Slightly Wicked (27 page)

She was all beautiful, breathtaking goddess and woman, and now at last she had accepted herself as she was.

“May I assume that your answer is yes?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said, laughing. “Did I not say so? Oh,
yes,
Rannulf.”

They both laughed then and he scooped her up in his arms again and twirled her about and about until they were both dizzy.

CHAPTER XXIV

J
udith’s small dressing room was so crowded with people that Tillie could scarcely bend her elbows to place her bonnet carefully on her head so as not to disturb the soft, shiny curls of her coiffure.

“You look
beautiful,
Jude,” Pamela said, tears shining in her eyes. “I always did say you were the loveliest of us all.”

“Lord Rannulf is going to be
ecstatic,
” Hilary said, clasping her hands to her bosom.

“Judith,” Cassandra said, gazing at her. But she had always been Judith’s closest friend. Words failed her. “Oh, Judith.”

Their mother did more than gaze. She reached up for the lace over the brim of the bonnet, pulled it down, and arranged it over her daughter’s face.

“It seems I have waited forever to see one of my daughters happily married,” she said. “Promise me you will be happy, Judith.” Although her manner was brisk, it was very obvious that she was on the verge of tears.

“I promise, Mama,” Judith said.

Her grandmother, dressed in bright fuchsia and decked out in surely every jewel from the velvet bag, glittered and clinked as she clasped and unclasped her hands and beamed at her favorite granddaughter. She had complained of no ailments today. Nor had she eaten any breakfast beyond her usual morning cup of chocolate. She was too excited, she had said.

“Judith, my love,” she said now, “I wish . . . oh,
how
I wish your grandpapa were here to share my pride and joy. But he is not and so I will have to be doubly proud and doubly joyful.”

And then there was a tap on the door and yet another body squeezed inside.

“Oh, I say!” Branwell exclaimed. “You look as fine as fivepence, Jude. Uncle George sent me to announce that the carriages are ready outside the door to take everyone to church except Jude and Papa.”

There was a swell of sound and many tearful final greetings and words of wisdom before the room emptied, leaving Judith alone with Tillie.

She was in a new room—a larger one than before—at Harewood Grange. It was her wedding day. There had been much discussion about the most suitable place for the wedding. Papa had wanted it at home in Beaconsfield, and Rannulf had been quite willing to oblige. But there were a few problems. Where would all his family members stay? Would it be too far for the two grandmothers to come, especially Lady Beamish, who was in ill health? London was suggested and rejected as equally far for the elderly ladies to travel. Leicestershire was perhaps the best possibility since both Judith and Rannulf had relatives there with large enough homes to accommodate the two families. And yet at first it had seemed an impossibility. How could Judith and her family invite themselves to Harewood Grange after recent events?

The problem had been solved with the arrival at the rectory of a very civil letter from Sir George Effingham, who had just been informed of the betrothal by his mother-in-law. His brother-in-law was very welcome to bring his family to Harewood, he had written, if the nuptials were to be held close by. In the same letter he mentioned the fact that his son had recently sailed for America and that his wife and daughter were making a protracted visit at the parental home of Mr. Peter Webster, Julianne’s intended husband.

Rannulf had been at Grandmaison for the past month while the banns were being read. His brothers and sisters had been there for most of that time too, brought there by the news of Lady Beamish’s failing health as well as by the wedding. Judith herself had not arrived until yesterday and had had only one brief meeting with Rannulf, who had ridden over from Grandmaison after dinner with Lord Alleyne. All her family had been present, and he had stayed for only half an hour.

But at last—oh, at last, six weeks after the wonder of his appearance on the hill above the rectory—it was their wedding day.

“You look as pretty as any picture, miss,” Tillie said.

