11. The Simple Wedding #2
Kate opened her eyes, still not looking at Mr. Moore, and spoke the words aloud.
“I do.”
Mr. Moore’s shoulders relaxed visibly, a tension she herself could feel inside her own chest.
In the front row, Mary closed her eyes briefly, her relief also evident. Or maybe concern. Hard to tell.
Beside Mr. Moore, Vikram smiled widely, his young face beaming with genuine joy at witnessing this moment.
Only then did Kate finally turn to meet Mr. Moore’s gaze, finding something warm and grateful in his expression.
Had he really thought she was going to say no at the very last moment? But more importantly so, was she?
Anyway, she had said the opposite, and now they were almost married.
The exchange of rings followed with solemnity.
Mr. Moore’s hands were gentle as he slid a simple gold band onto Kate’s finger, his touch careful and reverent.
The ring was beautiful in its simplicity—no ostentatious diamonds or elaborate engravings, just pure gold that caught the light streaming through the stained-glass windows.
When Kate took his hand to return the gesture, she noticed a slight tremor in it.
And she also noticed, for a tenth time perhaps, that his fingers were long and elegant, surprisingly soft for a man who claimed to have worked his way up from nothing.
She filed that observation away with all the other small inconsistencies she had noticed about him so far.
“By the power vested in me by God and the Church of England,” Reverend Whitmore declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He turned to Mr. Moore with a gentle smile. “You may kiss the bride.”
Another pause, this was it… the real moment of truth.
Out the corner of her eye, Kate saw Lady Rutledge lean forward slightly in her seat, and she was suddenly, acutely aware of being watched, evaluated, and judged by every person in the church.
But more than that, she felt her heart wanting to escape from her body.
Like a wild thing trying to break free, racing wildly in her chest. Her cheeks reddened so quickly and so easily, she thought it would burn her soft skin.
The sudden fire in her body, creeping and growing with each passing second, made it hard to breathe and think.
But Mr. Moore was all tenderness and care.
He slowly lifted her veil with such gentle hands, his movements delicate and respectful.
And when their eyes met without constraints, Kate felt this moment of startling intimacy, which seemed to exist outside the performance they were giving for their audience.
Her vision narrowed to only his face, as red as her own now.
He leaned forward ever so slowly, as if giving her the advantage to step back if she wanted to. But Kate, at this point, found herself wanting to stay, wanting to be kissed by him. She closed her eyes while her lips parted slightly, waiting.
However, Mr. Moore placed the gentlest of kisses on her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth. It was proper, respectful, exactly what their arrangement called for. Yet undeniably tender, something that spoke of genuine care rather than mere obligation.
Kate’s eyes opened and widened slightly, caught off guard by her body’s response to such a chaste touch.
Her cheek tingled where his lips had been just for a fraction of a second ago, and she wondered what a real kiss from him might feel like—a dangerous thought indeed, which she quickly pushed aside, blinking fast.
Both turned to face their small audience, now officially husband and wife.
Lady Rutledge clapped enthusiastically, her face radiant with satisfaction.
In the last row, Lord Ramsay frowned, an indecipherable expression on his face.
The partners nodded with restrained courtesy.
And Mary—well, one could not decipher what she felt; she was smiling, yes, but there was more to her expression than that.
* * *
The drawing room at Sullivan Estate had been transformed for the modest reception that followed after the ceremony.
Servants circulated with champagne and delicacies while white flowers and silver accents created an atmosphere of elegance.
Kate had deliberately kept the celebration small and tasteful, as she was still mourning her father’s death.
She and Mr. Moore stood together near the fireplace, receiving congratulations from their guests.
Though they didn’t touch, they maintained a unified front, presenting themselves as partners rather than a traditionally romantic couple.
From time to time, Kate studied him from the corner of her eye, noting how naturally he handled the social requirements of the moment.
Lady Rutledge approached with champagne in hand, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“What a lovely ceremony,” she said, raising her glass in a small toast. “Very so… efficient.”
Kate recognized the gentle teasing in her tone and smiled. “We saw no reason for excessive sentimentality.”
“Of course not,” Lady Rutledge agreed, then turned to Mr. Moore. “You’ve accomplished what half the gentlemen in London couldn’t, Mr. Moore-Sullivan.”
“I believe fortune favored me rather than merit,” he replied with humility.
“Nonsense. You recognized her value when others merely coveted her fortune.”
Before either could respond to that pointed observation, Lord Ramsay approached with his characteristic tight smile.
“Congratulations are in order, I suppose,” he said, though his tone suggested he found the notion distasteful. “Though I must say, Sullivan Shipping will face interesting challenges under such… unconventional leadership.”
Kate felt Mr. Moore tense slightly beside her, but his voice remained controlled when he replied.
“On the contrary, Lord Ramsay. I believe Miss Sullivan’s—” He paused, correcting himself with what seemed like genuine pleasure. “Mrs. Moore-Sullivan’s leadership will continue to exceed expectations, just as it has under her father’s guidance.”
“Indeed?” Ramsay’s eyebrows rose mockingly. “And what exactly will be your role in the company… Moore-Sullivan?”
Kate stepped forward slightly, asserting her authority. “My husband will serve as advisor where his expertise proves valuable. The company remains under my direction, as stipulated in our marriage contract.”
“A contract?” Ramsay’s smile turned predatory. “How romantic!”
“We find clarity preferable to convention, Lord Ramsay,” Mr. Moore said smoothly.
Ramsay’s smile hardened further, clearly frustrated by their united front. “Well. I wish you both every happiness in your… arrangement.”
He walked away, already whispering to another guest, no doubt spreading his skepticism about the match. Kate watched him go with a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction. Let him whisper, her marriage contract was ironclad, and her position secure.
“Men like Ramsay cannot fathom a partnership of equals,” Lady Rutledge commented after his departure. “It offends their delicate sensibilities.” She squeezed Kate’s arm affectionately. “I predict great things from this union, unconventional though it may be.”
She drifted away to speak with other guests, leaving Kate and Mr. Moore momentarily alone amidst the gathering.
“Are you well?” Kate asked then. “Your hand trembled during the ceremony.”
Mr. Moore looked surprised by her observation, and Kate realized she had been watching him more closely than she intended to admit.
“Merely the weight of the moment,” he replied. “It’s not every day one marries a remarkable woman.”
Kate stared at him, trying to read beyond his words and his perfect expression. Was he being sincere, or was this simply another crafted response?
“This changes nothing between us,” she said, more to remind herself than to inform him. “The terms remain the same.”
“Of course,” he agreed, but their eyes met as he spoke, and Kate felt that same unsettling shift she had experienced during their kiss at the altar.
Across the room, Mary watched with worried eyes as Vikram slipped an extra pastry into his pocket—old habits from his time on the streets dying hard.
She moved to intervene, but Mr. Moore caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of the head.
Mary reluctantly stayed put, and Kate found herself touched by his protective instinct toward the boy.
She suppressed a giggle into her champagne glass.
“Shall we greet the remaining guests, Mrs. Moore-Sullivan?” he asked.
The name clearly stirred something inside Kate. She felt it foreign and familiar at once so she took her sip slowly, steadying herself against the strange flutter in her chest.
“Yes,” she said later, “Let’s.”
They moved together through the room with a perfectly synchronized stride. Husband and wife in name, strangers in truth, and something not yet defined in possibility.