CHAPTER 18 #2
She wore a dress of cream silk that somehow managed to be both simple and stunning, probably because the woman wearing it could have made sackcloth look regal.
Her hair was arranged in an elaborate style that Mary had probably spent hours perfecting, with small white roses woven throughout.
She carried a bouquet of winter roses mixed with, unless Gabriel was mistaken, cuttings from their grafted rose in the garden.
But it was her face that stopped his heart…radiant, confident, and looking at him like he was the only person in the crowded church.
"Good gracious…" someone whispered, possibly him.
Clara began her walk down the aisle, and Gabriel was vaguely aware of reactions around them:
Mrs. Potter crying into a handkerchief while insisting it was dust. Cook nodding approvingly at Clara's appearance.
Peter and the other servants beaming with pride.
Penelope Ashworth sighing romantically. Various villagers looking stunned that their duke was actually entering into matrimony with his housekeeper.
But Gabriel only had eyes for Clara, who moved toward him with the same determination she'd shown climbing his wall in stolen boots, except now she was walking toward him, not away from propriety.
When she finally reached him, Gabriel realised he was probably grinning like a fool, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"You came," he said quietly.
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I thought you might come to your senses."
"I lost those weeks ago. I'm operating on pure instinct and questionable judgment now."
"Perfect. That's my preferred state of being."
The vicar cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
The vicar began the ceremony, his voice carrying through the packed church: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Gabriel Edmund Alexander Hale, Duke of Ashbourne, and Clara Whitfield, in holy matrimony..."
Gabriel tried to focus on the words, but mostly he was focused on Clara, the way her hand felt in his, slightly trembling but firm; the way sunlight through stained glass painted colors across her face; the way she was biting her lip to keep from laughing at something, probably his expression.
"Matrimony," the vicar continued, "is not to be entered into lightly or inadvisably, but reverently and soberly."
"If anyone here present knows of any impediment why these two should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."
The entire church held its breath. Gabriel turned slightly, ready to physically fight anyone who dared interrupt.
"Gabriel Edmund Alexander Hale," the vicar said, "Do you take Clara Whitfield to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
"I do," Gabriel said, then because he couldn't help himself, added, "Enthusiastically and repeatedly."
The congregation tittered, the vicar looked pained, and Clara stepped on his foot.
"Clara Whitfield, do you take Gabriel Edmund Alexander Hale to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
"I do," Clara said clearly, "despite his inability to maintain appropriate solemnity during important ceremonies."
"I'm being perfectly solemn," Gabriel protested.
"You just waggled your eyebrows at me."
"That was a facial twitch."
"That was suggestive eyebrow choreography."
The vicar loudly cleared his throat. "The rings, please?"
Edmund produced the rings.
"Repeat after me," the vicar instructed Gabriel. "With this ring, I thee wed."
"With this ring, I thee wed," Gabriel repeated, sliding the band onto Clara's finger, "and promise to only be moderately impossible for the rest of our lives."
"Gabriel," the vicar warned.
"My apologies… with this ring, I thee wed," Gabriel said properly, though his eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth.
Clara took his ring from Edmund. "With this ring, I thee wed," she said, sliding it onto his finger, "and promise to tolerate your moderate impossibility with good humor and occasional violent frustration."
"That's not the traditional vow," the vicar observed.
"Nothing about us is traditional," Clara replied.
"Fair point. By the power vested in me by the Church of England and the grace of God, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
"Finally," Gabriel breathed, and pulled Clara into a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for church but was exactly what their audience had been hoping for.
The congregation erupted in cheers, applause, and what sounded like money changing hands as various bets were settled. When Gabriel finally released Clara, both of them were breathless and grinning.
"We're husband and wife,” Clara said, sounding slightly stunned.
“It appears my company is now secured for the duration.” Gabriel confirmed.
"For better or worse."
"Probably worse."
"Definitely worse, but entertainingly so."
They turned to face the congregation as husband and wife, and Gabriel was surprised to see genuine joy on most faces. Even the gossips looked pleased, probably because this gave them material for months.
As they walked back down the aisle, Gabriel heard various comments:
"She's made him smile properly…" "Haven't seen him this happy since before the war…" "The scar doesn't look so bad when he smiles…" "Think she's already breeding?" "Must be, with all that noise from the hall…"
"I can still hear you," Gabriel announced. “Let it be known, any breeding is purely hypothetical at this point."
"Gabriel!" Clara hissed, but she was laughing.
They emerged into brilliant winter sunshine, and the crowd followed, throwing rose petals that Mary and the other servants had prepared. Gabriel helped Clara into the decorated carriage, climbing in after her and immediately pulling her onto his lap.