Chapter Thirteen
In the carriage ride home from the wedding ceremony, Henry glanced over at his bride.
She sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap.
Was he correct in thinking she seemed sad?
Did she regret the marriage already? He had to know how she felt about him before they stepped out of the carriage and into the celebration.
Henry reached into his coat pocket. “Before we arrive, I have a wedding gift for you.”
He pulled out a small leather-bound volume, its cover tooled in gold.
She drew in a deep breath. “Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Henry, it is the perfect wedding gift. Thank you.”
“It’s a first edition, 1609.” He watched her fingers trace the gold lettering reverently. “The sonnets seemed appropriate for our wedding day. I’ve bookmarked one for our ride home.”
She opened it carefully to the sonnet he’d chosen. “Sonnet 116. My favorite. How did you know?”
His chest warmed. “I didn’t. But it is mine as well.”
She handed him the book. “Read it to me, please.”
He read it as best he could, fighting to keep his emotions from spilling all over the page.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
By the time he’d finished, unshed tears made her eyes glassy.
“I cannot imagine a better gift,” Sophia said. “You are the most thoughtful man. I’ve no idea how you were able to find it in time for our wedding day.”
“Grimshaw is to be thanked. I set him on what I feared an impossible task, but lo and behold, he found it.”
She clutched the book to her chest. “Perhaps you could read to me again tonight? Another poem? One each night?”
“Whenever you wish, I will read to you. But speaking of our nights. There’s something I want to talk to you about.
” Henry’s stomach did somersaults and his palms were damp with perspiration under his gloves.
“With your family at the house and the staff noticing everything we do, I think it would be best if you stayed with me tonight. In my bedchambers.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath, her eyes searching his. “Is that what you want?”
“It is what I want,” he said firmly.
She looked down at her lap, her hands still clasped, her cheeks almost red. “But I do not understand. Would it be more of this play we’ve partaken in or a…true wedding night?”
“May I speak frankly?”
She glanced up at him. “Please.”
He pried one hand loose from the book and brought it to his mouth.
Despite her glove, he could feel how cold her fingers were under the fabric.
“I cannot stop thinking about you. In my bed. In my arms. Showing you the pleasures married life can bring. I want to make this marriage real. I know what we agreed upon, but I have changed my mind. However, only if it is what you want. If you don’t want me, I understand and will treat you with the respect you deserve. This is your choice.”
She looked up at him from beneath hooded lids. “You want me?”
“Desperately.”
Her mouth turned up into one of her glorious smiles. “Oh, Henry, I never thought I’d hear you say those words. How I’ve yearned to hear them.”
“You have?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I am drawn to you. In the same ways you are to me. I want to be your wife. I want to know what it’s like to be loved by you.”
“I will show you, dear Sophia. For the rest of my life if you’ll have me.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms right then, to kiss her until neither of them could breathe. But they were nearly home, and he needed to maintain some semblance of control. Tonight. He could wait until tonight.
“Then tonight,” he said, his voice as rough as the uneven stones of the driveway, “there will be no locked doors between us.”
“No locked doors. I do hope I’ll please you.”
“That is not in question.”
The carriage came to a stop. Through the window, the household staff was lined up outside the entrance—Grimshaw, Mrs. Bromley, Mrs. Mills, Davies, the footmen, the maids. All waiting to greet their new mistress.
“They’re all here,” Sophia said. “I hope they do not feel resentment toward me.”
“Everyone in this house adores you,” Henry assured her. “You are the lady of the house now. Everyone will treat you as such.”
“I feel a bit like an imposter.”
“No, my dear, you are perfect. You were born for this,” Henry said.
The door opened. Henry stepped down first, then turned to help Sophia. As she took his hand and stepped down from the carriage, sunlight caught the pearls in her hair, the sapphires at her wrist and the book of sonnets in one hand.
The staff broke into applause.
Mrs. Bromley stepped forward, a tremulous smile on her face. “My lady, congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bromley,” Sophia said.
“If I may say so, my lady, you look absolutely beautiful,” Mrs. Mills said, shyly. “And the ceremony was lovely.”
“Mrs. Mills, thank you. We are looking forward to the breakfast you’ve prepared for us.”
