietly while she was first dried, then perfumed and powdered. Her beautiful long hair was toweled with warm linen, then brushed and rubbed with silk. Pansy held out a pair of green silk stockings with vine leaves embroidered on them with gold thread.

“I made them for you using your mother’s originals for models,”

Daisy said, “and I had Bonnie lower the hem on the green gown. We weren’t sure whether or not we would have to edge it in fur to give you enough length, but it turned out there was enough material. ’Twas French made, the gown, and there’s no doubt they’re fine seamstresses. Bonnie did have to edge the cream satin with a bit of lace though to lengthen it enough, you being taller than your mama.”

Pansy held out Velvet’s silken undergarments and a pair of gold garters. Velvet was beginning to feel better than she had in days. It was amazing, she thought, what good a hot bath could accomplish. Daisy then slid the apple-green silk gown over Velvet’s head. It fell gracefully, and as the tiring woman laced it up, Velvet was astounded by the perfect fit. It molded her waist and made her young breasts more sensual than she had ever believed they could be. Her eyes widened with surprise.

Then Daisy’s voice broke her thoughts. “I had Bonnie take the silk in, for your mother was a trifle thicker in the waist than you are when she finally married your father. The cream satin, however, should fit you perfectly, but we’ll try it on tomorrow and have Bonnie make any alterations necessary. Now sit and let Pansy do your hair.”

Carefully adjusting her dress, Velvet sat down. Behind her Pansy took up the boar’s-bristle brush, and parting her mistress’s hair in the center she drew it back carefully over Velvet’s ears. Then, working swiftly with the brush and a mouthful of gold hairpins, she fashioned the thick, rich auburn hair with its coppery-gold lights into an elegant chignon. Looking critically for any wisps of hair that might have escaped her vigilance, she nodded, satisfied to find none and affixed the cloth-of-gold and silk roses upon the top of the chignon.

In the mirror Velvet could see Daisy bobbing her head in approval. “Lovely!”

she pronounced. “I never saw your mother in this dress, for I wasn’t in France when she and your father were wed, but she couldn’t have looked any more beautiful than you do, Mistress Velvet. The apple-green suits you with your gorgeous hair.”

There was a knock on the door, and when Pansy answered it the de Mariscos’ chaplain, Father Jean-Paul, entered the room. With a smile he said, “Good evening, ma petite cousine.”

With an answering smile, Velvet arose and went to him with her hands outstretched. “Père Jean-Paul! How happy I am to see you!”

Jean-Paul St. Justine was the second son of Adam’s younger sister, Clarice, and her husband, Henri, Comte de St. Justine. From childhood he had known that he wanted to be a priest, and he had entered the seminary on his thirteenth birthday. He had done brilliantly in his studies, and upon his ordination he had, to his family’s pride, been appointed to the staff of a prestigious bishop. Eight years ago, however, he had taken the part of a young peasant girl cruelly raped by her master’s sons. She had sought sanctuary in the village church, but the nobleman’s sons had broken into the church and dragged the hysterical girl from her refuge at the feet of the shocked old priest. It had been at that moment that Père Jean-Paul had ridden by, and using the weight of his office he had managed to rescue the girl.

The noble father of the miscreants had complained to the bishop, to the cardinal, and finally to the king himself. Père Jean-Paul St. Justine had been relieved of his post and sent to England to act as family chaplain to his uncle Adam. He had arrived at Queen’s Malvern the year Velvet had been six. Among all people in the rural region in which Queen’s Malvern was located, he was most beloved, for he had a strong sense of justice and used his own personal wealth to ease the sufferings of many, be they Catholic or Protestant. He was that rarest of men, a true Christian, and he possessed a wonderful sense of humor.

Father Jean-Paul took the two lovely hands presented to him and kissed them warmly. “You are absolutely radiant, ma petite,”

he said. “I am pleased that you have come home to be married. I have already heard your betrothed’s confession, Velvet, and I am quite shocked.”

The priest’s blue eyes danced with mischief. “I expect your confession shall shock me equally.”

Used to his teasing, she countered quickly, “But, mon cousin , what can I possibly have to confess, for was it not I who was wronged by this wild Scot my parents chose to husband me?”

