A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (22 page)

I look forward to your wedding day.

Faraday

His father’s sparse note told Freddie that he had no wish to interfere nor did he wish to influence his son. Not stated outright but the message, as Freddie understood it, was: his father approved of his marriage and he would see him soon.

Freddie took up the ring and brought it near to study. It was an oval-cut stone flanked by two small, round diamonds, and he had a very vague memory of it that made him smile. He slid the ring into his waistcoat pocket, folded the letter and tucked it out of the way.

“Look here, Fred.” Trevor held up a handwritten page. “Father is thrilled with my news. He couldn’t be prouder, and look what he’s sent me!”

Freddie stared at the
special license
. On it were the names Mr. Trevor Rutherford and Miss Clare Harris.

Rosalind spied the surreptitious exit of Freddie and Trevor after the valet Sturgis made a brief appearance in the dining room. She had no idea what was afoot but something was definitely going on.

Excusing herself, she rose from the table, managed to locate Clare, and whispered to her they needed to find Freddie and Trevor. By her reaction, the gentlemen’s absence had not set well with her either. Together the sisters checked the downstairs rooms, discovering both gentlemen tiptoeing down the staircase.

“We were only gone for a few minutes,” was one’s excuse, and the other proclaimed, “We were on our way to find you just this instant.”

Trevor quickly followed up with, “But I’m awfully glad you came to find us. If you had not, I would have sought you out myself.”

“A likely story, Mr. Rutherford,” Rosalind replied. He had not fooled her one bit; creeping about in silence was not the mark of a forthright soul.

“Please,” Freddie whispered to all three. “Let us not stand in the middle of the corridor bickering like a bunch of Billingsgate fishwives. Do let’s go into the parlor for some privacy before we attract a crowd.”

Everyone went immediately silent and ambled in the direction of the parlor.

“It is famous!” Trevor announced once the door was closed behind them. “Clare, dearest, I spoke to your father some time ago regarding paying my addresses and when he gave me consent, I wrote to my father expressing my wish to marry you.” He held up the letter. “I’ve just received the answer.”

“And what does Lord Rutherford say?” Clare seemed to have forgotten all about the four of them disappearing from the dining room while a houseful of guests celebrated a few rooms over.

“He has sent a
special license
.” Trevor revealed a second sheet, not page two of his father’s missive but something else entirely.

The document bore the Archbishop of Canterbury’s seal. Rosalind could see her sister’s name listed below Trevor’s, giving them permission to be wed as speedily as they wished without banns.

“We can be married?” Clare stared at the very same paper Rosalind read. She must have been far too excited to understand what it said.

“It means, we can be wed at any place, at any time,” Trevor replied. He, too, appeared to be very enthusiastic about the response.

“Oooooh! Can we wed here?” Clare cried out. “Can we do it now?”

“Now?” Trevor choked.

“Miss Clare, have you forgotten there is a houseful of people?”

“We still need a rector, parson, or vicar to officiate.” Apparently Trevor did not wish to deny her.

Then they heard loud voices shouting, not in anger but as if calling others, coming from beyond the closed doors of the corridor.

“A wedding! A wedding!” Softly at first but soon the words rang out, louder and clearer. More guests joined in and it sounded as if all were saying it. “There’s to be a wedding!”

Apparently the four were not as private as they had believed. They glanced at one another, all realizing their discussion was no longer secret.

Then the chant altered and they said, “Get the vicar! We need the vicar! The vicar! The vicar!”

Freddie shrugged and opened the door to several dozen people. The visitors, in their contagious glee, surrounded Clare and Trevor.

“A wedding!” many called out. “Miss Clare, are you to be married right now?” a few others wanted to know. They most probably never knew such a thing was possible. Rosalind had heard of such things but never had she known of anyone to enter matrimony in that way.

Vicar Strevens was found and brought forth to the couple. Trevor handed over the
special license
. The vicar donned his spectacles and took up the document to check its authenticity.

“Well, it all looks to be in order.” He browsed it quickly then returned to the top to read it word by word. “Give me a few minutes, if you please.” He strolled away from the gathering to a corner for some solitude.

“You all cannot want our Twelfth Night dinner to be taken over by a wedding party?” Trevor addressed the crowd of well-wishers.

“A wedding! A wedding!” they cheered.

“Clare, is this what you really want?” Trevor turned to her as if she had the power to put a stop to all this.

“It seems it is quite out of our hands now.” She giggled as if she did not quite know what to do with being the center of attention.

“If you’re to be married, we’d best get you upstairs and get ready.” Mrs. Harris’s color looked to be a bit off. It must have been the excitement.

“You’re not going to swoon now, are you, ma’am?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. “Now upstairs with you and change into your Sunday dress, girl!”

Clare, helped along by Mrs. Harris, exited the parlor with several other women trailing.