“It’s my pleasure, my lady. Nothing but the best for you and his lordship.”
The other carriages were arriving now—Sebastian and Rose, James and Georgiana, Thomas and Charlotte. The last carriage door opened and Lucy stepped out, holding Amelia’s hand. The little girl wore a pale yellow dress with white ribbons, and clutched a small posy of violets.
“Mama! Papa!” She pulled free from Lucy and ran to them, her yellow dress bouncing.
“Hello, darling.” Sophia crouched down despite her delicate silk gown, gathering Amelia into her arms.
“It was very long. My legs got tired from sitting.” Amelia patted Sophia’s face with one small hand. “But I was good. Lucy said I was the goodest.”
“I’m sure you were,” Henry said, smiling at Lucy over Amelia’s head. “Thank you for keeping her during the service.”
“My pleasure, my lord. She was perfect.”
“You look pretty, Mama,” Amelia said, touching the pearls in Sophia’s hair. “So shiny.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“What’s that?” Amelia pointed at the book in Sophia’s hand.
“It is a book that Papa gave me as a wedding gift.”
“Will you read it to me?” Amelia asked.
“Perhaps when you are older,” Henry said.
“Can we have cake now?” Amelia asked.
“In a bit. But first, go inside with Lucy and have your breakfast,” Sophia said. “Lucy, she will need a nap so that she might join us for part of the afternoon.”
“Yes, my lady,” Lucy said, bobbing her head. “Come along, little one.”
Amelia looked slightly disappointed but didn’t make a fuss, simply took Lucy’s hand and headed up the steps.
Grimshaw cleared his throat gently. “My lord, my lady, if you’re ready, the wedding breakfast is prepared in the dining room.”
Henry offered Sophia his arm. She took it, and together they walked through the entrance of Montrose Manor—not as lord and governess, not as employer and employee, but as husband and wife.
As they crossed the threshold, Henry leaned down and whispered, “Welcome home, Lady Montrose.”
Sophia looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Lord Montrose. I am happy to be home at long last.”
*
Laughter and the soft clatter of silver drifted through the dining room.
The table was laid with the finest linens and silver, laden with roasted ham studded with cloves, crown roast of lamb, poached salmon with dill sauce, game pies, fresh breads, and an array of preserves and jellies.
On the sideboard stood fruit tarts and syllabubs, and Mrs. Mills had surprised the newlyweds with a magnificent wedding cake adorned with marzipan and delicate sugar work.
Henry offered Sophia his arm and led her to the head table. Sebastian and Rose sat to their right, James and Georgiana to their left. Charlotte and Thomas, Amelia between them, occupied the next table with the vicar and his wife.
As the guests settled and footmen began serving, Henry stole glances at his wife. She looked radiant in her wedding dress. Still, he couldn’t wait until it was a clump on the foot of his bed.
The meal progressed with easy conversation and frequent toasts. The wine flowed freely, and the room filled with warmth and laughter.
Then Sebastian stood, tapping his glass with a knife. The room fell quiet.
“I’d like to offer my congratulations to the bride and groom.
” Sebastian raised his glass, eyes bright.
“To Sophia and Henry. May your life together be filled with love, laughter and the joy of family. Montrose, we are happy to welcome you to ours. Thank you for making my sister’s eyes shine as they do. ”
Everyone raised glasses, clinking with whoever was nearest them.
Before she could respond, James stood. “I, too, would like to make a toast. Today is the fulfillment of my deepest wish, which was to see my sister married to a man she loved. I had not predicted this man would also come with a little girl that has stolen Sophia’s heart.
There have been hardships in our family.
Cruelty and grief. But today, we celebrate the future.
To our family. They tried to ruin us, but we came back. Rather like a pesky rash.”
Everyone chuckled.
James glanced down at his wife. “I know how love can change everything. How it gives life meaning and purpose. Sophia, I wish for you and Henry the joy and contentment I have with my Georgiana.” He paused, his honey-colored curls falling over his forehead as he turned to Henry.
“Montrose, my brother and I have felt responsible for the protection of our sister. Now, that task goes to you. I know you will do your job well.”
“I will,” Henry said, nodding.
James raised his glass. “To love.”