Chapter 46
“What’s next for Adelaide?”-Headline from the Times; September 30, 1840
The wedding that Kathleen, Bridget, the newly recovered Dowager Viscountess, and Moria put together in a mere 8 weeks, was sure to rival even Queen Victoria’s royal wedding. They’d both fallen for a prince after all.
Noelle had insisted that she’d happily marry Fitz on the small chapel at their family’s estate, but no one had listened.
“You are marrying a viscount, and a rather notorious one. People expect…glamour.”
Kathleen argued, handing the dark-haired, pink-cheeked baby back off to Fitz's mother.
The viscountess hummed a lullaby, walking him over to pace near the window of Pembrooke Place in London, where both seemed to love to feel the light of the outdoors on their faces.
“Don’t you want them all to eat their words? If you have a small wedding in such a short matter of time, people will make their own assumptions.”
Moria added in her usual cynical style. She stood from where she’d been pinning Noelle’s dress to alter for a closer fit, and waved at her nephew, who immediately cooed in her direction and smiled a lazy infant smile.
“Is there a single man alive who isn’t besotted with you?”
Kathleen sighed and looked at her sisters, who laughed.
Noelle took them all in, her doting sisters, the matriarch who welcomed her so fully into her family and vice versa.
She was still weak, but being out of the manor and surrounded by the merry horde of Pembrookes seemed to have done her good.
Olivia continued, “You deserve all the finer things you are afraid to say that you really do want.”
“And how do you know what I want?” Noelle asked. She fussed with the beads hanging from the small straps of her gown, and tried to fight her irritation at her well-meaning family superseding her wishes.
Olivia stepped behind her to place an arm around her midsection, resting her head on her arm as she peeked around her to look at her sister’s reflection in the mirror.
“When I read Adelaide, I saw you. A girl told not to want the fairy tale, that it was out of her reach, who fought for it, nonetheless. A girl who deserved to be celebrated.”
Bridget gave a small laugh, “If anyone would find a woman who commits fraud, thievery, adultery, piracy, a prison escape, and other sins to be deserving of celebration, it would be you, Lady Olivia.”
Olivia smiled at her companion magnanimously. Noelle’s soon-to-be mother in law clutched at her hand through tears, Noelle dabbed at her eyes with one of her son’s handkerchiefs.
Kathleen fluffed the veil around Noelle with one hand, holding the baby with the other, “Besides, this dress is so incredibly beautiful, some of your sister’s best work,” she gave a warm smile to Moria, who didn’t look uncomfortable at the sincerity for once, “and it deserves…a spectacle.”
The baby reached a chubby fist toward one of the rosettes covering the edge of the veil, but Olivia caught him and brought his fist to her lips for a kiss.
“Do you think Adelaide will make an appearance at the wedding?” Kathleen asked.
All five women looked at each other and then at Noelle. Kathleen hadn’t been as involved in the search for Fitz, or any of the outings in which Noelle had masqueraded as her enigma. The others all waited for Noelle to speak; she was the final call.
“I don’t think so. After recovering from her injuries, she’s decided to…settle down to a quiet life in the country.”
Kathleen leaned back in the armchair at her side, settling in to nurse her infant, as she gave a cynical snort.
“I don’t see her being happy there for very long. You must be relieved…I had almost thought there was something between her and the viscount for a moment. But it’s clear he’s devoted to you.”
“That he is!” Moria seconded, smiling up at Noelle from where she was tightening the straps of her dress.
“So, you don’t think there’s a chance of…Adelaide…reappearing?” Bridget asked, handing Moria another pin.
“Please say we haven’t seen the back of her,” Letitia said, pinning another rosette to Noelle’s bodice.
“You already know I am rather fond of the firebrand as well,” Olivia said, her eyes glinting with mischief that warmed Noelle from the inside out as she took her hand.
“I wouldn’t count her out completely. I don’t see her adjusting to rustication easily. Perhaps we shall see more of her.”
The pride on the faces of the women she loved, who’d molded her and unwittingly inspired a character loved by many, made her feel like even without a great love, she had all that she had aspired to.
On the day of one of London’s most celebrated unions, Jasper walked her down the aisle.
When the music began from a massive pipe organ and the doors to St. James’ church opened, hundreds of participants stood to look at her.
What appeared to be a small garden of flowers gifted by her new Queenly friend, and the most handsome man she’d ever seen, awaited her at the front of the church.
