Chapter Eight
M atthew stared out the window at the blustery spring afternoon but kept his senses locked on the hallway behind him. He strained to hear approaching footsteps. The Broadmere butler had gone to fetch Fortuity and probably one of her sisters, although the need for a chaperone seemed silly at this point, since they would marry within days. With the special license already in hand, Fortuity had but to tell him which particular day she preferred. After all, a lady needed a little time to prepare not only for her wedding but moving her things to her new home.
He had come straight from the jeweler’s, too eager to see what Fortuity thought of the ring to wait another day. He prayed she would love it, but more importantly, he hoped it would create the first of many cracks in the protective wall she had built around her heart.
The brisk and light tapping of approaching footsteps down the hallway made him smile. It was but one set of delicate feet. Fortuity came to him alone. Good. He turned toward the doorway just as she swept into the room.
“Lord Ravenglass.” She dipped a formal curtsy, then, with a strained politeness that was most disconcerting, directed him to the settee and chairs in front of the hearth.
He sidled his way over to the seating area but remained standing. An aching sense of something akin to homesickness filled him, a longing for things to be as they once were when he was too great of a fool to appreciate them. He missed her infectious smile, her lighthearted laugh, and the easiness that always ran between them like the quiet waters of a peaceful stream. Her hopeless melancholy weighed heavy on his conscience. “What have I done now?”
“Done?” She cocked her head, reminding him of Ignatius the pug’s reaction whenever someone spoke to him.
“I can always tell whenever I have displeased you because you address me as Lord Ravenglass rather than Matthew.”
She lowered her gaze and rubbed her forehead as if her head ached. “You have not displeased me, my lord. Life has.”
He crossed over to her, took her gently by the hand, and led her to the settee. “I know, my little wren, and I am truly sorry.” With a nod at the seat, then a glance at the open parlor doors, he asked, “Would you sit with me? I have something for you.”
Rather than appear pleased at the thought of receiving a gift, she looked even more pained—in fact, almost horrified—as they took a seat. “That is very kind, but I…I have no need of anything.” She barely shook her head. “Truly, I don’t.”
He pulled the delicate velvet box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “A gift is a need for the giver—not the recipient.”
“Oh my. I see.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and lifted the box higher, eyeing it as though it held something dangerous. “You really didn’t have to, you know. It is not as if our marriage is…”
“Is what?”
“Uhm… Usual , I suppose would be a way of putting it.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But I wish to make you happy again.” He would not tell her of his hope that their marriage would one day be usual in the best way possible. She would never believe him. He nudged her hand that held the box. “Open it. It is my sincerest hope you will like it.”
After another reluctant glance at him, she removed the ribbon and carefully opened the hinged lid. “A regard ring.” Her tone revealed she was less than impressed but determined to be polite. “How lovely.” But then something came over her, something that gave him hope. She cradled the box in both hands and studied the gemstones closer. “No, this one is different. The gems do not spell regard , do they?”
“No. They do not.” He waited, holding his breath for her to discover the uniqueness of this ring that was intended for her alone.
“Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she named the stones. She stole another glance at him, this time lingering long enough to meet his gaze. “ Dearest ?”
“Yes. Because that is who you are to me, my little wren. You are and always will be my dearest. ” He took the ring out of the box and showed her the inscription inside the band. “And this is what our marriage shall be built upon. Trust. ”
Tears welled in her lovely eyes. “It is wonderful, Matthew,” she whispered. “So very wonderful.”
“Shall I place it on your finger?”
“Yes, please.” She breathed the words so softly he barely heard her.
As he slid it to the base of her ring finger on her left hand, he smiled. “A perfect fit. A good omen, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded while gazing down at her hand and slowly tilting it so the stones caught the light. “It is very lovely.” Her smile finally shone in her eyes once again. “Thank you.” She hugged her hand to her heart and twitched a little shrug. “I thought you might be here to inquire about the date we shall wed.”
“Have you settled on one?” He wouldn’t remind her that the sooner they married, the sooner the gossips would get bored with them and move on to torment some other poor soul.
“Felicity and Cook already have our wedding breakfast well in hand, and the maids have my trunks sorted. They assure me it will take no time at all to finish packing that which remains.” She paused and swallowed hard, as if she had just forced down an overly large bite of biscuit. “Would the day after tomorrow be suitable for your schedule?”
“It would indeed, thank you.” He hated this new, meek demeanor of hers. Where was his feisty little wren that warbled and darted through any situation with wit and fury? “I shall notify Mrs. Greer that the lady of the house will arrive the day after tomorrow. Shall I send for some of your trunks, or do you prefer to wait until your maid can accompany them to get your things properly situated in your rooms?”
