Chapter Twelve #4
“My dearest wish is to witness my cousin joined in holy matrimony to my lovely sister-in-law. This terrible pain will be softened by the knowledge my suffering has brought these two together.”
Neville fixed Harbury with a dead-eyed stare.
Harbury wiggled his brows.
His mother sniffed. “Such a good man you’ve always been.” She patted Harbury’s shoulder. “So noble. So brave.”
Lud, not his mother, too! They were all having too much fun.
“Hold on, my love.” Cassie arranged Harbury’s hair over his brow. “Millicent is waiting in the hall with Sarah.”
“Vicar?” Harbury called.
The young Vicar nearly jumped out of his trousers. Neville supposed he’d never before presided over nuptials not only at the wrong time of day, but in the bedchamber of a “dying” duke.
“I am ready,” he replied, sweeping his hand to encompass the makeshift altar and the parish registry he’d brought with him.
“Sister, dearest,” Harbury called. “Do come in.”
He heard what sounded like a suppressed snort, or, as he hoped the Vicar would interpret, a sniffle. Then, caught sight of a swish of lavender silk. The dress.
His heart dropped into his stomach. His beloved had worn the Delilah dress. Of course, she had. And though her expression was appropriately serious, anyone who knew her would see that her eyes were sparkling with their usual mischief.
He wasn’t sure how a garment that covered so much could also be so indecent, but—his gaze dropped—the slaughtering, prominent curve of her fully concealed, mouth-watering breasts had to be at least part of the cause.
Well, the joke was on her, because soon, he would be able to remove that dress at his leisure. And, in the process, give the word indolence a whole new meaning.
She stopped by his side and they both turned toward the Vicar.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding… ”
He nearly choked as Millie appraised him with a sidelong gaze.
“….reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly…” The man droned on with his exhortations.
Neville resolved to keep his mind pure. But that dress.
The Vicar turned to him. “Wilt thou 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, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ”
Though his throat had gone tight, he managed, “I will.”
Millie’s brow quirked a little when the minister added obey and serve to her vow, but she answered with her own, quiet, “I will.”
The minister received Millie’s hand, then delivered it to Neville.
Neville repeated the minister’s words, pledging his troth. Millie did the same.
Then, the vicar delivered the ring. Neville fixed it to Millie’s hand, putting extra emphasis on with my body I thee worship.
Together, they knelt, hands joined and received the Vicar’s prayers.
He hardly heard the words. He did not need them. His prayer was a moment of transcendence—a sense of divine duty, heavenly blessed. And his gratitude carried through what seemed like hours of biblical warnings, advice, and encouragement.
The Vicar pronounced them wed, he and Millie signed the parish registry, and then they all prayed for the miracle of Harbury’s full recovery.
As Neville escorted the man back downstairs, he wondered if the poor clergyman was going to think himself a saint when Harbury was back to being himself in only a few days.
He returned to the room, finding his mother, Sarah and Cassie admiring the filigree band he’d chosen for Millie. She met his gaze across the room, and after a moment of hesitation, smiled. He leaned back against the door to cover the devastating effect.
“Well, now,” Millie said. “I would like to thank you all for saving my reputation.” She smiled that smile again. “Especially my husband.”
Too weak-kneed to move, he held out his hand. She came to him readily and then threaded her fingers through his.
“Your reputation,” Sarah replied, “is not quite fully secure. But allow me to demonstrate.” She turned to his mother. “Lady Neville, will you pretend to be my dear, gossipy friend Mrs. Jasper?”
His mother dipped into a curtsey. “Charmed.”
“Oh, Mrs. Jasper!” Sarah leaned toward her. “I have sworn not to tell, but I just cannot keep such a delicious on-dit to myself a moment longer. If I tell you, will you promise to keep it in the strictest confidence?”
His mother pressed a hand to her chest. “I won’t tell a soul, I swear.”
“Well, my sister-in-law’s tender devotion to the duke quite overcame my cousin Neville. Seeing this, and being unsure of his recovery, Harbury urged Neville to declare himself.”
“Ah.” Harbury gazed off into the distance. “What else could a man with a heart as tender as mine do? When I saw my cousin’s stuttering admission—”
“No stuttering!” Neville said.
With an indignant bark, Harbury’s spaniel rebuked Neville for the interruption.
“When I saw,” Harbury began again without missing a beat, “my cousin’s reluctantly given admission, and my dear Millicent’s blushing response, I urged Neville to march straight over to Doctor’s Commons and procure a license. I was far too weak, even then, to attend a church wedding.”
“Oh!” his mother gasped. “How utterly romantic.”
“And then your reputation will be saved.” Sarah made as if she were wiping her hands. “Your story, as we want it to be known, will travel all over creation, as Mrs. Jasper will be sure to visit everyone so she can “not” share the news.”
“Now, will someone procure me something to eat?” Harbury demanded. “I am starved!”
Neville exchanged a glance with his wife. His. Wife. “If you all will excuse us, my wife and I will take our meal upstairs. She’s had a trying few days.”
“Very trying,” Millie agreed.
“Understandable, perfectly understandable,” Harbury said. “If Aunt Jane will pardon me, I’m going to remark, for no apparent reason, on the thickness of the walls.”
A squeak escaped Millie’s throat. Sarah rolled her eyes.
“Shall we?” He smiled down into his wife’s upturned face.
She nodded, darting a glance back to their grinning collection of relatives.
“One of the words I think you might have been looking for last night in the library”—he leaned down and whispered directly into her ear—“is grind.”
Millie turned sharply.
“Unless, that is, you are interested in the far more vulgar fu—”
She silenced him with a kiss.
Harbury whistled. Sarah clapped. Cassie gasped. Mercy the spaniel yipped. And his mother laughed.
“Now, for a story that began with potential ruin, that is a satisfying ending,” Sarah said.
He smiled.
The evening had only just begun.