It was only a heartbeat after Noelle’s intake of breath at it all that Jasper said, “They’re all here for you, my brave girl.”
Her family was there, her friends, Fitz’s mother stood leaning with the aid of his cousin, Tristan Valentine, on the front pew along with Fitz’s grandmother Althea. His uncle was rightfully nowhere to be found, as he was now in Newgate Prison fittingly awaiting transportation for his crimes.
Jasper felt the hitch in her breath, his grip tightened to guide her forward.
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got you.”
Noelle recalled the way that he’d guided her the night of her debut; but today, Fitz had insisted she wear her spectacles. Regardless, she trusted Jasper implicitly.
In the wake of their father’s absence on a momentous occasion, Jasper was something similar and different. He was warm and encouraging when the situation warranted; stern and serious when he needed to be. And he seemed to walk the lines of both with ease.
She hadn’t thought that she would be overcome with emotion, but upon seeing Fitz at the end of the altar letting out a shaky breath as he laid eyes on her in her wedding gown, she was glad that her veil concealed the tears that seeped out.
“I’m proud of you,” Jasper breathed as they began the march.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Not because I’ve successfully married you off, but because of all it took for you to get here, and you maintained your grace and dignity the whole time. I hope that he makes you very happy, or else I’ll shoot him for you.”
Noelle was saved from tears by a watery laugh. She saw Fitz watching her with a questioning look in his too-blue eyes.
“The number of people you’ve threatened to shoot grows by the day.”
He snorted. “By the hour with you lot.”
At last, they’d reached her betrothed. Fitz took Noelle’s hand from Jasper and kissed her fingers with the softness, tenderness, warmth she’d become addicted to.
Noelle could feel a bubble of happiness inside her chest full to bursting, a single tear slipping out just as her betrothed leaned down with one knuckle to chase it away.
“The last tear I ever make you cry, I promise,” Fitz’s whisper felt like a secret oath against her ear.
Noelle brushed his fingers with the pads of her own, “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t bring me to tears…laughter, frustration, worry…I’ll take them all. You’ve been worth every single one, to wind up here with you.” It wasn’t the vows she’d penned, but they felt like vows all the same.
His heart was in his eyes as the vicar called on them to say their vows.
Jasper sat down in a pew with the rest of his siblings after he’d given Lady Noelle away.
He looked over at Moria, who sat next to him, noticing that she was on the verge of tears. He’d never seen so much emotion on her face, at least not in public. He reached into a pocket in his coat and handed her an embroidered handkerchief. She recognized her own handiwork and smiled up at him.
“Tears of joy, I assume,” said a well-meaning aunt from behind them, patting Moria on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, it will be your turn next, my dear.”
Moria removed the older woman’s hand from her shoulder and turned around at her to hiss, “It isn’t my day, it’s hers. Now, be quiet, you old shrew.”
Jasper exchanged looks with Lawrence, who sat on Moria’s other side.
“She’s right. Your story is still being written, Mo,” Lawrence said, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze before turning his attention back to the ceremony.
But Moria was already watching, tears in her eyes. It was Fitz who worked to hold himself together, trying not to cry as Noelle slid on her spectacles, and then offered him a handkerchief, the vicar from Brookevale awaiting her response to repeat her vows.
The guests at Pomfrey House had assembled for a wedding breakfast, awaiting the first dance of the Viscount and his new Viscountess.
Noelle took Fitz’s hand, the glide of satin against his gloved hand, her skirts pressed close to his body as the first high-spirited notes of the music settled between them.
His eyebrow shot in her direction, but her face was a mask of calm. She leaned her weight into him.
He bent his lips to the pale curve of her ear.
“Dear wife,” she raised both brows in answer, and he smiled at the others around them, trying to keep his voice subdued as he spun her in front of him, “did you mean to select a quadrille?”
Her siblings seemed to show signs of nervousness as well, looking from the orchestra to the dancing couple and back. Noelle bit her lip to hold in a laugh, beaming up at her brand new husband, the man who had already been partner to her in every way that counted.
She was openly proud of herself, of him, of them both as she whispered: “Yes. I suppose I’ll have to trust you and let you lead, won’t I?”
With his hand at her waist, he pulled her even tighter against his own form before maneuvering her in a position that worked better than it had before. “I see. It’s a metaphor.”
“I know how you love those,” She replied, her hand at his shoulder giving him a firm squeeze.