Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The Most Reverend and Right Honourable the Lord Archbishop of York, Athanasius Cyprian Whitmore, known to the family as ‘Uncle Atti’, stood in front of the fireplace, rubbing his hands. He was a small, round man with a gleaming bald head and jolly eyes.
“Bastian, my boy.” He grasped Sebastian’s hand, drew him forward into an embrace. “You have grown, my child.”
“Uncle Atti.” The last time he had seen his great-uncle was several weeks ago at his little niece’s christening, where Uncle Atti had said precisely the same thing.
“Your grandmother?” Uncle Atti released him. “I heard she’s not doing well.” He creased his face into a worried frown.
“Yes. I fear it is only a matter of time.”
They went up to Nana’s room, where Viola was bathing her forehead. She straightened when they entered. Bastian introduced them, and Viola dropped into a curtsy. “She is in and out of consciousness,” she reported. “Every time she wakes, she is eagerly asking for your arrival, Your Grace.”
Uncle Atti stepped forward, blinking his eyes heavily. “Regina. What are you up to now, old cow?” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
Nana opened her eyes. “Atti. You rogue. I thought you’d never come.”
“There, there.” He sat down and took her hands. “Of course I came. I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and now that you’re here, I’m already feeling better. Help me up,” she told Viola, who assisted her in sitting up. “There. I needed you for two things.”
“Anything at all, old girl. Anything at all. Say it and you shall have it.”
“I need you for the funeral, of course.”
“You shouldn’t say those things.” Uncle Atti looked as if he was about to burst loudly into tears.
“Balderdash. Of course, one must say those things. I have everything planned. As I said. You will conduct my funeral. You have arrived just in time. But first—” She lifted a hand to beckon forth Viola.
“First, you must marry this child.” Her watery eyes turned to Sebastian and held his gaze. “To George.”
Sebastian froze. “I am definitely not George.”
But Nana ignored him entirely. “Viola must marry him. I promised. I need to see them married before I go.”
Viola made a distressed sound.
Uncle Atti pointed his finger at Sebastian. “Him?”
Nana nodded. “Him.”
“No, not me.” Sebastian broke out in a sweat.
“Not him,” Viola said simultaneously, her voice laced with horror.
“Yes, him,” Nana’s voice was surprisingly loud and overruled everyone.
Atti shook his head. “So who’s it to be now?”
“Him!”
“George!
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Dash it, I don’t understand anything anym—”
“Order!” Sebastian’s voice cut cleanly through the room, and every head turned toward him.
He drew himself up, hands clasped behind his back.
“Let us proceed with order. The facts before us are these.” He began to pace.
“First, the bridegroom is George. I am not George. This point, I trust, is not in dispute.” His gaze sought Viola’s.
She nodded emphatically. “Second, George is presently on the Peninsula, some eight hundred miles from here. Correct?” Once more Viola nodded.
“Third, our grandmother wishes to see a wedding.”
“I do. Indeed, I do!” Nana interjected.
“Fourth, time is unfortunately against us. Are we, thus far, in agreement?” He paused, letting each point settle.
“You appear to be correct, my boy. It is somewhat of a dilemma.” Uncle Atti wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “What are we to do? How are we to get George here so quickly? It is impossible.”
“We are left with a single course of action. I move that we proceed with matrimonium per procurationem.” Sebastian paused and surveyed the room. “All those in favour say aye.”
Silence.
Uncle Atti blinked. “Aye?”
Nana waved her approval.
“The ayes have it,” Sebastian said crisply.
“Good. Get on with it, then,” Nana groaned from the depths of her pillows.
Viola stared at him. “Wait. What just happened?”
“We just voted on how to proceed, and we agreed that the only way to move forward is through matrimonium per procurationem,” Uncle Atti explained as he rose. For him, the matter was settled.
“What does that even mean?”
“A marriage by proxy, of course.” Turning to Sebastian, he added, “A brilliant notion. I don’t know why I did not think of that myself. Well done, my boy. Well done. You will go far.”
“But how does that work, a wedding by proxy?” demanded Viola. Since no one was listening, and Rawlinson was hovering by the door, whence he had observed the entire interlude, she posed the question to him.
“I wouldn’t know for certain, my lady,” he shrugged. “But it sounds like someone else would stand in for the bridegroom.”