She stared at him for a long moment, appearing bewildered. It was as if he had spoken in a language she didn’t understand. “My maid?” she said under her breath, more to herself than him. “I suppose I shall need a maid, shan’t I?”
“I fear Mrs. Greer cannot spare Mary Louise, and neither would she suit the task. While she is efficiency itself when it comes to many things, the duties of a lady’s maid are not her strengths. Her shortcomings caused poor Agnus to lose her temper more than once.”
Both of Fortuity’s fair eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Agnus Sykesbury lost her temper? More than once? With Mary Louise? I cannot imagine that.”
Matthew chuckled. “It was quite remarkable. Even Eleanor was rendered speechless both times, and you can imagine my astonishment and joy at her mouth being shut for her.”
“Oh my. I am sorry I missed that.” Fortuity’s gaze settled once more on her ring and her smile widened, thrilling him immensely.
“You truly like it?” he asked.
“I do indeed.” With a sheepish dip of her head, she ran her thumb back and forth across the gemstones, barely spinning the ring on her finger. “I shall cherish it always.” She went quiet and her brow slightly puckered. Shadows of worry blotted the light of happiness from her eyes.
“What are you thinking, Fortuity?”
“How we have always been such good friends, even from the very start, and I do not wish us to lose that. I fear the loss of your freedom will cause you to resent me.”
It took every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from dropping to his knees and telling her he was glad they were marrying. He didn’t dare, though, not yet. Because she would never believe him. Instead, he took her hands in his. “I do not now, nor will I ever, resent you.”
“How do you know?”
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest, flattening her palm over his heart. “My heart knows. That is all that matters, because I have learned that my heart gets things right far more often than my head does.”
She didn’t speak, nor did she lift her gaze from where she had it locked on her hand on his chest. Then she eased her hand free and hugged it to her middle. “I am glad you do not resent me,” she said quietly.
He longed to catch her up in his arms and beg forgiveness for being such a fool. But she looked ready to bolt, like a frightened fawn in the woods. “We will work out our life together and find happiness. I am sure of it.”
Her forced smile brought him no comfort, but it couldn’t be helped. The battle to win her heart and trust was a delicate and strategic balancing act of patience, timing, and the careful nurturing of her forgiveness for his stupidity and pride. And he would win this battle. For Fortuity. For himself. But most of all for their future children.
*
“You are loveliness itself, my lady.” Anne secured Fortuity’s curls into a becoming bundle of ringlets high on her head, then tugged some free to cascade in an alluring temptation down over one shoulder.
“Thank you.” Fortuity stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror, already missing the chaos of her many sisters fluttering about while they all attempted to get ready at the same time. “Is everything packed and ready to be moved to Ravenglass Townhouse?”
“Yes, my lady. I’ve but to add the last of your items while you and his lordship attend your ceremony. Soon as I sort those things out, I’ll have George load the wagon and take me over. He said he’d stay and help unload too, so’s I can have everything ready for you when you arrive.”
Fortuity swallowed hard and concentrated on breathing deeply—in, then out. She’d forgone eating or drinking anything as a precaution to keep from casting up her accounts all over the vicar. “And you packed my quills and ink? My foolscap and stationery? Everything?”
“Yes, my lady. Your writing desk too, because His Grace said you most certainly had to have it when he told me I was going along to be your lady’s maid.”
“I am glad you are coming with me, Anne. It will be strange to be one of so few females in a house.” The unnerving quiet of the dressing room made her clench her fists. “Where is Gracie, by the way? And Merry and Joy? I know Felicity and Serendipity are busy seeing to the preparations of the wedding breakfast, but I cannot imagine why Gracie, Merry, and Joy are not up here lending me moral support.”
Anne pulled a face as she held out a selection of necklaces for Fortuity to choose from. “Far be it from me to gossip, but Mrs. Flackney overheard His Grace instructing the ladies that if they dared help you escape your vows, he’d give away all of Lady Grace’s hounds, ban Lady Joy from the gaming tables at every party, and condemn Lady Merry to dance with Lord Pellington at every ball.” She tapped on the necklace in the middle. “This ruby was a favorite of your mother’s and matches the embroidery on your gown.”
Fortuity nodded, not really caring which necklace she wore. “What about Lady Knightwood?” She hated the whining in her tone, but she needed her sisters, and Chance making them afraid to gather around her was not fair in the slightest. Even if the others were too leery of his temperament to come to the dressing room, Blessing could come and keep her company. She was married and mistress of her own home. “Do you know if she has arrived yet?”
