Chapter 18
Colin’s heart lifted as his daughters practically skipped up the makeshift aisle. The happiness on their faces dispelled any doubt about his marriage to Anne. She would be a kind and loving mother to the girls and provide them with the joy sorely missing from their young lives.
Given the luxury of a choice, she wasn’t the bride he would have chosen, but he hoped, once they got past their differences, they would find the balance Mr. Beckham spoke of, and he vowed to do his best to be a good husband.
Believing he was prepared, he squared his shoulders before Anne entered.
However, the moment she stepped into the ballroom, she proved him wrong.
He pulled in a breath and forced himself to exhale.
Unable to tear his gaze away, he took in every inch of her from the tiny pearls fashioned into her soft red curls, her freckled nose, her tiny waist encircled with embroidered pink roses, to the little cream satin slippers poking out from beneath the hem of her gown as she walked toward him on Weatherby’s arm.
He imagined removing each of those pearls from her hair and allowing the red strands to tumble down across her shoulders. Of kissing each freckle and hoping more waited under the layers of her clothes—which he would enjoy removing piece by piece.
A sneeze from the drenched vicar brought him to his senses and reminded him where he was and for what purpose.
Before him, Anne placed a trembling hand in his. Her gaze darted to his, worry in her eyes.
As much for himself as for her, he forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Breathe, Anne. It will be over soon.”
Her eyes flared so briefly he wondered if he’d imagined it. His imagination did seem to be working excessively hard.
As they exchanged their vows, Anne hesitated at the word obey, causing the vicar to repeat the words as if she’d forgotten.
Colin stifled a chuckle, knowing full well her memory had not failed.
He pulled the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto Anne’s finger.
He’d arranged for a jeweler to bring a selection from London.
He’d selected a single Ceylon sapphire—the color of Anne’s eyes—set in the center of a pearl cluster.
Two pear-shaped rubies, which reminded him of Anne’s red hair and fiery spirit, sat amid the pearls and flanked the sapphire.
The ring blended beauty with a quiet whimsy, as if designed specifically for Anne.
From the upturn of her mouth as he slipped it on her finger, the ring pleased her.
When the ceremony ended and he led Anne from the ballroom, a deliciously wicked idea popped into his mind. With a gentle tug of her hand, he pulled her toward the very service closet that had precipitated the events of the day.
Perhaps he moved a little too quickly, because she sounded breathless when she asked, “What are you doing? Aren’t we going to wait for everyone to wish us joy?”
“In a moment. But first . . .” He opened the closet, gave her a nudge inside, stepped in, and closed the door behind him.
Within the small space, he didn’t have to reach far to find her and pull her into his arms. “I want to enjoy our first kiss as husband and wife away from prying eyes, and I simply cannot wait.”
He pressed his lips to hers. The kiss shouldn’t have been different, but somehow it was.
No longer forbidden or scandalous, it was simply something he didn’t want to share in front of others.
She was his, and he wanted her all to himself.
Indulgent and satisfying, the kiss drove all sense of time from his mind.
Anne grasped his shoulders, then moved one hand to run through his hair.
As her fingernails scraped against his scalp, he moaned with pleasure.
Who would have guessed his wife would set him on fire?
His wife. No need for propriety and restraint.
He slid one hand up from her waist to rest under her breast, and her heart beat against his palm like an untamed horse, too full of spirit to stand still.
Carefully, so he wouldn’t frighten her, he thumbed her nipple, pleased when even through the fabric of her gown and undergarments, it hardened under his touch.
Voices, distant and muffled, drifted from outside, but too lost in the sensation of Anne in his arms, he ignored them.
Light spilled into the sacred sanctuary, and a decidedly amused voice said, “Well, at least you’re married this time.”
Anne jumped away from him, but he pulled her back against his side and blinked into the face of Andrew Weatherby once again—and grinned. “We were recapturing a memory.”
Anne stared at Colin. Did he make a joke? With her head still spinning from the kiss and—goodness—how Colin had brushed against her breast, Anne wasn’t entirely sure. It certainly seemed like a joke.
She gazed up into the . . . smiling? face of her husband. Goodness, they really were married.
Which, from the expressions on everyone’s faces, was her salvation.
When they stepped from the confines of the closet into the hall where their guests waited, heat seared Anne’s cheeks. What must everyone think?