“Who?” demanded Viola. “Like anyone? For example, you?”
“Heavens, no, my lady. I’m merely here to inquire whether you would like some tea.” He retreated with a panicked expression.
“Leave the tea.” Uncle Atti now resumed control of the situation. “We’ll need you as a witness. You and you—” He beckoned the footman and the maid to enter. “And fetch another person as well. We need two official witnesses, but the more there are, the better.”
“Who do you have in mind, Your Grace?”
“Anyone will do, really.” He waved a hand.
Rawlinson disappeared and returned with a maid and Hawkins, his valet. “The witnesses, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. Stand here.” Uncle Atti pointed to the right of the bed. “And you, you are the bride, am I correct?” He extended his hand toward Viola. “What is your name again, child?”
“Lady Viola Leigh, Your Grace.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not Lola?”
“No, that is Nana’s invention.”
Uncle Atti nodded. “Yes, she has a tendency to call people all sorts of names. Don’t you, old girl?”
“Get on with it, Atti, time is running out,” Nana groaned.
Uncle Atti nodded, then turned to the others. “Good, good. Let us proceed. The bride stands here. Lady Viola, if you please.” He gestured for her to stand next to him. “And the bridegroom-in-proxy here.” He beckoned Sebastian with one finger.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Sebastian stepped back hastily. “Just because I suggested this doesn’t mean I’ll put myself forward as the proxy.”
“Oh, yes you shall.” Uncle Atti’s voice was of steel. “Stand right there. It won’t hurt, and I promise it will all be over in a jiffy.”
“Must I truly?” Sebastian’s gaze flitted from person to person. “It could be anyone else, really...”
“Quiet, boy. Yes, you must.” He looked at him sternly. “Consider it your last act of service to a dying woman’s last wish.”
Put like that, it really was impossible to refuse.
Sebastian cast a desperate look at Hawkins, but the disloyal man stepped back and muttered, “I am already the witness.”
He looked at Viola, utterly at a loss.
“Her ladyship appears to be slipping away,” the maid, who hovered over Nana, exclaimed.
Heaven help him.
Viola looked at Sebastian, her eyes as wide and wild, and ran a tongue over her dry lips. “We have no time. Let us do it. For Nana.”
“Very well, very well.” Uncle Atti cleared his throat and began the marriage ceremony.
The entire affair felt unreal, Sebastian thought, as he clasped her cold, small hand in his. She trembled.
A rush of protectiveness swept through him. He pressed her hand gently, hoping the gesture conveyed some reassurance. Indeed, her breathing eased, and she clung to his hand as though he were her anchor.
Uncle Atti droned on with the ease of a man who had performed this ceremony hundreds, perhaps thousands of times.
Nana groaned.
“I beg your pardon, but you must make haste, Your Grace; her ladyship is deteriorating.” The maid interrupted Uncle Atti just as he was warming up to a lengthy exposition on the blessings and joy of marriage and fidelity, throwing him thoroughly out of countenance.
After he had regained his composure, he sped through the remaining ceremony.
“At this point, you are meant to say I will,” Uncle Atti prompted Viola.
She lifted her eyes and stared at Sebastian, as if seeing him for the first time. His heart stopped, then pounded with a ferocity that was almost painful.
“I will,” she whispered.
Nana made a gasping sound.
All eyes whipped to the bed, while Uncle Atti plodded dauntlessly on.
“And wilt thou, Sebastian George Fane, have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live. ”
Heaven help him, it sounded far too real. A rushing sound filled his ears. Her hand trembled in his, and sweat trickled down his back.
Another gasp came from Nana.
“I will,” he croaked.
Uncle Atti nodded. “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.”
He dabbed at his eyes. Rawlinson coughed.
“Finally.” Nana leaned back in her pillows, a contented expression on her face.
Uncle Atti produced the register. “Sign here.”
Viola picked up the pen and signed, then handed it on to Sebastian, who signed—before a shrill exclamation caused him to jerk up his head.
“She has passed away!” the maid wailed.
Viola burst into tears.
So did Uncle Atti.
Sebastian dropped the pen and fell on his knees next to her bed, heartbroken.
Nana. His sweet, loving Nana was gone.
Thus she passed on, Lady Regina Doveley, content knowing that two of her most beloved people had been married in her presence.