Anne fastened the ruby necklace around her throat. “She has. But it’s my understanding that her ladyship is quite uncomfortable. She is in the parlor with her feet propped on a stool.” She lowered her voice. “You should see them, my lady. Her ankles and feet have swollen so that her slippers look ready to pop right off.”
Fortuity tried to suppress a heavy sigh and failed. She supposed she was being selfish, wishing for her sisters’ support. After all, in their minds, she was marrying the man she loved. But what they didn’t understand was that Matthew was being forced to do something he had sworn he would never do. Admittedly, his kindness and thoughtfulness only made her love him more, but he still thought of her as a friend —not a wife. She could see it in his eyes. Surely such a thing would doom their marriage to failure.
She squirmed atop the cushioned bench, remembering his unmistakable pity for her the moment they both realized they had walked into Eleanor’s trap in Lady Burrastone’s library. He was marrying her because he not only felt honor bound to do so, but because he felt sorry for her. He knew she had no other options, other than that temperamental Scottish lord whom she had intended to send back to the Highlands at her next opportunity.
Anne brought forward the ruby earrings that matched the necklace, then halted and frowned at Fortuity’s reflection in the mirror. “Your sisters’ ears are pierced, but yours…”
“Are not.” Fortuity rubbed her earlobes, remembering the battle to keep them safe from Serendipity’s needle. “The necklace is enough. Serendipity or one of the others can have the earrings.” She touched the simple necklace of a single ruby dangling from a delicate chain. “I prefer a quieter look.”
“As you wish.” The maid returned the earrings to the velvet trays of jewelry she had spread out across the top of the low dresser.
A persistent and ever-louder noise at the closed sitting room door made Fortuity turn that way. “What is that? It sounds like scratching.”
Anne hurried over and opened it. “Oh my goodness. Shoo, Gastric. You are not supposed to be in here.”
“Let him in,” Fortuity said while reaching for Grace’s favorite hound, named Gastric not only for his gluttony but his regular habit of filling a room with eye-burning flatulence. “Come here, old friend. At least you’ve come to see me.”
With a happy woof, he ambled over and nudged his tawny head up into her hand for the pats he knew he deserved.
As Fortuity smiled down into his adoring brown eyes, she noticed a rolled parchment secured with a ribbon around his neck. “What is this, Gastric? Are you a spy for the Crown now?”
He merely wagged his tail in a faster circle.
She untied the ribbon, unrolled the parchment, and read to herself: Even though we are not with you, we are with you. Never doubt it. Chance is an arse. But you knew that. Love, G. Before rising from the bench, she scratched the sweet dog under the chin. “Thank you, Gastric. You have been a much appreciated messenger.”
With a glance at Anne, who was pawing through a trunk in search of who knew what, she crossed to the hearth and tossed the note from her beloved sister into the flames so Chance wouldn’t discover it and become even more annoying. Then she kissed the top of the dog’s head and rubbed his floppy ears. “Tell Gracie I said thank you,” she whispered against his velvety muzzle.
He responded with another happy woof, then trotted out of the room.
“Thank goodness,” Anne said as she watched him go. “We mustn’t have a bride that smells of dog.”
“Gracie bathes Gastric weekly. He does not smell.”
Anne wrinkled her nose and shook her head as she closed the trunk in front of her. “He is a sweet dog, my lady, but his fragrance is unmistakable at times.”
“With that, I cannot argue.”
The small clock on the dressing table chimed the nine o’clock hour, and Fortuity’s heart jumped. “Oh dear. It is time for me to go down.” She was about to marry the man she loved, and yet the moment was filled with dread rather than excitement, brightness, or joy.
“It is a lovely morning for a wedding, my lady.” Anne gave her an encouraging nod. “Warm and sunny enough to speak the vows in the garden. ’Tis a prosperous sign, I am thinking.”
“Yes.” Fortuity smoothed her hands down the delicate folds of her favorite gown, a creamy satin embellished with embroidered roses scattered across the skirt and trimming the empire waist and neckline. “I suppose when next I see you, I shall be Lady Ravenglass, and we shall be in our home.” She almost choked on the words. If her knees didn’t give way and send her crashing to the floor, it would surely be a miracle.
Anne clutched an armload of wraps to her chest and gave her a wistful look. “Yes. Go, my lady, and God be with you.”
“Yes,” Fortuity agreed under her breath. “God be with me.” She forced herself out the door and down the staircase before she gave in to her fears and climbed down the trellis on the back wall and ran away to who knew where. She loved Matthew so much. Had even entertained daydreams of becoming his wife. Yet now that it was about to happen, she dreaded it, knowing he would come to resent her because honor had forced him to marry her. He would eventually hate her, even though he denied it.
