Chapter Twelve
“Mrs. Marbury and her husband will attend, but they claim Alice cannot. She is nursing a cold and is far too busy preparing for her own wedding—two weeks from today!” Mrs. Marbury was in full cry, although Rose was only a few feet from her.
Charles patiently let Rose pin an orange blossom and a silver leaf to his jacket. “She was very vociferous whilst I was escorting her to the ladies’ salon. Her mother doubly so. When they were not shouting at me for my oafishness and explaining how strawberries would indelibly ruin the dress, they were saying that Bryce had not had to scramble to find a bride but had been paying calls upon Miss Marbury for weeks, ever since they danced around the Maypole during the fete at St. Ann’s.”
Mrs. Lycombe gasped and finished pinning Rose’s veil over her freshly washed and arranged hair. “How can that be? He asked your father for Rose’s hand the same day Sir Edmund did.”
“He is not a worthy man, Mama,” Rose said complacently, all smiles.
But Mrs. Lycombe clicked her tongue and wouldn’t let the matter rest. “I’ve a mind to tell her that his interest in visiting our home was far more than a polite call! And for her to imply that Bryce is a better match because he is young, dashing, and handsome, while dear Edmund is older and somewhat lame. Hm.”
“Mother,” Rose’s happy tone held a hint of warning. “Edmund is the finest man in Surrey, save Charles and Father. What should happen if, God spare him, Bryce was shot in the leg? Or fell from his horse? He would be nothing more than Edmund then, save he would be younger and probably a great deal more inconsolable. He is a man of action and would never bear the injury well.”
“Brother Edmund seems to bear up beautifully,” Ivy floated into the room, her pale sage green dress billowing around her.
“It is because he has Rose,” Lily trailed in behind Ivy, looking more uncertain and tugging at the bodice of her dress. “Rose, why don’t you wear green, like us? Mama got married in pink, didn’t you, Mama?”
“Tis the fashion now to be married in white, and the bridesmaids in white or in very pale colors, and the men must have orange blossoms and silver leaves. The bride must have orange blossoms on her veil or in her hair.”
“Your mother has been most desirous of honoring Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in her arrangements for your wedding, child.” John Lycombe was the last to arrive in Rose’s overcrowded room. “I do not think Sir Edmund will care what you wear or the color of the dresses of your attendants. As long as you are his wife at the end of the ceremony, he will count the day a success.”
“Of course he will,” Mrs. Lycombe pinched her cheeks and put a hand to her chest. “My liver cannot take all of this excitement.”
“That’s your heart, Mama. Or perhaps indigestion.” Rose rearranged her veil, pushing it back from her face.
“I only had tea and dry toast, Rose.” Mrs. Lycombe fluttered out of the room and then back in, sending her children scattering as they tried to exit after her. “Have Greer put Rose’s trunk in the cart, John. We’ll send more of your things over to Cadfael House tomorrow, darling, but that is all that you will need on your honeymoon.”
“Where are you going? To the seaside?” Lily asked, bouncing in her little white slippers.
“Only Edmund and I know that,” Charles said proudly. “The best man knows, and he must keep it a dire secret. I shall not tell you until the day before they return, even if you bake me your special cherry cakes.”
“Don’t tease her so,” Rose chided, petting Lily’s hand and taking Charles’ arm. “I don’t think we will be gone for more than a week or two. I want to be home to start summer planting.”
“You sound like a farmer.” Ivy sniffed.
“She sounds like a scientist,” Mr. Lycombe said with affection. “Come on, everyone. Out of Greer’s way.”
“Thank heavens Sir Edmund is just a wee bit peculiar,” Mrs. Lycombe sighed under her breath.
Rose didn’t mind. He was peculiar, she supposed, in the same way that she was, and in a way that suited them both.
ROSE WAS GLAD FOR THEcooling breeze and to be married early in the morning, before the summer heat could become oppressive. “Is all in readiness, Mama?”
“I think so.” Mrs. Lycombe shooed her daughters out from the vicar’s small study, shutting the door behind them. “Rose, my dear. It’s been a wild rush with all of our friends and relations coming to attend your wedding and with the engagement ball only the other evening. We haven’t had time to discuss certain matters.”
