Chapter 16
And the bells ring out.
Meg looked about her, smiling in wonder at Della, Vinnie and Miss Percy—or Helen, as she had insisted on being called—all sitting in her bedroom, already dressed in their finery, anticipating the hour of the wedding, which was almost upon them.
Della had been so very kind as to ask Meg to wear a gown she’d had specially made for her next season and insisted upon her regarding it as a wedding present. It had a matching cloak, which was both warm and beautiful, the perfect choice for a winter wedding.
“Are you quite sure you can bear to part with it?” Meg asked anxiously, turning away from the mirror.
“Oh!” Della said, fumbling for a handkerchief and pressing it to her mouth. “Oh, you look so lovely, Meg. Indeed, I am sure. It might have been made for you.”
“And it’s such a romantic story,” Helen said with a sigh, for Meg had insisted that everyone know the truth about how she had met Nat, in case she tripped herself up one day. “Like fate brought you together. I hope I might be so lucky.”
Meg smiled and tried to dismiss a niggle of guilt as she remembered Helen had been brought here as Nat’s intended bride. A surge of relief rushed over her as she reminded herself the girl did not know it.
“Della’s quite right, that shade of blue grey, with your fair hair and grey eyes, well, it’s simply stunning,” Vinnie said, getting to her feet and holding out a small box. “This is my contribution,” she added with a cheeky smile.
Meg took the box and opened it to reveal a pair of pretty blue garters embellished with tiny roses of pink ribbon.
“Oh!” she said with a laugh, blushing a little as she realised the next person to see these would be Nat. “Thank you so much. They’re lovely.”
“I’m certain Nat will think so,” Vinnie said, winking at her as Della and Helen dissolved into laughter at watching Meg’s cheeks become increasingly pink.
Betty took the box from her hand and grinned approvingly. “Well, you’d best hurry and put these on quick if you want to change them, or else you’ll be late for your wedding and you’ll have no need of them,” she said sagely.
This turned out to be excellent advice, as Meg’s skirts were barely in place before there was a knock at the door.
“Margaret? It’s Cousin George. Are you ready, my dear?”
Meg looked at the women around her. “Well? Am I ready?”
They all nodded, smiling at her with such expressions of affection that Meg felt quite overwhelmed. Fearing she might become emotional, she hurried to the door and pulled it open.
“I am,” she told George, smiling at him.
George looked her over and beamed his approval. “Well, you’ve done the Fairchilds proud, dear girl. That you have. You look a picture. Oh, and the dowager asked me to give you this,” he added, handing her a small posy of orange blossom.
Meg lifted the posy to her face, inhaling the sweet perfume, instantly transported to that day in the orangery, when Nat had declared himself. “They’re perfect,” she said, blinking back tears.
“Now, none of that,” George said in alarm. “I am armed with several handkerchiefs, but I am bound to need one myself, so don’t start any waterworks yet.”
Meg laughed, deciding she very much liked her cousin. “I promise I won’t,” she said, taking his arm.
“You can’t go before us!” the girls cried, hurrying past them as they ran to put on their cloaks.
“Thanks for doing this,” Nat said to Hawkney, who stood beside him in the chilly church. His cousin had agreed to stand up as best man for him and so far, had been remarkably good-natured.
“Who else would you have asked?” Hawkney replied with a snort.
“I could have asked Aubrey,” Nat said, frowning.
“You said you wanted a best man,” Hawkney drawled, his blue eyes glinting.
“Pillock,” Nat muttered.
“Oh, no. You cannot recant now,” the duke told him, amused. “You needed a best man, you chose me. It was inevitable, but I am relieved you have finally admitted the truth.”
Nat gazed at him thoughtfully. “I wonder if there’s time to hit you before the ceremony.”
Hawkney laughed, rather to Nat’s surprise. He realised it had been a long time since he had heard his cousin laugh.
“You ought to get married!” he exclaimed, as surprised as Hawkney at his sudden outburst.
“Well, obviously. I have the succession to think about,” Hawk replied, shaking his head as if Nat were mad for only having just considered it.
“Not for that reason, you dolt. I mean, you ought to fall in love, find a girl who likes you, who adores you. There’s nothing like it,” Nat confided. “All those years I wasted on meaningless affairs. It’s not at all the same, Hawk.”
Hawkney rolled his eyes. “Love has nothing to do with finding a duchess, Nat. You ought to realise that much. I am happy that you and Meg are so well suited, but I cannot deny I am happier now I know she’s respectable.”
