Chapter Twenty-Three
Matthew was feeling smart and slightly uncomfortable in the new coat and breeches—the new everything, in fact—he had decided he needed for his wedding. He had actually gone to London to be measured and fitted for them, accompanied by Lord Hardington and Reggie.
The evening clothes he had worn to every evening event for the past number of years just would not do for the occasion, he had admitted to himself somewhat ruefully—though he had worn them to the wedding eve community banquet in the ballroom at Ravenswood last evening. It had been hosted by the Earl and Countess of Stratton and had been a large and merry affair. The whole family had been there, his own as well as Clarissa’s, though they had been far outnumbered by all the neighbors for miles around. Indeed, Matthew could not think of anyone who had not been there.
He had surprised himself by enjoying himself enormously. Clarissa, flushed and resplendent in a figure-hugging scarlet gown, had enjoyed herself too. They certainly had not behaved like a couple who were longing to retreat from the world. But how wonderful it was, he realized, that they could do both after today—enjoy socializing with others and being alone together as well.
“You are looking very smart indeed,” Reggie said, coming through the door from Matthew’s living room into his bedchamber. He stood in the doorway, admiring his brother’s appearance.
His tailed coat was black, his breeches buff colored, his boots black and shining. His shirt and neckcloth were white, his silk waistcoat ivory. A red rosebud was pinned to his lapel.
“And all done without the services of a valet,” Reggie said.
“I would have felt like an idiot,” Matthew said. Stratton had offered the services of his own valet. So had Colonel Wexford and Lord Hardington.
“Shall we walk over to the church?” Reggie said.
He was Matthew’s best man. He had already walked from Ravenswood, where he was staying with his whole family. All of Clarissa’s family was there too—her parents and her brother and his wife, and all the Wares, even the Duchess of Wilby and Lady Jennifer Ellis, both of whom had been looking rather large with child but blooming with good health last evening.
“It is a little early,” he said. “But perhaps if we go now we can creep inside without anyone seeing us.”
His brother laughed as he shook his head and slapped him on the shoulder. “You are dealing with aristocracy here, Matt,” he said.
They were not going to escape anything, of course, as Matthew saw even while they were descending the stairs outside his rooms. He did not have to reach the bottom and see the church farther along the street. The village green was already half crowded with people. So was the street itself. It was a chilly December morning, though the sun was shining and the wind was down. But the cold had not deterred those who wished to watch the guests arrive at the church—and the bride and groom leave it after the wedding service.
Someone set up a bit of a cheer, and those standing in the street opened up a sort of pathway for Matthew and Reggie to pass through. Matthew grinned and waved to the crowd before turning into the churchyard and ducking inside the church. It was decorated with white lilies and red roses and winter greenery, and the full reality of the moment hit Matthew like a physical thing.
“It is my wedding day,” he said aloud.
“I am very relieved you have remembered,” Reggie said, laughing.
Sir Ifor Rhys, seated at the organ, was practicing some piece with a whole lot of intricate trills.
—
Clarissa had decided upon simplicity. She wore an ivory-colored velvet dress, the sleeves long, the neckline and waistline high, the skirt narrow at the front and sides but flowing at the back to allow ease of movement. She would don the matching cloak and bonnet before she left the house. She was going to carry a rather lavish bouquet of red roses and fern. Joy and Matthew’s two great-nieces were to wear red velvet.
She was dressed early. Millicent had finished with her hair. She stood in her private sitting room now, looking out at the wintry landscape, the branches of the trees bare against a pale blue sky. She loved the changing of the seasons. She loved winter. She was glad there were a few months of it still to come.
It would be the last time she would stand here like this, belonging in this room, in this house. She had stood here all those months ago after returning from London alone, wondering what the future held in store for her, wondering if she was going to be able to shape it into something meaningful, something that would make her happy and give her a renewed zeal for living.
And here she was on her wedding day. These were the last few moments of her solitude—until after the wedding anyway. And then it would not be solitude she would be seeking.
She smiled and turned from the window when a tap on the door heralded the arrival of Stephanie and Pippa and Jennifer wheeling herself in her chair.
“Oh, Mama,” Stephanie said, hurrying across the room to hug her. “You look beautiful.”
“Even unadorned as I am?” Clarissa asked.
“You do not need adornment, Mother,” Jennifer said.
They were all dressed smartly for the wedding. They were soon followed into the room by Ben and Nicholas, who was looking resplendent and a bit formidable in his scarlet dress uniform, and by Owen and Gwyneth.
“I have been holding the little girls back,” Gwyneth said. “I did not want them to get in your way, Mother. They are very excited. May I bring them? And by the way, you look gorgeous.” She smiled warmly.
Her bridesmaids looked like rosebuds, Clarissa thought, though they lacked the serenity she associated with those flowers. Joy had apparently taught the other two girls to bounce—or perhaps it was in the nature of young girls to do so when they were excited. Had Pippa been the same? And Stephanie? Had she?
