‘No, but I fear that the majority of men are indeed that shallow,’ Alexander interrupted wryly. ‘My cousin will find it much harder to question the validity of our marriage when he sets eyes on you.’
‘When you meet Phoebe and Estelle, you will realise why I am known as the clever sister.’
‘Clever and beautiful. I am fortunate indeed,’ Alexander said, thinking, as she blushed charmingly, that he was in fact beyond fortunate.
‘Clever enough to recognise that you have not answered my original question.’
‘I think we are all shallow creatures as far as first impressions go. I would like to think that I’d have overcome any reservations by getting to know you. I am certain that, having come to know you a little, I’d want to know more, and I can also say, as you did, that if I’d taken you in dislike, I would have put an end to the matter. But I am relieved—I can say now, hugely relieved—to discover that while your exterior is extremely attractive, it is what lies beneath that makes me think we will suit.’ He cast a worried look up at the sky. ‘We should get back inside, it looks like it’s threatening to rain.’
Eloise stood up. ‘Do you realise we’ve been talking all this while as if the decision has already been made?’
Alexander considered this. He felt odd. Not afraid, but it was that feeling he often had, at the culmination of a mission, when everything was finally coming together but there was still the danger that it could all go wrong, the thrill of the unknown. He felt as Eloise had described, perched at the top of a tree. ‘Have I been presumptive?’ he asked.
‘Do you really think our natures are complementary?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, surprising himself with his certainty. ‘I think—I really do think that we will suit very well. And you?’
Eloise bit her lip, frowning. Her smile dawned slowly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think—I think if opposites attract, then we are an excellent match.’
He took her hands in his. ‘Miss Brannagh, will you do me the honour of marrying me?’
‘Lord Fearnoch, I do believe I will.’
And then she smiled up at him. And Alexander gave in to the temptation to kiss her. Delightfully, and far too briefly, on the lips.
Six weeks later
The journey from Elmswood Manor to London was made by means of a carriage which Alexander had sent for her. Eloise had been too sick with nerves to notice much, conscious only that each passing mile drew her nearer to the beginning of her new life. She knew she was approaching the metropolis because the roads became crowded, the post houses noisier, the buildings first crammed closer together, then growing ever taller. The well-sprung carriage jolted over cobbled streets. Iron palings, imposing mansions passed in a blur. She could hear street criers, see people jostling for position on the pavements, but little of the colourful city landscape registered. Overwhelmed, she abandoned her futile attempt to work out where she was and where she was headed, and sank back on the seat, trying to regain some element of composure before she arrived at the church.
She had made her own wedding gown of white satin with an overdress of white sarcenet. A broad crimson silk sash was tied at the waist. Redheads should on no account ever wear red, Mama always used to insist. She had never allowed any of her daughters to do so, one of the very few instances of her involving herself with their upbringing, so naturally it was one of Eloise’s favourite colours. She had trimmed the neckline and the sleeves with the same crimson silk, and had worked a frieze of crimson flowers along the hem with her tiny, perfect stitches. There was a short velvet pelisse to match. Phoebe had trimmed her poke bonnet with complicated knots of crimson satin ribbon. Estelle had fashioned her a matching reticule. Kate had generously given her the locket on a gold chain, her only piece of jewellery.
How many hours was it since she had bid them all goodbye? Her sisters had been so dejected at first, to be missing out on the wedding ceremony, but Eloise’s anxious pleas, endorsed by Kate, to be allowed to focus entirely on establishing herself as Lady Fearnoch without either the distraction of their presence or risk that they might give the game away, had reconciled them. Though at this moment, with the carriage drawing up in front of a church, she’d give a great deal to have them here in person to give her a hug and tell her that she was going to be the best Lady Fearnoch imaginable.
It must be late afternoon. The church, she knew from one of Alexander’s flurry of missives, was St Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside. A sudden squall of rain spattered the window pane, and Eloise shivered. Panic kept her in her seat as the carriage door was opened, the steps lowered. It was one thing to agree to a very convenient marriage, another to actually go through with it. Though there had been any number of letters, she had not seen Alexander since accepting his proposal. Was she really going to marry him?
Knees shaking, Eloise stepped out of the carriage and into the shelter of the portico where Alexander was waiting patiently, dressed in a navy-blue coat, fawn pantaloons and polished Hessian boots. He was carrying a hat and gloves. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. This man was about to become her husband! Her heart lurched, thudded, raced.
‘Are you sure about this? There is still time to change your mind.’
Nausea gave way to excitement as she met his gaze. She was terrified, and at the same time oddly exhilarated, as if she had climbed the highest tree and was looking down, astonished at her feat and afraid that she might fall. ‘I don’t want to change my mind.’
‘Good.’ His mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘Shall we?’
She preceded him through the door. The interior of Wren’s church was beautiful in its simplicity, with arched recesses on either side of the nave bounded by Corinthian columns of white Portland stone. The nave was flooded with light, the myriad colours of the stained glass reflecting on the marbled floor, making silhouettes of the two figures who would be their witnesses standing at the altar in front of the vicar. Not quite sure whether she was sleeping or awake, Eloise placed her hand on the man who would very shortly be her husband and made her way down the aisle towards them.
* * *
The vows had been solemnly made, the papers duly signed. The deed was done. She was married. Eloise stood on the steps of the church in a daze as Alexander—her husband!—thanked his witnesses. She was now Lady Eloise, Countess of Fearnoch, but she still felt remarkably like the eldest Brannagh sister.
‘The sun is shining on our nuptials,’ Alexander said, turning to her with a smile. ‘A good omen, I hope.’
‘I can’t believe we are married.’
‘I hope you’re not regretting it already.’
‘No, no, of course not, it is just—there were moments during the ceremony when I felt as I if I must be dreaming. It’s all very strange. I’ve never even been to London. I have no idea how to behave or what is expected of me or—or anything.’
‘You must be yourself, that is all I expect of you. I hope you don’t mind that our first night will be spent in a hotel. Robertson—my lawyer—tells me he has had Fearnoch House made ready for our arrival, but I reckoned that today would be momentous enough without subjecting you to the ordeal of formal introductions to the staff. Was I wrong?’
‘Good grief, no,’ Eloise exclaimed, looking horrified. ‘Is that what I must expect tomorrow?’
‘Let’s enjoy today first.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Ours is not a traditional wedding day, but there is no reason why it shouldn’t be memorable. Your carriage awaits, Lady Fearnoch.’
‘My carriage?’ She turned, just as a very elegant equipage