Nat shook his head sadly. “You just don’t understand. None of that matters a damn, Hawk.”
“I beg to differ,” the duke replied coolly. “But I have no desire to quarrel with you. Not today.”
Nat sighed. “You’re a clever fellow. You’ll figure it out one day. I just hope you don’t do it too late.”
Hawkney made a sound of irritation but said nothing more.
Nat paced up and down. “What’s the time?”
Hawk took out his pocketwatch. “You’ve another ten minutes yet.”
“What the devil did we get here so early for? We might have had another drink at the pub.”
“My duty is to ensure you are in church on time.”
“It’s a ten minute walk!” Nat protested, before giving up and pacing some more. “How long now?”
“Eight minutes. Shall I give you a countdown?” Hawkney suggested, quirking one eyebrow.
“You know your other job is to give the bridegroom moral support,” Nat grumbled, but the guests were filling the church now and the Reverend Honeywell appeared, as jovial as ever.
He beamed at Nat and opened his mouth to greet him, but his daughter hurried up.
“Papa!” She dipped a quick curtsey to the duke, pressed a prayer book into her father’s hand, and darted off again.
“Ah! Yes, I’ll be needing that,” Honeywell said with a laugh. “Well, the happy day is upon us at last.”
Nat thought it had seemed an interminable day so far, but finally the music began, and he turned to see Meg framed in the doorway's arch.
All the tension that had been singing through him since the moment he’d woken dissipated as he saw her face, her smile, and her grey eyes shining with happiness.
Lord, but she was beautiful. Pride and joy and a sense of awe that fate had brought them together in such a way filled his heart, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
Though he knew the church was filled to bursting, that Hawkney stood at his side and George waited to give his cousin away, Nat saw nothing but his bride. Even the reverend’s voice was distant, and he spoke his vows in a daze, unable to take his eyes off Meg.
Honeywell told him they were married, that he might kiss the bride, and he did so, still feeling as though he was caught in a dream so magnificent he hardly dared breathe.
He didn’t wake until they emerged from the church, into daylight, as snow drifted down around them.
“Oh, how perfect!” Meg exclaimed in delight.
“Everything is perfect,” he said, deciding he had not kissed his bride half as much as he ought to have done. He pulled her close, pressing a swift kiss to her mouth.
“Steady on, Nat. You’ll have to wait a bit for the honeymoon,” Aubrey quipped, slapping him on the back.
“Yes, put the girl down, Nathaniel. Where are your manners?” Gee-Gee said, though her eyes sparkled with delight. “Congratulations, both of you. But mostly you, Nathaniel. You are a lucky fellow. Meg, you keep him in line and don’t put up with any nonsense.”
“Yes, Gee-Gee,” Meg said, laughing.
The dowager nodded with satisfaction. “Very well, let us return to the Hall before we all freeze to death.”
The wedding breakfast was everything one might have expected from the dowager, with one notable exception.
As Boxing Day was the servants' day of rest, The Mermaid’s Tale catered the affair, under the watchful eye of Mrs Fairway as the proprietress was away on her own honeymoon, and with help from The Swan Inn.
Upon Nat and Meg’s insistence, all the staff of the hall were invited too. They had both assumed they’d have a battle on their hands to get Hawkney to agree to this, but he’d taken it with remarkably good grace, saying only, “Noblesse oblige.”
Nat had told him he was too stuffy for words, but Meg had avoided a squabble by reminding Nat they’d got what they wanted.
So, their wedding breakfast was a remarkably lively affair, notable for Jenkins and Howard—who had not been bosom pals during their time together—becoming remarkably friendly, not to mention well lubricated as the afternoon wore on.
Personally, Nat rather thought Reverend Honeywell was to blame, for he kept refilling their glasses.
Finally, however, the toasts were done, the cake cut, and he could bear his bride away. They weren’t going far, having determined The Mermaid’s Tale was perfect for their first few nights as a married couple.
Meg had decided it would be romantic to walk through the town, especially with the snow still drifting down around them, a notion Nat had agreed to but regretted at once.
In the first place, a carriage would have been quicker.
In the second, all the way they were accosted by the townspeople, wishing them well and lobbing rice at them.
Nat suspected he’d be picking it out of his hair and clothes for some time.
Finally, however, they reached the hotel. Mrs Fairway greeted them warmly and showed them up to a lovely room with a view over the sea that Nat had known would delight his wife.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, rushing to stand before the large windows. “This is why you said I’d love it so much.”