“We had better be on our way to church,” Gwyneth said. “Mother cannot go until we do, and she will not want to be late.”
There was a great deal of noise as everyone hugged her before leaving the room. Ben took Joy by the hand and led her out while Gwyneth took Matthew’s nieces.
“We will meet at the back of the church later,” Clarissa said.
And then she was alone again, though only for a few moments while she went into her dressing room and Millicent helped her on with her cloak and handed her the bouquet. By the time she returned, Devlin was standing in the doorway.
“I don’t know about you, Mama,” he said after looking her over slowly from head to foot. “But I am feeling a bit emotional. Are you really as happy as you have been seeming for the past few months?”
“I am,” she said. “Not least because you have all accepted the life I am choosing. It has not been easy for you, I know.”
“Well, it was a bit of a shock at first, I must confess,” he said. “But I ought to have trusted you from the start, Mama. You have chosen a life that is perfect for you. He is a good man. I think he will prove himself to be the husband you always deserved.” He paused and frowned for a moment as though remembering his father, but he shook his head firmly and smiled. “I am happy. We all are.”
She smiled back at him.
“I can only hope,” he said, “I do not start bawling at church when I have to give you away.”
They both laughed.
“Mama,” he said, “I love you.”
“And I will love you too if you get me to church in time,” she said.
As he drew her hand through his arm and led her downstairs and out to the waiting carriage, the reality of it all struck her anew.
This was her wedding day.
—
More than ever, as he sat in a front pew with the church filled behind him and he imagined the crowd outside swelling as the time of the marriage service drew near, Matthew realized that weddings were indeed for the families of the bride and groom and for their friends and neighbors. And he was glad they had not eloped, Clarissa and he, though his suggestion that they do so had not been a serious one.
He had been surrounded by happiness yesterday, first with the arrival of Reggie and his whole family and then with the banquet last evening. And he had not held himself apart from it. He had been happy too. So had Clarissa.
It felt very good indeed to be an integral part of something larger than himself. He had ignored his family for far too long. He had held himself at an emotional distance from everyone all his adult life, though he had not quite realized it. He had been contented and at peace and had not looked for happiness. Now he had found it—in himself, in his relationship with Clarissa, and in his dealings with their families and neighbors and friends.
He was feeling nervous. He was also feeling…happy.
Sounds of a flurry of activity from the back of the church rose above the soft hum of conversation within, and he knew Clarissa had arrived. The Reverend Danver, in his church vestments, was signaling him to rise. Reggie was feeling around in a pocket, no doubt checking to make sure the ring was where it was supposed to be. A loud musical chord silenced every other sound, and the organ began to play.
Matthew turned to watch his bride approach along the nave, her hand drawn through the arm of her son, the Earl of Stratton.
And yes, he was a part of something that involved two whole families and this whole neighborhood where they lived. But it was something else too. It was something just for the two of them. It was for Clarissa and him. They were about to marry.
And then all he saw was her.
The music ended and the congregation was seated again. The young bridesmaids arranged themselves about Clarissa, and Joy took her bouquet. Devlin gave her hand to Matthew and took his place in the front pew beside Gwyneth.
“Dearly beloved…” the Reverend Danver began.
—
The day was a whirlwind of activity and celebration after that—the wedding itself; the stepping outside to a cheer from the gathered crowd and waving handkerchiefs and showers of petals from some of the younger guests, who had come outside and lain in wait on either side of the church doors during the signing of the register; the ride back to Ravenswood in a carriage beautifully decorated but also deafeningly noisy, with all the pots and pans tied beneath it; the hugs and kisses as all the guests returned too; the wedding breakfast for both families; the speeches and toasts.
It was all a bit overwhelming for a man who had spent most of his adult years living quietly in two small rooms above a village smithy, never seeking attention, never looking for excitement, never expecting more than he already had.
But what he had now, after a summer and autumn of change, was everything he could ever have dreamed of—if he had allowed himself to dream. He was no longer a man living somewhat on the periphery of life, a bit afraid perhaps to plunge into it lest he be hurt more than he could bear—as he had been during his childhood. Now, today, he was at the very heart of two families, the Taylors and the Wares. He was one of them. He belonged. He mattered to them as they mattered to him.
It was an immeasurable gift these past months had brought him.
Yet now, today, there was so much more—for what anchored him to the day and prevented him from being completely overwhelmed was Clarissa. The love of his life. The joy of his heart.
His wife.
Beautiful and vibrant and charming and happy.
And his.
It was hard to believe. Once or twice he wanted to pinch himself. Yet whenever she looked at him, which she did frequently, just as he looked at her, he saw the truth there in her sparkling eyes and in her flushed cheeks.
He was the love of her life. He was the joy of her heart.
Her husband.
