A Ring from a Marquess by Christine Merrill

Author:Christine Merrill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Stephen was a nervous bridegroom.

That was all right, he supposed. According to the cliché, such nerves were expected. He had always assumed that they were in some way pre-coital.

He had no concerns in that matter. Even if they had not dispensed with the first intimacy some weeks ago, he had the utmost confidence in his abilities once the lights were out and the conversation was over.

But, the actual wedding required speaking, on cue and without hesitation. That was another matter entirely.

Since the moment he had been sure of her acceptance, he had got out the lectionary and begun to practise his part. The servants were used to the sound of him droning to himself before events such as this. On the rare times he had to speak in a crowd, he practised incessantly until the words came as second nature.

That a few short phrases should be so difficult was annoying. He supposed it was the gravity of the situation that caused the trouble. That such an important word should begin with a D made it all the worse.

And now, he was pacing in the nave, muttering softly to himself while awaiting the appearance of his bride. ‘To love and to cherish, until d-d-duh...’ He punched his fist into his twitching left hand. ‘Damn it to hell!’

The curse echoed through the high ceiling of the Abbey, bringing a shocked gasp from the bishop.

Stephen smiled to put the man at ease, then went back to his practising. At least he would not have trouble with the bit at the beginning. He took a deep breath to relax and let the two words flow from his lips. ‘I will.’

‘You will what?’

He turned to see his bride, standing in the doorway with her sister and Felkirk. She had heard him practising. But the empathy that had drawn him to her on their first meeting was gone. Today, she was annoyed.

‘Nothing,’ he said hurriedly, glancing down at his watch as though obsessing over a prompt start to the ceremony.

‘Fanworth?’ Felkirk was at his side now, offering a frown of disapproval and a shallow bow. The man was still not sure whether his sympathies lay with the bride, the groom, or neither of the above.

‘Felkirk.’ Stephen bowed in response.

‘Are we ready to begin?’

Stephen nodded.

Felkirk glanced about him and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the Coltons, who had accompanied his future wife and her sister. They were the only guests. ‘I do not see your family here to witness the event.’

It was because Stephen had not bothered to inform them of the date. It would have been nice to see his mother again, so that she might meet the woman who would be the next duchess. But if Mother came, so would the duke. The interview with his father had been difficult enough without encouraging him to come and spoil the wedding.

And God forbid either of them brought Arthur. It would be a disaster.

He had told his sister, of course. She was the last person in the world he wished to offend.

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