After the Kiss (29 page)

“We had the same idea,” Becky explained. “Ours is not quite as neat as the ones you made,” she said hesitantly.

Her glance slid from the neat circles of daisies Eliza had created to the wild jumble of yellow snapdragons, white daisies, blue bachelor’s buttons, and bell-shaped lilies-of-the-valley that the twins had woven into a crown.

“Here,” Reggie said, extending the crown of wildflowers reverently toward her. “It’s our wedding gift to you.”

“It’s lovely,” Eliza said, accepting the chaos of color from Reggie and standing before the looking glass to put it on. The crown was so large, that instead of sitting on top of her head, it came to rest—flowers crushing, stems painfully scratching and poking—
halfway down her forehead, like a band across her brow.

“It’s too big,” Reggie said flatly.

“Not at all,” Eliza countered, trying to keep from wincing as she adjusted a few of the worst-offending stems. When she was done, she turned to face them with a radiant smile on her face. “This is exactly what a very famous queen of England, Eleanor of Aquitaine, wore at her wedding.”

Reggie eyed her doubtfully.

“I swear,” Eliza said, crossing her heart. “Only her band was made of ugly gold and jewels, not beautiful blossoms like mine.”

She surprised a laugh out of Becky and a snort of disbelief from Reggie.

“You are so silly, Eliza,” Becky said. “What lady wants flowers, when she could have gold and jewels?”

“What lady wants gold and jewels,” she countered, “when she could wear a crown of delicate, scented wildflowers—never before worn and never to be worn again?”

“How lovely you make it sound,” Becky said.

“It is lovely,” Eliza insisted. She leaned over and gave each girl a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Becky. Thank you, Reggie. I will always remember your thoughtfulness.”

Eliza wanted the twins to understand how important their gift was to her. That it was not the value of the gift that made it precious, but the love that had prompted the giving of it. Yet from the strange look Reggie had given her, and the confusion on Becky’s face, Eliza knew they did not understand. Or if they did, could neither accept nor believe what they were
hearing. Someday, in the not too distant future, both children would.

But first, Eliza had to get through the wedding. The wildflowers were beginning to wilt. Where was the groom? He had said sundown. They had not even come to the chapel until sundown. Had the Beast changed his mind?

It was too late for that. They had made a bargain. Eliza intended to see it through. Even if she had to drag the Beast kicking and screaming to the altar.

The thought made Eliza smile. And shudder.

“The decorations are so very beautiful,” Becky said with a sigh, glancing around the chapel. “The flowers. And the candles.”

Eliza eyed the two painted ceramic vases Griggs was arranging on the altar—unfortunately unmatched—which held enormous bouquets of dark purple irises, fern, and cascading wisteria. The twins had turned the rest of the wildflowers they had gathered that morning into two large baskets of petals, since Reggie had decided to join Becky in reenacting the wedding at the fair in Comarty. If they threw them all, she would be wading in wildflowers.

Eliza had done everything she could, with the help of Griggs and the children, to dispel the gloom in the chapel. Beeswax candles burned in every iron sconce along the crumbling wall, and from as many candelabras as she and the twins could carry from one wing of the Abbey to the other in a single afternoon.

As he joined her, Griggs muttered, “All lit up like a Spanish whorehouse. All we need are the dancin’ ladies.”

Eliza’s lips curled, but she could not manage the
smile. She was too aware of how little time remained before she was to become a bride. “Where is he, Griggs?”

“Waitin’ for company to arrive, miss. Should be along any minute now.”

“Company?” Eliza asked, her stomach shifting sideways. “What company?”

Griggs shrugged. “Folks he invited to the weddin’.”

Eliza tightened her grip on the ribbon-bound bouquet of wildflowers she had rescued from the twins before they dissolved it into petals. Drat the man! She could barely keep her knees from knocking, she was so scared, and the looby had invited guests to the wedding!

“Eliza! You’re beautiful!”

Eliza whirled. She almost broke into tears when she saw who was standing there. “Charlie!”

The Earl and Countess of Denbigh were flanked by the Duke and Duchess of Braddock. Behind them, hat in hand, stood Cousin Nigel and his wife. Bringing up the rear, but by no means the least of the collected company, stood Aunt Lavinia.