He touched her hand when all the speeches were finally over and everyone stood to move to the drawing room, all talking at once, it seemed.
“Shall we go home?” he asked her.
Her eyes softened and her lips parted. But even now old habits reasserted themselves.
“And abandon all the guests?” she said.
“But they are not your guests, are they?” he said. “They are Gwyneth and Devlin’s.”
Her lips curved into a slow smile. “It is true,” she said. “I am free. How absolutely marvelous. Oh yes, Matthew, let us go home.”
—
They could not simply slip away, of course. That would have been ill-mannered. And she could not simply step out of the house. It was December. She had to send a servant to fetch her cloak from her old room while Matthew had a quiet word with Devlin.
No, they could not simply slip away, for by the time the cloak had been brought and she had hugged Gwyneth and thanked her for the breakfast and everything else she had done to make this a perfect day, and Matthew had gone to shake Reginald by the hand and hug Adelaide, everyone had discovered that the bride and groom were about to leave, and all had gathered in the hallway to shake hands, slap backs, kiss cheeks, hug tightly enough to deprive one of breath, and talk and laugh and wish them well. Even the children had spilled out of the nursery, the bridesmaids looking like slightly bedraggled rosebuds. They darted among adult legs, giggling and shrieking and generally getting in the way.
But finally they were walking away from Ravenswood, hand in hand like young lovers, and taking the familiar route along the terrace, down the driveway almost to the bridge, and then along the river path, which had been widened a little since the summer and paved.
Their cottage awaited them. It was finished and fully furnished but had not yet been lived in, except by Mr. and Mrs. Hoover, Millicent’s brother and sister-in-law, who had taken up residence in the servants’ wing of the house a few days ago and dusted and scrubbed and polished every square inch of the interior since then, according to Millicent, as well as the front door, the knocker, the front steps, and the windows outside.
The windows winked at them now in the light of the late afternoon sun. The red door seemed to glow in contrast with the muted winter colors all around. And smoke curled out of the chimney, a welcome sight on what was a crisp winter day.
“Home,” she said.
“Home,” he agreed.
And they stopped by mutual consent to gaze at it, the cottage she had not even dreamed of when she came home alone back in the late spring. The cottage that seemed like a palace to him after his rooms in the village, he had told her, laughing, a few days ago.
“Mr. Hoover must have lit a fire in the sitting room,” she said. “Shall we go in, Matthew? It is chilly standing here.”
Strangely, she felt a bit nervous.
“I hope he has also lit one in our bedchamber,” he said.
And a bit breathless too.
They had made love awkwardly, somewhat painfully, altogether wonderfully beside their tree on the night of their betrothal. They had not made love since. It was amazing how little opportunity everyday life offered a well-bred lady and an honorable man who respected her reputation.
She wondered if their butler/gardener/handyman would have thought of warming the bedchamber in the middle of the afternoon. Or if Mrs. Hoover had. Or Millicent.
The front door opened even as they reached the two steps leading up to it. Mr. Hoover, very stiff and formal in a black and white uniform worthy of any butler, held it for them and bowed. Mrs. Hoover stood beaming behind him, and Millicent, almost smiling, beside her.
“Welcome home, ma’am, sir,” the butler said, indicating the small porch in which he stood as though it were the vast hall of a mansion.
Clarissa smiled at him and at the two women.
“Thank you, Mr. Hoover,” Matthew said. “But stand back, please. I need a little more room.”
And quite unexpectedly, he turned to sweep Clarissa up in his arms. She shrieked as he climbed the steps with her and carried her over the threshold of the cottage before setting her feet on the floor.
Their new home. The new chapter in their lives, which had begun so gloriously today.
Millicent, she noticed, was fully smiling now.
“There is a fire in the sitting room and in the main bedchamber, sir,” Mrs. Hoover said. “There is extra coal beside the hearth in both rooms if you should need it. Will you be requiring a tray of tea and freshly baked scones immediately, ma’am?”
“No,” Clarissa and Matthew said together.
“Perhaps later,” Clarissa said. “I can smell them now, and they smell delicious. I will have no need of you for a while, Millicent. Why do you not have tea with your brother and sister-in-law?”
The three servants needed no further persuasion. They disappeared back in the direction of the kitchen, and Clarissa turned to Matthew, who took her in his arms.
“I am going to like them,” he said. “They understand a thing or two. Perhaps we had better go up and see if that fire needs tending to.”
“I am quite sure it does,” she said.
He smiled at her before kissing her nose. “Red,” he said. “Like our front door.”
“Why does no one else’s nose turn red at the mere suggestion of cold weather?” she asked.
“Perhaps because you are unique,” he said. “And uniquely beautiful. And uniquely my wife.”
“At last,” she said with a sigh. “At long, long last, Matthew.”
“At last,” he agreed, turning her toward the staircase and their room beneath the thatched roof.