Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Are you completely sure about this?”
George grinned as his brother handed over his silk cravat. “Luke, you worry too much.”
Luke scowled, and strode over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself another whisky. “What was it, a week ago you first met this girl?”
There was nothing that he could say to dull George’s spirits. “What, you are worried she is out to get my money?” He grinned. “You know I barely have any, and so does she. Please, Luke. Be happy for me.”
The two brothers were in the library – George’s favourite room in his home – and when the clock over the mantlepiece chimed quarter to the hour, they both glanced over to it.
“Just fifteen minutes to go,” said Luke darkly. “Fifteen minutes before you begin your journey to tie yourself to this woman, losing all freedom and – ”
“I lose far more without her than with her,” George interjected. He was staring into the mirror on the way, attempting to get his cravat straight and completely failing to succeed. “Would you give me a hand with this?”
Luke rolled his eyes, threw his whisky bad-temperedly down onto the table, and returned to the other side of the room.
“I just never thought I would be attending your wedding,” he said, pulling one side of the cravat so it came completely undone, and starting again.
“Seven days. Seven days ago you met Miss Capria, ‘tis madness!”
George could not help but smile. He had been true to his word: just five days had passed since they had found each other again, and the church was booked, the flowers arranged, the ring procured, and at eleven o’clock that morning, they would be man and wife.
His brother nodded curtly at the newly arranged cravat, and shook his head with a wry smile. “I suppose nothing but someone incredible would have tempted you to the altar in the first place.”
George shook his head. “I could not walk away from her, even if I wanted to. Florence is – she is everything I would want in a woman, and more. Witty, beautiful, caring, insightful – ”
“And Italian,” Luke interrupted, throwing himself into an armchair. “You may end up living in Rome, or Venice.”
The bridegroom laughed. “I suppose I might! There does not seem to be anything I would not do for her, Luke. Losing her would mean losing everything, and if she asked me for anything – but then, she never would.”
Luke scoffed. “George, she is too good to be true: mark my words, you will discover something wrong with her!”
George shrugged, and pulled on his top hat. “Perhaps. But then, I am no perfect gentleman either. I think we will be happy.”
His brother sighed, rose from the armchair, and picked up his own top hat. “I have never seen you like this, George. I cannot think of anyone more deserving to find their perfect match, and I hope you are right.”
“You wait until you meet her,” George’s eyes shone. “Then you will see.”
It was a chilly day that they stepped into as the front door slammed behind them, and George regretted for a moment not throwing a greatcoat over his wedding outfit: but then, what was the point?
The church was only two streets away, and before long he would be warmed by the sight of Miss Florence Capria.
“You know, as your best man,” Luke said as they strode along the pavement, carefully dodging a young pickpocket who squealed as his fingers were caught moving towards the gentleman’s pocketbook, “‘tis my duty – and as it aligns with my own curiosity, I will definitely ask it – to enquire whether you did ever find Miss Teresa Metcalfe?”
George grinned at him as they turned the corner. “Worried she will no longer give you a cut of your recommendations?”
His brother’s eyebrows rose. “You have a very low opinion of me, dear brother.”
“When it is merited, I am afraid I form very firm opinions,” shot back George. “No, I did not meet Miss Teresa Metcalfe – and I must say, I have no wish to.”
“I wonder what happened to her,” Luke said musingly. “Perhaps she met another man, and received a better offer.”
“Perhaps she fell into the Thames, or was stolen by pirates,” George said with a laugh. “Come on.”
The church stood before them, and George started walking up the steps – only to discover that he was doing so alone.
He turned around. “Luke?”
His brother was standing at the bottom step, staring up at him. “We are really going in?”
George stared at him, puzzled. “Well, of course we are. ‘Tis a little difficult to wed one’s intended from the steps of a church!”
Luke’s jaw fell open. “All this time, I think I genuinely thought there was a chance this was all a jest!”
Their shared laughter rang out in the street as a carriage pulled up outside the church.
“God’s teeth, we are about to get overtaken by the bride!” Luke said hastily as he ran up the steps. “Quickly, quickly!”
The two brothers burst into the church to receive a very disapproving look from their father; but George completely ignored it due to the sight of two men, seated either side of her, but awkward and embarrassed looks on their faces.
“T-Tom?” George said, coming to an abrupt halt halfway up the aisle. Luke raced past him as he said, “Harry?”
The two gentlemen nodded, but George had no time to further converse with his estranged brothers. The door behind him had opened, and the bride was about to enter the church.
“Hurry, George!” Luke hissed from the altar, and George almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to join his best man.
The door opened, and a solitary figure entered the church.
Florence could feel her heart fluttering in her chest, but it slowed to a calm pace at the sight of Lord George Northmere, standing at the altar beside a man who must be his brother, Luke.
The church was almost empty, but then she had not expected it to be full. She had no family, no friends in this country; George had wanted a small wedding, and she was happy to oblige.
Anything, anything for this man who made her whole being sing out with joy.
The organ began, and completely alone, she started her slow procession up the aisle.
Her fingers tightened around the bouquet of flowers she had made that morning: rosemary and roses, the flowers of true love.
Her eyes flickered to the right to see an elegant older woman with two men either side of her – two men who looked awfully familiar, as though she had seen them before through a dark glass, or a rainstorm.
The music changed, and she looked up to lock eyes with George himself. He had turned, he had twisted around to see her, and there was such pride on his face, such happiness it almost brought a tear to her eye.
To think she could bring a man such happiness.
The aisle had seemed long when she had entered the church, but Florence arrived at the altar in what felt like no time at all. George reached out his hand, and she took it. Her hand tingled where he touched it.
“You are the most radiant creature on Earth,” he whispered with a smile.
Florence smiled back. “And you are not too shabby either, Lord George.”
He rolled his eyes as the vicar began the wedding service.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”
“I could hardly believe it when I came in,” George said in an undertone while the vicar droned on, “but my brothers are here.”
Florence’s eyes widened. “All of them?”
George nodded.
She could not help but grin at his words. She had hoped, she had hoped beyond hope but without knowing the exact details of their estrangement . . .
“I wrote to them,” she whispered, glancing over to him. “And very expensive it was too, getting the letters there within a day. I asked them to come; I told them they had already lost so much time, and that they should lose no more. What better moment to reconcile than a wedding?”
The vicar interrupted with, “Do you, Lord George Albert Gerald Northmere, take this woman . . .”
The vows were over before they were begun, and the vicar began the ending speech before he could declare them man and wife.
George’s eyes were still wide at her words. “You – you wrote to them?” His grip on her hand tightened. “We are not even married and I already do not deserve you,” he said, his smile deepening as he turned to look at his brothers. “Miss Capria, is there nothing you cannot do?”
Florence nodded with a smile. “Just one thing. I am about to lose my name forever and take a new one – and that is something I cannot stop, and have no wish to!”
“. . . man and wife!”
“Ah, but when you lose it to a Lord, you know that it is true love,” whispered George as he pulled his new wife into a tight embrace and a loving kiss.