“Oh, dear,” Eliza said. “Oh, dear.” She was overwhelmed with joy, with gratefulness that he—that man—the captain—had thought to invite her friends, and that he had somehow convinced Aunt Lavinia to come, as well.

And though she could not be happy that Cousin Nigel was present, she suddenly realized what the Beast must have known full well—that her guardian must give his consent for her wedding to be valid.

Eliza glanced at each of them again, her heart in her throat. “Oh, dear,” she said.

“My sharp-tongued Eliza can only say ‘Oh, dear? Have you lost your wit, as well as your senses?” the countess asked, walking right up to Eliza and hugging her. “What is this I hear? Is it possible? Did the Beau really ask for your hand, and did you really say yes?”

Eliza gestured helplessly to the flowers she carried and the crown in her hair. “Can you think of any other reason I would become a walking garden?”

“That is my Eliza!” the countess said with a laugh and another hug. “See, Lion, everything has turned out fine, after all.”

Eliza noticed the earl reserved agreement. Instead he said, “I have brought the special dispensation for Blackthorne to be married after dark.”

Griggs held out his hand. “I will take it, your lordship.”

Eliza stared as the paper changed hands. Of course. Weddings were only held between eight in the morning and noon. It had never even occurred to her that the Beast would need permission to do otherwise.

While Eliza was standing lost in thought, Charlotte, being Charlotte, introduced herself to the twins. And introduced the twins to everyone else.

Eliza was surprised to see Reggie and Becky curtsy with perfect civility to each person they met and introduce themselves politely as “Lady Regina” and “Lady Rebecca.” Why those scamps! For all their “trouble” with governesses, they had absolutely
perfect
manners!

“Where is His Grace?” Eliza whispered to Griggs.

“I’m to fetch him and the Reverend Mister Hopewell once everyone is seated,” Griggs whispered back.

Eliza was distracted by the Duchess of Braddock’s hand on her arm.

“I am so glad for you, Miss Sheringham,” the duchess said. “You are so brave …”

Eliza shivered. Did the duchess know something she did not? Was there more to fear from the Beast than a scarred face and a clawlike hand?

The duke put his arm around Her Grace’s shoulder and said, “The duchess and I extend our best wishes to you and Blackthorne, Miss Sheringham,” before leading his wife over to be introduced to the twins.

“Are you alt right?” her aunt asked. “Your hands are cold.”

“The chapel is cold,” Eliza said, making an excuse for her bloodless hands. “As you will soon discover for yourself. Let me help you find a seat.”

Eliza began to lead her aunt toward one of the front pews.

“Pardon me, miss,” Griggs said. “But His Grace said only the last two rows.”

“What?”

“No one’s to sit closer than the last two rows.”

“Steady, dear,” her aunt said, clasping her hand tightly. “Come, find me a place to sit. My old legs are buckling under me.”

White-faced, Eliza led her aunt to a seat on the aisle in the next-to-the-last row. “At least you will be able to smell me when I go by,” she said. “I am all over flowers.”

“Are you wearing the dress?”

Eliza flushed. “Yes.”

Every dress Eliza had brought with her to Blackthorne Abbey had been lilac or lavender, the only colors she felt comfortable wearing so soon after her year of mourning. But lavender was the wrong color for a wedding.

Aunt Lavinia had heard her muttering and said, “Open my leather traveling valise. I believe I have something in there you can alter to fit you.”

Eliza had opened the valise and gasped at what she found. “What is this?”

“Your wedding dress, It is a gift from your mother.”

Eliza had been aghast. And entranced.

“Is it as beautiful as it was the day I saw your mother try it on?” her aunt asked.

“I don’t know,” Eliza rasped, staring down at the square, pearl-encrusted bodice, the ivory satin skirt. “It must have cost of fortune.”

It had been intended as a ballgown, her aunt had said, for her mother’s first ball in London. But it had never been worn. All these years it had lain in a cedar chest, to be given to Eliza on the day she married.

Eliza saw in the pearl-encrusted dress a way they could have saved themselves from destitution. “Why could we not have sold this? It would have kept us in coal—”

“This dress was the reason your father and mother left you alone with your—” Aunt Lavinia had cut herself off, agitated and upset.