Her dearest ring caught her attention as it sparkled in the light, whispering that all would be well. All she had to do was trust. She snorted at the thought. Trust. That word was as fickle as friendship.
“There you are,” Chance said as he met her at the base of the stairs. He offered his arm. “Would you grant me the honor of escorting you to your betrothed?”
“You are trying too hard, brother,” she said, but took his arm. It was taking all her energy to get through this. She had none to spare for a tussle with Chance.
“I want you happy, Fortuity.” Genuine concern shone in his dark blue eyes that tended to flash to a hearty amethyst whenever his temper was stirred. “Please know that.”
“I do, Chance. This is just not how I thought I would come to be married.”
He patted her hand. “I believe he fosters a genuine fondness for you, sister. Do not give up hope.”
“Let us just do this, shall we?”
He escorted her through the formal dining room and out the double doors to the garden their mother had loved so. Her sisters rose from their seats in front of Matthew and the vicar and beamed at her, silently encouraging her with their love and support.
Her steps faltered as she risked a look at her husband-to-be, standing in front of the ivy-covered arbor. He was resplendent and entirely too handsome for her ability to remain calm with his black dress coat, matching black waistcoat, creamy white cravat, and buff trousers. But it was his wide, gleaming white smile and the joy dancing in his eyes that made her stumble. He seemed, dare she hope, actually happy to be marrying her.
Chance squeezed her hand and whispered, “Steady on, Tutie. All will be well. I promise.”
Since she couldn’t very well argue with her brother as she walked forward to say her vows, she simply held her head higher and forced a smile that came easier when she noticed that doddering old Vicar Darbley gently swayed back and forth as though about to fall asleep and topple off his perch. Heaven help the poor man who refused to step aside and hand over his flock to his much younger curate.
Chance must have noticed the man’s demeanor as well, because he trembled against her arm with silent laughter.
When they reached the chopping block , as she had come to think of the place where she would recite her vows, her brother kissed her cheek and whispered, “I love you, Tutie, and wish you every happiness.”
She thanked him with a smile, then swallowed hard as Matthew took her hand and gently tugged her forward to stand beside him.
He grinned down at her, then cast a sideways glance at the vicar. “Shall we wake him?”
“Since we cannot marry without him, I assume we must.”
Matthew cleared his throat. “Vicar? We are ready.”
A soft snore came from the balding man with his chin tucked to his chest.
“How does he not fall over?” Fortuity whispered to Matthew.
“Horses sleep standing up.”
“Yes, but they have four legs with which to balance better. A much sturdier base, I would think.”
Chance stepped around them and touched the elderly man’s arm, then gently shook him when he still didn’t awaken. “Mr. Darbley,” he said quite loudly. “We are ready to proceed with the vows.”
“By the power vested in me by God Almighty and the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar said, then blinked and glanced around the garden. “Will the wedding breakfast be here or elsewhere?”
“Here,” Matthew said in a tone that indicated his patience was wearing thin. “After we have said our vows. You got the last bit right. Might we now go back and do the first part?”
Unfazed, the vicar chuckled and fumbled with the pages of his prayer book. “Ah, yes. Do forgive me. I tend to wander off a bit now and again.”
“Indeed,” Matthew said.
Fortuity held her breath to keep from snorting with laughter.
Mr. Darbley squinted at her over the tops of his smudged spectacles. “Do you…” He paused and licked his thin, pale lips. “What is your name, child? It escapes me at the moment.”
The vicar had christened each and every one of the Broadmere children, but that had been quite some time ago, so Fortuity granted him some grace. “Fortuity Marion Ivy Abarough.”
The man leaned forward and cupped a hand to his ear. “Say again, please?”
“Fortuity Marion Ivy Abarough,” she shouted.
“No need to bellow, young woman.” He rumbled with a long clearing of his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and squinted at his prayer book. “Do you, Fortuity Marion Ivy Abarough, take… Oh dear.” He gave Matthew a pained frown.
“Matthew Dorian Ravenglass,” Matthew said with an unmistakable growl.
The vicar’s brows rose to where his hairline had once been many years ago, then he looked to Fortuity once again. “Do you, Fortuity Marion Ivy Abarough, take Matthew Dorian Ravenglass to be your lawfully wedded husband? To obey him in sickness and in health, through prosperous times and times of woe, setting aside all others and keeping yourself to him alone?”
“I do.” She flinched at the nervous squeak in her voice. “I do,” she repeated louder to ensure the vicar heard her.
“I heard you, young lady. Eagerness is most unbecoming.”
Ratty old goat, Fortuity thought, then sent up a quick prayer asking for forgiveness.
