Chapter 10
Three days later she was standing back before the hives, this time holding Grey’s hand and bearing a piece of wedding cake.
For all the anxiety over it, the wedding had turned out to be a bit of an anticlimax.
Grey had obtained a special license that allowed them to marry right away at St. Mary Magdalene’s, her Grandmama’s home parish in Richmond, where it had been assumed there would be less notoriety.
Not to mention the fact that Grandmama demanded it, stating she hadn’t the energy to deal with the fuss and bustle at the more fashionable St. George’s in Mayfair.
Georgie’s mother had ruthlessly limited the invitations to only family, which was quite large enough to fill the homely brick church, even without Grey’s family who hadn’t the time to make it down from Tewkesbury.
Georgie had been relieved. She had never been one to long for a big wedding.
Any wedding at all, truthfully. But under the circumstances a big celebration would have done no more than increase her feeling of panic.
This way she hadn’t had to stand before the altar for more than a few minutes.
She hadn’t even minded the few bystanders who had gathered on the street to see her enter and leave the church in her cream dotted muslin dress, green spencer, and green-lined bonnet.
Charlie and Eddie stood up as her dual maids of honor, while Amelia and Sophie acted as official bridesmaids.
Georgie had to admit that it had been a real joy to see those little girls so excited and awed by the whole thing, especially wearing the brand-new dresses Grey had bought for them in pale pink merino with a bit of Honiton lace.
As for Grey, his friend Rob Glenn did the duty of standing up for him, both resplendent in the sharp scarlet and gold of the First Royal Dragoons.
And now, standing in Grandmama’s garden with the dowager in her regal purple, her lion-headed cane on one side, and the smartly uniformed Grey on the other, Georgie was faced with her next task.
Her cousins stood behind her, as familiar and comfortable with the process as she, each holding the hand of a wide-eyed little girl, whom Georgie had instructed in the tradition while they sat beside her holding her hands, just that morning, weaving their way more tightly into the fabric of her life.
Making her feel at once more joyful and more cornered.
Which made her even more frustrated because she should have been able to freely adore them.
Once again, Grandmama tapped on the first hive with her house key. “We have news in our house, my friends. Come listen.”
Tugging on Grey’s hand, Georgie brought him a step closer as she reached over and laid the cake at the base of the hive.
“As I promised, my friends. Here is my new husband Peter Greyville, Lord Coleford, whom I call Grey. Please say he is welcome in the family.”
For the bees’ part, they circled overhead a few times and then returned to the hive.
“Good,” Grandmama said with a solemn nod. “Then when it is my time, your husband may accompany you to share the news.”
Georgie opened her mouth to protest, but one look from her grandmother quelled her.
“Now let us go in,” the old woman said with a thump of her cane. “I don’t know about you, but I have been looking forward to my own piece of wedding cake.”
Georgie took in a rather shuddery breath and prepared to face a swarm of Packhams. She could already see the younger members crowded by the back windows waiting for her.
“May we say hello, too?” she heard behind her.
She turned to see her grandmother considering the two little girls now holding hands with each other.
Georgie knew how frightening her grandmother could be.
Lord knows the old woman could ruthlessly crush the pretensions of the unworthy on a ballroom floor and sway the vote of an MP with a single raised eyebrow.
But young Sophie stood straight and tall before her, and never even flinched when Grandmama stepped her way, the thump of her cane a statement. Georgie ached with pride.
“Both of you?” the dowager asked, looking from Sophie to Amelia, who was looking to her big sister for direction.
“Yes, please,” Sophie said in her best grown-up voice, even though Georgie could hear the faint tremor. Amelia just nodded, making the pink ribbons in her hair bounce.
Georgie also felt Grey instinctively move toward the girls. One squeeze of his hand held him still. She looked over at him and gave a surreptitious wink. She had grown up around the dowager, after all, and knew that little girls were never her targets.
After a moment’s consideration, the old woman passed off her cane to Georgie and held out her hands. Amelia gave Sophie a glance and then both girls advanced to accept the invitation. Georgie realized she was beaming.
“My friends,” Grandmama said to the hives, “I also have some new friends I would like you to know. And they wish to know you. This is Lady Sophie Greyville—make your curtsy, child.” Sophie gave a very credible curtsy. “And this is Lady Amelia Greyville.”
