“Are you warm, miss? To me the room is just a thought too cool.” Sally began to fan her with the pierced ivory fan from her reticule.
“No, no.” Catherine pushed the fan away. “I’m fine.”
At that moment they heard the crunch of carriage wheels in the street. Sally hurried to the window. “I think that’s him, Miss Catherine,” she reported. “Oh! Would you look at that carriage! All silver-gray like, and with the finest dapple grays. Alike to a hair, they are!”
Catherine, none too fond of the idea of being caught peeking out the window at her bridegroom, peered over Sally’s shoulder. The shield and wolf’s head coat-of-arms on the door of the carriage undoubtedly identified it as the property of the Earl of Caldbeck. As the earl emerged and made his way up the steps, the hall clock chimed half after three.
“Well,” Sally observed, “at least he’s punctual.”
Of course he was punctual. What else would he be? Catherine stepped a little closer to the window and looked down into Caldbeck’s upturned face. Drat! She dodged back. And what else would he do but catch her peeping! Perhaps she should let him cool his heels awhile. Always begin as you mean to go on.
But even that bit of rebellion was to be denied her. A tap at the door and the footman’s voice announced that the Earl of Caldbeck awaited her downstairs. Sally slipped the cord of Catherine’s reticule over her hand and hustled her to the door.
“You best be going, miss. You can’t keep the vicar standing. Oh, wait. Let me pin up that curl. There, now. You’re done.”
Catherine allowed herself to be led to the door—and her waiting fate.
No guests waited in the quiet dark of the chapel when they arrived, save two. A well-dressed gentleman Caldbeck presented as his friend, Adam Barbon, Viscount Litton. The earl introduced the stylish, dark-haired woman—more handsome than beautiful—to Catherine as his sister, Helen, Lady Lonsdale. They made an attractive pair, he with his fair hair and laughing brown eyes, she with shining black curls and black-fringed eyes as blue as Catherine’s own. Startled, Catherine stumbled over her response as she clasped the other woman’s hand.
Caldbeck had a sister! How little she knew of him, indeed.
She was just wondering whether her marriage would take place with only her bridegroom’s associates present, when Mary Elizabeth flew into the chapel. Catherine hastened to meet her.
“Oh, Liza, I feared my note had not found you at home.” Catherine gratefully embraced her dearest friend. “I am so glad to have you here!”
“I was out. You can’t imagine the hurry I have been in to be here by four.” As usual, Mary Elizabeth’s short, plump figure looked a bit rumpled. “I am positively out of breath. Oh, that plume on your hat is perfect, just perfect. You are getting married! I can’t believe…And without a word to anyone. How could you? And to Lord Caldbeck! I couldn’t believe my eyes when we received his invitation to dinner tonight. I told George—oh! George? Are you…? Well, of course you are. We came together….”
“How do you do? I am Caldbeck.” The gray-clad earl took advantage of Liza’s indrawn breath to cut through the monologue and extend a hand to her escort.
“Oh. This is my husband, George,” Mary Elizabeth finished, quite unnecessarily.
“George Hampton, your most obedient servant, sir.” The trim younger man bowed and shook Caldbeck’s hand.
Hampton then took his wife firmly by the arm and led her to where Caldbeck made the balance of the introductions. Those having been completed, Caldbeck gravely presented to Catherine a magnificent bouquet of white roses and lilies, with ribbons trailing to the floor. Their intoxicating scent flowed over her as she took them in her arms. Murmuring her thanks, she looked up into unreadable gray eyes.
The waiting vicar, balding and well padded, cleared his throat for attention and directed the party to assemble before him. Suddenly Catherine stood at Caldbeck’s side. The vicar was reading the service.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together….”
To join together! Oh, heaven, what was she doing here? She was marrying this man—this man who, until this morning….
Children. Oh, God! Children!
“Who giveth this woman in marriage?”
A resounding silence ensued. Catherine had not even invited her uncle to be present, let alone to give her away. She heartily hoped that the tearful, if insincere, farewell that her aunt had bestowed upon her would be the last she ever saw of either of them. Nonetheless, a major contretemps loomed.
She looked helplessly at the vicar, who was peering over his glasses at her. Stepping gallantly into the breach, George Hampton took her arm and announced, “I do.”
He placed Catherine’s shaking hand into the earl’s outstretched one, and Caldbeck’s fingers immediately closed warmly around hers. The vicar resumed his reading.
“If any man knows any reason that these two should not be joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” The churchman looked sternly around the all but empty room.
Me! I do! The words echoed through Catherine’s mind, but apparently she had not said them aloud, for the vicar was again speaking.
“Do you, Charles Eric Joseph Randolph, take this woman, Sarah Catherine Maury, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold….”
Charles. His name is Charles Randolph. How could she not have known that? Did no one ever call him Charles? His strong voice answered.
“I do.”
“Do you, Sarah Catherine…” Now or never. Once the words of the vow passed her lips, she could never take them back. Children. Her children. Silence seemed to stretch into eternity. Then she heard a whispered, “I do.”
Was that she? Had she spoken those words? She must have, for the vicar was saying something about a ring. Catherine looked in confusion at the flowers in the crook of her left arm. Then she smelled Liza’s perfume, and the flowers disappeared. Caldbeck fitted a heavy band of gold onto her trembling finger. The vicar was praying.
She looked up at him as he placed a hand behind her head, her eyes questioning. He carefully drew her toward him. She felt his mouth warm on hers for a moment—then it was gone. Catherine took a deep breath and turned to Liza, who was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief and trying simultaneously to return the bouquet. The men were congratulating Caldbeck. Helen’s hand was soft on hers, and her voice warm.
“Welcome to the family.”
Family. A husband. Children. God help them.
Once again Catherine sat at a dressing table while Sally fussed with her hair. This, however, was a completely different table in a completely different room in a completely different house. A very grand house. Sally was ecstatic.
“Did you never see such a place, Miss Catherine? And to think, you are mistress of it now!” She tugged the brush through Catherine’s springy curls. Catherine had removed the pelisse to reveal the elegantly simple silk dress beneath. The fabric skimmed low above her firm breasts—much too low, her aunt had insisted when Catherine bought the dress—and clung to her small waist and full hips. Satin slippers replaced the kid half-boots, and Sally replaced her hat with flowers from the bouquet.
“It sounds as though there are ever so many people here.” Sally readjusted a hairpin. “Must be half of Lunnun.”
Catherine had been wondering about that herself.