Mr. Darbley shifted his attention to Matthew. “Do you, Matthew Dorian Ravenglass, take Fortuity Marion Ivy Abarough to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor her and forsake all others, to protect her and comfort her, keep her at your side in sickness and in health, through prosperous times and times of woe?”
“I do,” Matthew said so loudly that the vicar backed up a step as though startled.
“Then, as I said earlier, by the power vested in me by God Almighty and the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Mr. Darbley wet his lips again and nodded. “Now I believe my question regarding the wedding breakfast was never answered. Is it here, or shall we be traveling to another venue?”
“It is here, Mr. Darbley.” Serendipity jumped up from her seat, went to the old man, and firmly led him away while casting a you are welcome smile at Fortuity.
“Help me rise,” Blessing called out as the rest of the Broadmere sisters surrounded Fortuity and Matthew, patting and hugging them.
“Oh, dear sister.” Fortuity pulled on one of Blessing’s arms while Gracie pulled on the other.
“ Oh, dear sister is correct.” Blessing groaned as she teetered to her feet. “In the past few weeks, I have become as enormous as a Clydesdale about to deliver twin foals.”
“Where is Thorne?” Fortuity asked her, suddenly realizing she had yet to see her dashing brother-in-law who was also Matthew’s best friend.
“He is abed with a terrible cold and has confined himself to another part of the Knightwood townhouse to avoid sharing his malady with all and sundry.” Blessing patted the pronounced rounding of her middle while holding her lower back. “In fact, he wishes me to remain here until he is recovered, since Aloysius Starpeeper’s arrival will be upon us before we know it.”
“Already a wise father,” Matthew said. He moved to stand beside Fortuity and rested his hand on the small of her back as if unwilling to go without touching her. “It would not do for you to fall ill, my lady.”
“No,” Blessing said with a sly look at Matthew positioning himself as a devoted husband.
Fortuity tried to ignore her. Instead, she widened her smile so much that her face ached.
“Essie,” Grace said while waving Merry and Joy forward. “Come, let us get you settled in the dining room at a place where we can place a cushion for your poor feet.”
“Brilliant idea.” Blessing kissed Fortuity on the cheek, grinned at Matthew, then waddled away with her sisters fluttering around her.
“Could they possibly have been more obvious?” Fortuity said under her breath as she watched them go.
“They are trying to be nice and give us our first moment alone as a married couple.” Matthew gave her a thoughtful yet concerned look. “How are you? You appeared quite pale when you first entered the garden.”
She pulled in a deep breath, held it for a few moments, then let it ease back out. “I am better and will be all right. Change has always been difficult for me.” The threat of tears suddenly stung her eyes. “And I realized just this morning how much I shall miss my sisters and all their chaos.” She gave a defeated shrug. “I guess you could say I fear the deafening quiet of your home.”
“ Our home,” he gently corrected her. “And we will have a small amount of hopefully controllable chaos.”
“Oh?” His mysterious tone intrigued her.
“Ignatius is still there.”
The thought of the comical little pug lightened the weight of worry on her heart. “But I thought he belonged to Mrs. Sykesbury?”
“He did, but she feared she would be unable to control him in the country, since she had little or no control over him here in town.” Matthew resettled his footing and appeared to be uncomfortable about something.
“What else are you not telling me?” Fortuity eyed him, bracing herself for the worst possible news, such as Eleanor returning to live with them.
He frowned and shuffled in place again. “I had thought about how quiet the townhouse would be for you, what with your sisters and Grace’s hounds here. I spoke with Thorne about it, and he and his mother recommended that I take in four of their liveliest kittens—which I did before I found out that infernal dog would be staying put.”
“Four kittens and Ignatius?” Fortuity tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. “And how do the five get along?”
“They stampede the halls at all hours of the night and sleep during the day.” He swiped a hand across his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose as if weary beyond all comprehension. “I have not had a proper night’s sleep in ages.”
She couldn’t resist giving him a sympathetic pat on the chest. “Never fear, my lord. I shall get them sorted, and if I am forced to call reinforcements, Gracie would be delighted to help. You know how she loves Ignatius.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers before she realized what he was about to do. “I know you will get them sorted, my little wren. The townhouse already seems a brighter and better place because you will soon be there with me.”
She caught her breath, and a little gasp escaped her before she could stop it. “Uhm, perhaps we should go inside? They cannot start the breakfast without us.”
His smile dimmed the slightest bit, but he nodded and offered his arm. “To our wedding breakfast, my bride.”
“Yes,” she said, finding herself still somewhat breathless. “To our wedding breakfast.”