“And you have not enjoyed one moment of your carnal encounters?”

he said innocently.

“As a good daughter of the church, mon père , how could I?”

she returned demurely. “Such things are but for the procreation of the faith only, I have been taught.”

“Strange,”

he mused. “ ’Twas not what Lord Gordon believed. He was most contrite for having compromised your virtue without benefit of clergy, yet he soothed his conscience with the thought that he gave you pleasure.”

“Then he was mistaken, and most ungentlemanly to boot!”

replied Velvet, but her lips were twitching with amusement.

The priest tucked Velvet’s hand through his arm. “I have never seen you look so beautiful, ma petite. I would not make you sad, but I truly regret that your parents cannot be here. Sometimes it is difficult to understand God’s will, eh?”

He patted her hand. “Come, ma petite , and we will go to the chapel where I will listen to your confession. I have taught you that marriage is a sacrament, and you must purge yourself of your sins before a holy sacrament.”

“Oui, mon père,”

Velvet said quietly, and she allowed him to lead her from her chamber.

The family chapel was a small, square room in the northeast corner of the house. Jean-Paul St. Justine had consecrated it upon his arrival from France. It was a beautiful room with a coffered oak ceiling and a polished oak floor. The small double doors were carved with twin archangels with outspread wings in raised relief, painted and gilded in bright colors and gold leaf. Facing the doors was a creamy marble altar with a lace cloth. Upon the altar sat a beautiful gold crucifix set with precious stones flanked by candlesticks. Above it was a small round window stained in rich shades of red, blue, gold, rose, and green. To the left of the altar were three tall arched windows, the first of which depicted the temptation of Eve, the second the baptism of Jesus, and the third the Resurrection. Only red, blue, and gold had been used in these windows.

The altar rail was carved round with grape vines, and upon either side of the single altar step were long red velvet cushions. At the back of the chapel, and to the right of the doors, was a small carved oak confessional. To the left of the entrance stood a marble baptismal font with a silver ewer. There were but four carved oak benches with high backs in the chapel, two on the right and two on the left side of the room. The chapel was not really large enough to contain the entire family of Lord and Lady de Marisco, but on the occasions when they all came together, they had somehow managed.

Velvet entered the confessional, and after offering her cousin the traditional salutation she began to speak. Her confession, however, consisted mostly of small wrongs and uncharitable thoughts she had had while she had served the queen at court. Jean-Paul St. Justine was amused when he realized that she felt not one moment of remorse for having tried to hold off Lord Gordon for so long. Her main concern seemed to be for her parents.

He offered her absolution and a mild penance, for her sins were small if, in fact they existed at all. Then he left her to say her prayers before the marriage ceremony and went to his own quarters to change into more splendid and festive priestly garments.

When Father Jean-Paul returned to the chapel a half an hour later, the gold-and-jeweled candlesticks flanking the matching crucifix had fresh beeswax tapers in them and were already alight. The young boy from the nearby village who served as his altar boy was dressed in his red cassock and embroidered white lace surplice.

“The earl says we’re ready to begin, Father,”

the boy piped.

“Open the doors then, lad, and let the family come into God’s house,”

the priest said quietly.

The altar boy hurried to do the cleric’s bidding and flung open the two doors to admit first Dame Cecily and Aiden St. Michael, and her children who were followed by Lord and Lady Blackthorn, Daisy, Pansy, and Dugald. Next came all the servants belonging to Queen’s Malvern , many of whom had been there ever since Skye and Adam de Marisco had first made the house their home. Velvet’s old nurse, Violet, sniffed audibly. They had all seen the young mistress grow from child to woman, and they felt a strong sense of personal attachment to Velvet, as if she had been one of their own. In fact most of the servants considered that she was. When the four pews were all filled to overflowing with the de Marisco retainers, the Earl of BrocCairn’s clansmen entered the chapel and lined the walls of the small room.

Lord Gordon, with Lord Southwood acting as his groomsman, entered and came forward to stand just below the altar step. Robin was garbed in an elegant velvet suit of sapphire blue; Alex was dressed as he had been in Scotland, in his dark blue, green, and yellow plaid kilt and dark velvet jacket.

