noticed. Women were forever trimming their dresses in ways that made no sense to him.
What he cared about was the smile that trembled on her lips as she placed her hand in his, the shy look in her eyes that held such trust—he found himself wanting to be worthy of it. He took comfort in the way she stood close to him, as if it was he who gave
her
comfort. He was reassured by the firmness, and even perhaps a hint of happiness, in the way she spoke her vows. She did not shrink back from taking his arm when the ceremony was over, and her writing was clear and bold as she signed her name in the registry.
The carriage was crowded and she made no objection to sitting on his lap to ride back to the house, even twining her arms around his neck to balance against the jostling along the rutted road. She was a lovely armful and had the ride run any longer, Edmund would have been in danger of embarrassing himself when it was time to get out of the carriage. Fortunately he was able to get out before Beatrix and lift her down, rejoicing in the newly married state that allowed him such familiarity with her person.
For the first time, Edmund understood the wisdom of weddings always occurring before noon. This way he could direct his coachman to be ready to travel by midafternoon and know they would reach a suitable inn in which to enjoy their wedding night, well away from the all-too-crowded quarters of the Trowley household.
Though he had not wanted his relatives there, it felt strange to see the contrast between just his aunt and all of the Trowley family crowding about. Even stranger to realize they had become his family as well. Strangest of all to have none of his friends around him to help celebrate his changed state. Well, time enough for that after he had settled his bride in at his country home and returned to London alone. He did not think she would enjoy the raucous behavior of his friends, nor they the need to temper their behavior if she were present.
All in all, Edmund felt quite pleased with how it was all working out, just as he had decided it ought to be, with a bride so sensibly chosen.
Even his Aunt Violet seemed pleased. She and Mrs. Trowley were deep in conversation. What were they plotting this time?, he wondered. Fortunately it was none of his affair. He and Beatrix would leave shortly and now that he was married, his aunt would have to turn her talents for scheming toward someone else. Perhaps she would decide to settle his cousin’s future. He’d never much liked Harold and it would serve the fellow right if Aunt Violet turned her interest that way.
* * *
How strange to think of herself as Lady Rothwood, Beatrix pondered, looking up at the man beside her. Her life had just changed forever and she didn’t even know where they were going when they left this house that had been her home her entire life.
Looking around the table, she wondered how it would feel not seeing her sisters and brothers every day. Or Mama and Papa. Relieved, she suspected, not having to see the havoc Papa wreaked upon the family with his gambling. But who, she wondered, would take over the role of making certain there was food upon the table, vegetables grown in the garden and torn clothes sewn whole again?
It was a little overwhelming how greatly her state had changed with just a few words spoken in church. It was both relief and guilt at knowing her family was no longer her responsibility. Was she wicked, she wondered, to be imagining what it would be like to touch and be touched by the man at her side?
If so, then she would be defiantly wicked because she was not about to deny that she craved his touch, had done so from the first moment he stroked her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear. Or that when he kissed her, longings she didn’t fully understand rose up and made her cling to him in a way that would have been a disgrace if they had not been betrothed and in the country where no one could see.
Where else would he touch
What he cared about was the smile that trembled on her lips as she placed her hand in his, the shy look in her eyes that held such trust—he found himself wanting to be worthy of it. He took comfort in the way she stood close to him, as if it was he who gave
her
comfort. He was reassured by the firmness, and even perhaps a hint of happiness, in the way she spoke her vows. She did not shrink back from taking his arm when the ceremony was over, and her writing was clear and bold as she signed her name in the registry.
The carriage was crowded and she made no objection to sitting on his lap to ride back to the house, even twining her arms around his neck to balance against the jostling along the rutted road. She was a lovely armful and had the ride run any longer, Edmund would have been in danger of embarrassing himself when it was time to get out of the carriage. Fortunately he was able to get out before Beatrix and lift her down, rejoicing in the newly married state that allowed him such familiarity with her person.
For the first time, Edmund understood the wisdom of weddings always occurring before noon. This way he could direct his coachman to be ready to travel by midafternoon and know they would reach a suitable inn in which to enjoy their wedding night, well away from the all-too-crowded quarters of the Trowley household.
Though he had not wanted his relatives there, it felt strange to see the contrast between just his aunt and all of the Trowley family crowding about. Even stranger to realize they had become his family as well. Strangest of all to have none of his friends around him to help celebrate his changed state. Well, time enough for that after he had settled his bride in at his country home and returned to London alone. He did not think she would enjoy the raucous behavior of his friends, nor they the need to temper their behavior if she were present.
All in all, Edmund felt quite pleased with how it was all working out, just as he had decided it ought to be, with a bride so sensibly chosen.
Even his Aunt Violet seemed pleased. She and Mrs. Trowley were deep in conversation. What were they plotting this time?, he wondered. Fortunately it was none of his affair. He and Beatrix would leave shortly and now that he was married, his aunt would have to turn her talents for scheming toward someone else. Perhaps she would decide to settle his cousin’s future. He’d never much liked Harold and it would serve the fellow right if Aunt Violet turned her interest that way.
* * *
How strange to think of herself as Lady Rothwood, Beatrix pondered, looking up at the man beside her. Her life had just changed forever and she didn’t even know where they were going when they left this house that had been her home her entire life.
Looking around the table, she wondered how it would feel not seeing her sisters and brothers every day. Or Mama and Papa. Relieved, she suspected, not having to see the havoc Papa wreaked upon the family with his gambling. But who, she wondered, would take over the role of making certain there was food upon the table, vegetables grown in the garden and torn clothes sewn whole again?
It was a little overwhelming how greatly her state had changed with just a few words spoken in church. It was both relief and guilt at knowing her family was no longer her responsibility. Was she wicked, she wondered, to be imagining what it would be like to touch and be touched by the man at her side?
If so, then she would be defiantly wicked because she was not about to deny that she craved his touch, had done so from the first moment he stroked her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear. Or that when he kissed her, longings she didn’t fully understand rose up and made her cling to him in a way that would have been a disgrace if they had not been betrothed and in the country where no one could see.
Where else would he touch
Similar Books