“Thank you.” Judith turned to look in the pier glass, which had been hidden behind the press of bodies until a minute ago. She had decided upon simplicity though Papa had insisted that no expense be spared. Her ivory silk dress was moderately low at the bosom and fashionably high-waisted, its short sleeves and hemline scalloped and trimmed with gold embroidery. Its chief distinguishing feature was that it hugged the contours of her upper body quite unashamedly before falling in soft folds about her hips and long legs. Her bonnet, like her long gloves, matched the dress exactly in color, though its one curling plume was gold. So were her slippers. About her neck she wore a delicate double chain of gold, a wedding gift Rannulf had brought with him last evening.

Yes, Judith thought, she looked as she had wanted to look. But the butterflies that had danced in her stomach from the moment she arose early until all the excitement of dressing had begun were back in full force. She had not fully believed in the reality of this day until now. And even now . . .

“Your papa will be waiting for you, miss,” Tillie said.

“Yes.” Judith turned resolutely from the mirror and stepped out of the dressing room, whose door a smiling, curtsying Tillie was holding open for her.

Her father was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, stern and formal in his best black coat and breeches. His eyes took in her full appearance as she descended, the vertical frown line between his eyebrows prominently displayed. Judith braced herself for his critical comment, determined not to allow it to dampen her spirits.

“Well, Judith,” he said, “for years past I have been very afraid that all that beauty was going to be snatched up by a man who could see no deeper than surfaces. But I believe you have avoided that fate so common to extraordinarily beautiful women. You are lovely indeed today.”

She could hardly believe the evidence of her own ears. He had always thought her beautiful? Why had he not said so at least once during her life before now? Why had he not explained . . . But parents, she supposed, were not the pinnacles of perfection their children thought and expected them to be. They were humans who usually did the best they could but often made the wrong choices.

“Thank you, Papa.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He offered his arm to lead her outside to the waiting carriage.

T
he village church at Kennon, with its ancient stone walls and stained-glass windows, was picturesque but small. That latter fact did not matter greatly since the guest list for the marriage of Miss Judith Law to Lord Rannulf Bedwyn was confined to their two families.

Rannulf felt as nervous as if this were a grand show of a
ton
wedding at fashionable St. George’s on Hanover Square in London. He almost wished they could have done what Aidan had done—he had taken Eve to London, married her privately by special license with only her great-aunt and his batman for witnesses, and then taken her home to Oxfordshire without informing even Bewcastle of the event.

Rannulf waited at the front of the church with Alleyne, his best man. Bewcastle sat in the second pew, their grandmother next to him, Freyja and Morgan beside her. Aidan sat in the next pew with Eve and their two foster children—though they never referred to the children in any other way than as their own. Behind them were the Marquess and Marchioness of Rochester, Rannulf’s uncle and aunt. Judith’s mother sat in the second pew on the other side of the aisle, between her son and her mother-in-law. The three sisters sat behind them with Sir George Effingham. Some servants from Grandmaison and Harewood sat farther back in the church.

The past month had seemed interminable even though he had had all his brothers and sisters with him except Aidan, who had come just a week ago. Every day he had expected a letter from Judith terminating their engagement for some flimsy reason or other. Her confidence in herself, he feared, was still a fragile thing. But the letter had not come, and when he had ridden over to Harewood last evening, it was to the happy discovery that she had indeed arrived, just as planned.

He still did not quite believe even this morning.

But then in the hush of the church interior he was aware of the church door opening and closing again, and Alleyne touched his elbow to remind him that it was time to stand. The vicar, robed and smiling, was signaling the organist and the music began.

Rannulf turned his head and then his whole body.

Lord, but she was breathtakingly beautiful—not just because of the luscious body, displayed to full advantage in her wedding dress, or the glorious hair, half hidden beneath her bonnet, or the lovely face shadowed by her veil. Not just because of her looks and figure, but because she was Judith.

His Judith.
Almost
his.

She was not smiling, he saw when she came closer on her father’s arm. Her green eyes were huge. She looked terrified. But then her glance focused on him and she looked suddenly transformed by joy.