Now came the bride, radiant on her uncle’s proud arm. With great dignity Lord Bliss led his niece down the center of the chapel to where the Earl of BrocCairn awaited her. He put her hand into Alex’s, and Father Jean-Paul began to intone the ages-old Latin words of the marriage ceremony. Mentally Velvet sighed with relief. She loved Alex Gordon, of that she had no doubt, but in her heart and her mind she had needed this ancient ceremony in order to feel truly wed. Her only regret, of course, was that Alex had not waited for her parents to return home.

How often had Velvet and her mother spoken of, and planned for, the day when she would marry. Each detail had been gone over and over again, from exactly what she would wear, down to the very wines to be served at the bridal banquet. The wines would come from Archambault , her French grandparents’ great chateau and vineyard in the Loire Valley. Grandmère and Grandpère! Here was another regret, for they, too, were absent on this her day of days. They and all the tantes and oncles , and not to be forgotten, all her wonderfully voluble and fashionable French cousins and cousines , were woefully absent, except, of course, for Père Jean-Paul. He, she knew, would write to his parents and grandparents in France announcing her marriage. He would leave out no detail, though they would think it a poor affair, she thought, with no bridal cake or guests other than Dame Cecily and the St. Michaels, and only one brother, one sister, and one brother-in-law. There had been neither the time nor the opportunity to invite Alex’s sister and her husband, as well as Velvet’s own far-flung relatives.

She forced her mind back to the ceremony and was surprised to find that Père Jean-Paul was to the point where they would take their vows. Paying closer attention, she played her part, answering in a clear, calm voice. She had waited all her life for this, even if it wasn’t quite right. The vows spoken, the priest moved on to the mass, and Velvet’s mind wandered once more.

She wondered where her mother and father were at this exact minute. Were they still in India, or had they already embarked upon the long voyage back to England? She wished that there was a way in which she might communicate with them so that even if they couldn’t be here with her at this time, they might at least know she was wed and share in her happiness. Mama. Papa. She tried to reach out to them in her mind. Mama, Papa! I love you both! She felt Alex tug gently on her hand, and, following his lead, she knelt before Père Jean-Paul to receive the host on her tongue.

In the instant that the consecrated wafer touched her mouth the thought came to her: I am no longer a child. I am no longer Adam de Marisco’s daughter. I am Alex Gordon’s wife. No—I am no longer Velvet de Marisco. I am Velvet Gordon. I may love my parents, but I can depend upon them no more for my every need. I must now depend upon myself and upon Alex, and soon we shall have the responsibility of our own children. This is what growing up means.

The enormity of her thoughts stunned her briefly, and for a frightened moment she wanted to flee. Was she really ready for all of this? Was she ready to grow old? Where had her youth gone? Why had she not appreciated her freedom when she had had it?

Then Alex’s arm slipped about her, and she felt his warm breath in her ear as he whispered softly to her, “Dinna fear, lass. Suddenly I’m nae sure I’m ready for all of this myself.”

She cast him a startled look and swallowed back a bubble of laughter in her throat. “ ’Tis what you wanted, my lord,”

she whispered back, “and ’tis now too late to back out, for the deed is done!”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and Velvet squeezed his back. Life was never going to be easy with this man, her husband, but neither was it going to be dull! Forcing her mind back to the here and now, she tried to follow the service.

In short order Père Jean-Paul had given them his blessing, and with a smile he half-turned the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn about to present them to the congregation of the chapel. With another smile to Alex, he said, “I think you might kiss your wife, my lord.”

Alex gladly complied, sweeping Velvet into a bear hug of an embrace, his mouth molding against hers in a warm kiss that left her weak-kneed, while about them the Gordon clansmen and the de Marisco retainers cheered lustily.

Velvet felt marvelously happy, and then Alex took his mouth from hers and looked down into her face with an equally happy smile. With a burst of joyous laughter, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, she smiled back at him and said, “Now , my lord husband, now we are most truly wed!”

“Ye’re sure?”

he teased back.

“Very sure!”

“I love ye, Velvet,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“Aye,”

he drawled, “very sure.”

Then before the delighted spectators he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her once again, lifting his head but a moment to murmur against her trembling mouth, “Very, very sure!”