Eliza had not been allowed to question her further. In fact, the dress had needed very little alteration.
“Whatever made you bring it along?” Eliza had asked.

Her aunt chuckled. “I had a feeling you might need it.”

When Eliza finally looked up from seating her aunt in the next-to-the-last row of the chapel, she realized Griggs had already seated everyone else in the back two rows where the duke wanted them. She watched with dismay as Griggs moved along the wall, putting out every candle from the next-to-the-last pew forward, all the way to the altar.

Griggs left two sconces burning, one in each far corner in the front of the chapel. But their meager light did not reach to the altar, which was now cloaked in shadows. The two vases had disappeared in the gloom.

“Behold,” she heard one of the gentlemen say in a low voice. “The bridegroom cometh.”

For a man of God, Marcus thought, the Reverend Mister Hopewell did not have much faith in his Maker to keep him safe from the evils of the world—and Marcus in particular. The man stuttered when he talked and was visibly shaking when Marcus gestured him through one of the four doors that led into the chapel.

“After you, Your Grace,” the little man said.

Marcus smiled within his hood. The vicar apparently intended to put the Beast of Blackthorne between himself and any evil spirits flapping and fluttering on the other side.

Marcus forgot entirely about the little man the instant he stepped through the door and laid eyes on
Miss Sheringham. She was bathed in a glow of candlelight at the very back of the chapel, where the candles were still burning. Her jaw was firm, but her face looked as pale as parchment. She carried a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand and wore a strikingly lovely crown of them upon her head. He could smell flowers from where he stood.

He would not have noticed the gown at all, if she had not turned in that instant so that candlelight struck the profusion of pearls on the bodice. He wondered if the Countess of Denbigh had given the dress to her as a wedding gift. He was sure it cost more than he could have made in a year as a captain in the 10th Royal Hussars.

He saw her eyes search the shadows for him. Her frightened eyes.

It was not very far from the altar to the back of the chapel. In perhaps five strides, he could be at her side. But he stayed where he was. The dark was his friend. It kept the monster hidden from those who feared it.

Please
, he thought.
Do not be afraid of me
.

He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and knew she must not have slept any more than he had. He did not look much better. There had been a great deal to arrange in four-and-twenty hours.

His solicitor had come to terms with Nigel Sheringham, procuring a signed document from the earl that his ward, Miss Elizabeth Sheringham, had his permission to marry Marcus Wharton, currently in possession of his brother’s title, Duke of Blackthorne.

It had been the middle of the night when he realized it would better for Miss Sheringham if the wedding
were witnessed by friends. Not only to give her company, but to prove to Society that she had not been gobbled up by the Beast, but merely married to him.

And he had needed a favor from Denbigh. A special dispensation to marry after dark had never even occurred to him until the vicar had pointed out the impossibility of conducting a wedding anytime after noon.

“And it must be in a chapel, Your Grace,” the little man had reminded him.

“There is a chapel in the Abbey,” he had said. “It is consecrated ground.”

“When was it consecrated, Your Grace?” the little man demanded. “And by whom?”

“By the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Marcus snarled back, “on the day Henry II bestowed a dukedom on the first Lord of Blackthorne. Will that suffice, Mister Hopewell?”

The little man had made no more objection. But he clearly suffered a fright when he walked past the decaying walls of the Abbey and heard the windows begin to rattle and saw the tattered velvet curtains appear to move all by themselves.

Marcus did not realize the vicar had followed him into the chapel until the little man cleared his throat from a spot behind the altar.

“Are we ready to proceed?” the vicar asked. “Where is the bride?”

Marcus saw Miss Sheringham sway and then catch her balance.

“I am here,” she said. She turned and gave Reggie and Becky a little shove in front of her.

When he could see the twins in the light, Marcus noticed all the changes Miss Sheringham had wrought in a single day. More braids! Different colored sashes! And charming garlands of daisies he knew she must have made for them.

He watched as Becky reached into her basket, pulled out a handful of something, and threw it high into the air. Whatever it was floated down over the assembled company. From muffled laughter and whispered comments, he realized Becky had thrown a handful of flower petals.