“We’ll put up her hair again, make it fancier,” Mrs. Lowther suggested. Mrs. Walsh added, “I think we should collect the holiday greenery and make up a small bouquet for Miss Clare ta carry.” Another group of women took up that task.

“What about our games? The charades and pantomimes?” Trevor, perhaps experiencing some disbelief, had difficulty accepting his private nuptials had been made into a public event.

“They’ll be replaced with dancing!” someone shouted.

“It all sounds quite pagan,” Vicar Strevens said, not quite objecting.

“Dancing . . . You know what that means, Fred?” Trevor turned to perhaps the only capable musician for the day.

“It’s a good thing I tuned the pianoforte yesterday.” Freddie made no protest about his role in the upcoming nuptials.

“Does this mean we aren’t going to play our duet?” Rosalind had very much looked forward to performing. “We spent so much time practicing.”

“And every minute was a delight.” He took up her hand and kissed it. “Do you not think you should be by your sister’s side? Someone has to keep Mrs. Harris at bay, for Clare’s sake.”

“And keep the hartshorn on hand, just in case.” Trevor shook his head. “I beg your pardon, but she did look as if she’s going to meet the carpet again.”

By the time Rosalind headed out of the parlor, it had been decided. It had quite gotten out of any of the primary participants’ hands, so a wedding celebration was added to the current Twelfth Night festivities. Just as she took the first step to ascend the staircase, Rosalind heard Cook.

“It’s goin’ ta be the best cake we’ve had in years,” she exclaimed. “Oh, yes. Mr. Freddie, there, had a hand in the cake, yes, he did. Now it be Miss Clare’s weddin’ cake! Don’t know what’s ta happen when someone other than the groom gets the pea.”

Vicar Strevens and Trevor stood to the right of the square pianoforte just in front of the back door, flanked by a set of windows. Sunlight shone, as it had not in the days and weeks before, illuminating the snowy exterior. It made for a lovely image and the perfect setting for two to be united in holy matrimony.

The guests stood on both sides of the parlor leaving a clear path for Clare to meet Vicar Strevens and Trevor at the other side of the room and waited but as time passed, the crowd grew restless.

“Fred . . .” Trevor whispered. “Do you think you could play something?”

“What?”

“A bit of music to amuse the guests while we wait.”

Freddie looked about and noticed the unease had grown. He moved to the pianoforte, sat at the keyboard, and began to play. To honor the holiday season, he played a Christmas song, to everyone’s delight. Clare had still not made an appearance. During the interlude, Freddie played several carols and hymns and everyone sang along, keeping them happy.

Then she arrived. Every eye looked upon her standing at the open door. Breathtakingly beautiful as every bride should be, her lovely red hair had been styled around an ivy crown. She carried a small bouquet made up with red holly berries adding color to the sprigs of evergreens that had been bound by red ribbons.

Clare smiled and moved down the empty path toward Trevor, who looked as happy as Freddie had ever seen his friend.

When Clare stopped, Trevor took her hand.

“No, not yet,” the vicar whispered.

“Oh, sorry.” Trevor quickly let her hand loose. “I beg your pardon, I’ve never done this before.”

Vicar Strevens began the ceremony. The bride looked beautiful. The groom was very handsome. Both looked a bit nervous but very happy.

Trevor took Clare as his wedded wife. “‘
To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part
.’”

Clare took Trevor as her wedded husband. “‘
To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part
.’”

“Now we need the ring . . .” The vicar prompted Trevor.

“Ring?”
Trevor blanched and glanced at Clare then turned to Freddie. “I haven’t got one.”

A ring . . .
Freddie had the one resting in his waistcoat pocket. His mother’s. The one he was going to give to Rosalind. He fished it out and handed it to Trevor. “It’s only a loan, all right? I want it back after the ceremony.”

“Done,” Trevor agreed. He turned to Vicar Strevens and whispered, “I’ve only borrowed it.”

The vicar nodded. “Repeat after me: ‘
With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with my worldly goods I thee endow . . 
.’”

The vicar led them through a prayer, joined their right hands together and proclaimed: “‘
Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder
.’”

Vicar Strevens added his blessing and proclaimed Clare and Trevor married.

“Now, sir,” said the vicar. “You may kiss your bride.”

Which Trevor gladly did.

After the New Year’s wishes had been said and the well-wishing for a happy marriage had been given, everyone left for home hoping to arrive before it was dark. Rosalind and Freddie stood by the window, where they had once shared a kiss, watching the last of the guests leave.

“Clare looked so very happy today.” Rosalind could not recall a more festive party. Everything had turned out very well.

“As did Trevor. He’s a married man now.” Freddie sounded envious. “Are you still determined to wait for me?”

“I will probably be the
oldest
bride ever to wed. It’s not a record I’m anxious to break.” Did he not realize she loved him
for richer for poorer
 . . . the stubborn man could not see beyond his pride.