Amelia’s curtsy was a bit more wobbly, but her smile was huge. “Hello, bees,” she sang. “Will you be our friends?”
And as if they all expected an answer, everyone turned back to the hives. There seemed to be a pause, and then, quite wonderfully, a swarm of bees came to swirl over the girls’ heads. And rather than be afraid, Sophie and Amelia giggled up at them in delight.
The dance was done, the bees returned to the hives, and Georgie felt Grey relax beside her.
“Amazing.”
She grinned. “It is, isn’t it? But now I think you need some champagne.”
Letting go of her hand, Grey turned to the girls. “I believe a thank you is in order, young ladies. I suspect you have been given a great honor.”
“Indeed, you have,” Georgie assured them. “When my brother Michael tried to introduce himself, he was stung on the head. But he wasn’t nearly as polite as you girls.”
“He was a beast,” Charlie assured them. “But no worse than my brother Gabe.”
“Or Rafe,” Eddie agreed.
“Thank you, bees,” Sophie sang out as both girls offered another curtsy. “We are most honored.”
“We like you,” Amelia assured them, then turned to her uncle.
“You were very polite too, Uncle Grey,” she assured him. “But you need to bow.”
His grin was sudden and bright, doing strange things to Georgie’s heart.
“You are correct, of course,” he said.
Turning, he gave the hives his best court bow. Everyone else curtsied, and then it was time to celebrate.
“I must admit,” he said as he watched the girls scamper after the dowager toward the house, “I have attended quite a few weddings. One in a gypsy camp and another under artillery fire. I still believe mine own is the most unique of them all.”
Georgie meant to follow everyone in. Suddenly, though, she couldn’t move.
Her chest felt so tight, as if acid were being squeezed into her lungs.
It was the bees, she realized. She had actually suspected that they would react badly to the news, refusing to fly or attacking her for being foolish and unwise and asking for sorrow with her commitment.
But the bees buzzed happily on, courting the flowers like hesitant swains and filling the soft spring day with music.
Which should have made Georgie feel better.
Which did, in one way. She was taking the first step in creating a lasting marriage.
She loved those little girls, and she liked and respected Grey.
Which in any other marriage would have been the answer to a prayer.
But for her, it also meant that she had walked right into a closed room at the very moment she should have been escaping out the doors.
She had worked so hard to earn her freedom, and she had just given it away.
Now, she suspected, she would never know what she was truly made of.
What she could have been. Who. She would end up being what she always was, the one who took care of everyone else.
It made her feel as if she was struggling to breathe.
“Are you all right?” Grey asked quietly, slipping his hand into hers.
Her first reaction was to bat it away. She didn’t, of course. “Fine,” she assured him with a bland smile, afraid that he could see all too well that she wasn’t quite fine.
Grey turned Georgie toward him at the edge of the patio as the rest of their group trooped into the house, chatting and laughing. “But not happy.”
She looked up to see that there was a furrow between those intense seawater eyes of his. He wasn’t just asking out of custom.
“I’m still getting used to the idea,” she admitted, wishing she could just savor the harsh beauty of her husband, that she could run her fingers along that soft mouth that belied the strength of jaw and forehead.
That she could kiss those ghostly eyes closed and simply breathe in the open-air scent of him.
But panic was not a very romantic feeling.
“It is a lot to manage all at once,” she said instead.
“Marriage, motherhood, decorating, marchionessing. And you going off in—”
He went very still, his frown suddenly apologetic.
She waited, but he didn’t answer. Her heart plummeted. “What?”
He dipped his head, took a breath. Had the courage to face her again. “I’m sorry. I was hoping we would not have to deal with this at least until we enjoyed our wedding.”
That robbed her of what breath she had left. “You’re leaving.”
It took him a second when she could almost hear the thud of his heart, sense the new weight on his shoulders. But finally, he gave her a rueful smile. “You suffer from an excess of intelligence, Wife. I suspect I’ll never be able to hide anything from you.”
“Something to remember,” she retorted, even as she felt his news weigh on her as well. As her heart ached harder for her future. For their future, all four of them.