He smiled at her.

And believed.

“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began a few moments later.

         I
t felt strangely as if time had slowed—quite the opposite of what she had feared would happen. She listened to and savored every word of the service that joined her in holy matrimony to Rannulf for the rest of their lives. She heard her father give her hand in marriage and turned to flash him a smile. She noticed the unusual brightness of his eyes and realized that he was affected by the moment. She saw Lord Alleyne, handsome and elegant and smiling. She heard the rustle of the people behind her and heard her grandmother sniff and someone shush a child who asked in a loud whisper if that was her new aunt. She could smell the roses, which were displayed in two large vases on either side of the altar.

And with every fiber of her being she was aware of Rannulf, of the fact that she had missed him dreadfully during the past month, of the fact that after today they would be together for as long as they both lived. He had had his hair cut though he still looked like a Saxon warrior. He looked achingly attractive in a brown, form-fitting coat with gold waistcoat, cream knee-breeches, white stockings and linen and lace, and black shoes. His hand was large and firm and warm as it held hers, and his fingers were steady as they slid her wedding ring onto her hand. His blue eyes smiled into hers from the moment she first saw him until after the vicar spoke his final words.

“I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

She wondered how it was possible for happiness to be so intense that it was almost painful.

“My wife,” Rannulf whispered for her ears only, and he lifted the veil from her face, arranged it over the brim of her bonnet, and looked at her with bright, intense eyes. For a startled moment she thought he was going to kiss her right there at the front of the church with the vicar and both their families looking on.

They signed the register to make their marriage finally official, and then walked out of the church together as man and wife. It was September. The heat of summer was gone but autumn had not yet arrived. The sun shone from a clear sky.

“My love,” Rannulf said as soon as they stepped out onto the church steps, circling her waist with one arm and dipping his head to kiss her.

There was cheering and applause, and Judith looked up and saw a large crowd of people gathered about the lych-gate at the end of the stone path that curved through the churchyard. All the villagers must have come out to see them.

She laughed and looked up at Rannulf, who was laughing back.

“Shall we make a dash for it?” he asked.

The open barouche drawn up beyond the gate was decorated with large white bows, she could see. It was also surrounded by people.

“Yes.” She clasped his hand, lifted the front of her dress with her free hand, and ran with him to the carriage. For the final few yards they were pelted with flower petals and surrounded by laughter and shouted greetings.

They drove off after Rannulf had taken a fat pouch from one corner of the seat and hurled handfuls of coins into the crowd. He sat down beside her, laughing, though his smile faded from all but his eyes as he took her hand in one of his again and laid the other on top of it.

“Judith,” he said. “My love. Are you happy?”

“Almost too happy,” she told him. “Happiness wants to burst out of me and cannot find a way.”

“We will find a way,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her again. “Tonight. I promise.”

“Yes,” she said, “but first the wedding breakfast.”

“First the wedding breakfast,” he agreed.

“I am so glad both our families are here to celebrate with us,” she said. “I think it is only today that I have realized fully how very precious families are.”

He squeezed her hand with both his own.

         F
amily was indeed a priceless commodity. And the two families—the Bedwyns and the Laws—were not as awkward with each other as Rannulf had feared. Bewcastle unbent sufficiently to make himself agreeable to each of the Laws as he was presented to them and engaged the Reverend Jeremiah Law in a conversation during breakfast that sounded as if it were about theology. The Marquess of Rochester spoke at length with Sir George Effingham about politics. Aunt Rochester, that haughtiest of aristocrats, allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with Judith’s mother and grandmother as well as Rannulf’s grandmother. Alleyne maneuvered matters so that he was seated between Hilary and Pamela Law at table. Morgan, seated opposite them, conversed with Branwell Law. Eve, smiling and charming, spoke with everyone, her children at her side except when the little girl finally tired from all the excitement of the day and Aidan scooped her up on one arm.