Rose nodded. She had been expecting some sort of practical talk from her mother on the responsibilities of love and marriage. Funnily enough, she was not concerned about love. She didn’t fear that Edmund did not love her. She felt confident that if he did not yet, within time he would. Already, he was her dear confidant, and the only person outside of her family with whom she felt completely at ease.
“I have only to tell you that... Well, I am not quite sure what to tell you. I am not sure if Edmund’s injury prevents him from performing certain husbandly duties,” her mother whispered, face furtive. “But you may be uncertain as to what you are to do. As a wife.”
Again, she nodded, eyes narrowing, waiting for her mother to reveal some great wisdom.
And she did not. “You will not have to worry as you would if you had married a younger, inexperienced man. Edmund has been married before, and therefore you have only to listen to his instructions and obey.”
“Listen and obey? Mama, you make it sound like he is going to give me riding lessons.”
Her mother blanched. “Do not be flippant. He seems a tender and caring person toward you, Rose, and was always a dear friend of your father’s. If you have questions, ask him. And...” her mother swallowed, looking as though she’d just imbibed a good deal of vinegar, “if you have any questions for me, you may ask.”
I do not know what sort of answers Mama would give. Probably the answers as to what a woman ought to do—but I don’t do things as other women do.
Rose decided she would as soon as ask Edmund about the particular mechanics of a wedding night and honeymoon, and she would ask her mother things about childbirth and infants if things progressed. Still, to make her mother happy, she said, “Thank you, Mama. I cannot think of anything just now, for you have prepared me so well. I’m sure that Edmund and I will be happy together, no matter what we do for our honeymoon.”
Her mother looked mollified, nodding. “Indeed, I believe you will be. It is an odd match that I could never have predicted, and yet you both seem truly happy.”
Rose put a hand over her heart as she made her way to the door, her garnet ring sparkling in contrast to the white of her bodice. She searched her heart for fear and doubts and found them missing. “I only want to be with him, and I’m sure all will be well.”
FOR ONCE, EDMUND WASdelighted to feel his leg burning from standing for so long. It meant he was not dreaming. He was truly here, holding Rose’s hands in his own as the vicar read from First Corinthians.
She was a vision in white with her long dark hair piled in cunning swirls and bedecked with the pearl hair combs he had given her as an early wedding present. He only hoped she would like the other presents as well.
His mouth moved on command, but he had no idea if his words were correct. He supposed they must be because the vicar continued.
But Edmund heard her words, sweet, low, and clear, coming from the wellspring of her heart. She repeated everything as the vicar prompted, but his mind kept running over and over the part of “to love and to cherish.”
It hit him with a sick thud (quickly banished) that Catherine had not loved him for himself.
Rose does. Or at least, I want her to. I want her so much, and to be with her for the rest of my days. I do believe... I do believe I love her, truly.
He leaned forward and kissed her, causing a muffled gasp around the room.
“Sir Edmund!” the vicar hissed.
Edmund rocked backward, leg and hip aching so that his whole back throbbed. “Pardon me.”
Rose only smiled and concluded as if nothing had happened. “Til death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance.”
“Do you wish to use a ring?” The vicar asked, still looking ruffled that his perfect service had been interrupted by an impetuous kiss.
Edmund’s fingers slid across hers, placing a plain gold circle engraved with the date and their initials, settling it atop the garnet she already wore.
“You are now husband and wife.”
Edmund was relieved to take Rose’s arm, and more relieved still when she instinctively moved close to take some of his weight. Looking straight ahead, they walked slowly down the aisle while their guests rose and a rush of happy noise engulfed them.
“Are you all right?” Rose whispered.
“I am the happiest man in England—who would very much like to sit down,” Edmund confessed, kissing her hand.
“As soon as we sign the register, we shall escape in the carriage.”
“And by hook or by crook, Mrs. Brown and Mr. Clark have found chairs enough for the guests who care to sit at the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Taylor is already making beautiful little boxes of the wedding fruitcake—baked this morning after soaking in rum for nearly three weeks—to send home with the guests.”
“I feel as though I’m coming home instead of leaving it,” Rose whispered as the vicar made his somber way to them, the register outstretched.
“Then God is faithful and answers my prayers. I know now that you will love your wedding present,” Edmund whispered back.
In reply, Rose touched the combs in her hair. “My presents?”
“More awaits.” Edmund winked.