Although Andrew did not appear nonplussed over her and Colin’s display of affection, Lord Stratford’s brows drew down into a sharp V. She felt exposed as if she’d stood naked before the entire assembly.
Mr. Beckham grinned more broadly than Colin. “Couldn’t wait until tonight, Manning?”
Anne cast her gaze toward Colin. Weren’t those almost his exact words? I simply cannot wait. Colin wanted her. Desired her. Pride, delicate but undeniable, unfurled in her chest.
Charlotte smacked her husband on the arm with her fan and inclined her head toward Lord Stratford.
“Oh. I beg your pardon, my lord. I meant no offense.” With the grin still covering Mr. Beckham’s face, he added, “But as I understand it, Manning still needs an heir. Better to start sooner rather than later.”
Of course. How could she forget? He needed an heir. No doubt as soon as possible because of her increasing age.
How silly of her to believe it was anything more.
A delicate cough drew Anne’s attention to Honoria and away from her self-deprecating thoughts. “Yes. Well. After we wish Colin and Anne joy, shall we gather in the dining room for breakfast?”
Honoria took Anne’s hands in hers. “Welcome to the family, Lady Manning.”
Lady Manning.
Yes. She would focus on the positive.
“I’m a viscountess!”
Burwood chuckled as he bussed her cheek. “Don’t let it go to your head, Anne. Titles aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. They hold a lot of responsibility.”
Each person wished them well. Lady Stratford, her new mother-in-law, promised to share secrets about Colin when he was a boy.
Burwood’s Aunt Kitty cackled as Colin kissed her cheek. “I hope you know what you’re in for, young man.”
Anne was still frowning from the countess’s comment when Charlotte stepped in front of her.
“I suppose you’re going to say something insulting, too?” Anne asked.
“Not at all. I think you’re just what Lord Manning needs.”
Anne blinked, still in shock from Charlotte’s surprising statement, when Mr. Beckham kissed her on the cheek and wished her joy.
“Go easy on the poor chap. As I can attest, it takes a bit of adjustment.” He shot a look toward Charlotte.
Anne cocked her head. “But Lord Manning has been married before.”
Mr. Beckham laughed. “I meant adjustment to you, dear lady.”
Why did everyone believe she would be the difficult one in the marriage? Odd that one of her few supporters would be Charlotte.
Cassie wrapped her arms around Anne’s waist, then peered up with her big brown eyes. “What shall we call you?”
With no wish to replace the girls’ mother, Anne pondered the question only a moment. “Why not what you have been calling me? Anne.”
“You don’t want us to call you mother?” Ellie’s little mouth drew into a pout.
Oh, dear. Anne turned to Colin, and he gave a shrug. The man was no help.
Crouching down, Anne took Ellie’s hands in hers. “You may call me anything you wish. I would be honored if someday you called me Mother or Mama. But you had a wonderful mother who loved you very much, and I would never want to take her place. I want to earn the right to that name.”
Her answer appeared to placate Ellie, and the child kissed Anne’s cheek.
When she rose and met Colin’s gaze, her heart stuttered. Kindness and affection shone in his eyes, and—although she couldn’t be certain—a wetness shimmered in their sea-foam-green depths.
He blinked the apparent moisture away. “You may call her Anne when we’re in private, but in the presence of company, out of respect for Anne’s title, why not a compromise with Mama Anne?”
The girls nodded with enthusiasm, especially Ellie.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Anne said more to herself than anyone, but at least she realized she’d said it aloud.
“What you said was perfect, but if I’ve learned anything from my sister, it’s how to compromise.”
Anne suspected that particular skill would come in handy during their marriage.
Finished with receiving everyone’s congratulations, Colin offered his arm to escort her into the dining room. “Shall we, Lady Manning? Or should I call you Lady Grump?” His soft chuckle brushed against her skin like a caress.
“You will never let me forget that, will you?”
Although he stared straight ahead, a smile curled his lips. “Never.”
The wedding breakfast was a veritable feast with all sorts of delights. Until a footman placed a tray of gooseberry tarts before her.
Her gaze darted to Honoria. “I thought you said you didn’t have any gooseberries?”
“When I mentioned your love for them, Cook said she knew of a tenant who had an abundant supply. She’s been busy baking all morning.”
Anne wanted to gag. What was she to do?
Lord Stratford studied her while she stared at the plate of tarts the footman held before her. “All I ask is that you leave some for the rest of us, dear girl.”