Bought: The Penniless Lady. Deborah Hale
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Curtis bowed. “As I was telling Mr. Northmore, it gives me great pleasure to preside over your nuptials. I consider this a most gratifying symbol of Christian forgiveness between two families who have—”
Lady Artemis stiffened. “Thank you for permitting the ceremony to take place here. Dearings have worshipped at St. Botolph’s for centuries. I cannot imagine being married anywhere else.”
“Will the Marquis and Lord Edward be joining us?” asked the vicar.
“I am afraid that will not be possible. My uncles are…indisposed at present.”
Hadrian could guess the cause of their indisposition. He wondered if Lady Artemis had risked a permanent breach with her uncles in order to do the right thing for her nephew. That possibility kindled a reluctant glimmer of admiration for her.
Perhaps to forestall any more awkward comments from the vicar, Lady Artemis began walking toward the church. “Have witnesses been arranged?”
The vicar nodded. “My sister and the parish clerk have agreed to witness the ceremony and sign the register.”
Hadrian trailed after them with his nephew in his arms. Just as Lady Artemis had predicted, the child gazed around him, taking everything in. Whenever his eyes met Hadrian’s, he flashed a wide, wet grin. If his aunt had tended him since his infancy, she’d done very well. The lad appeared healthy, happy and reasonably clever for his age.
They entered the church, which was softly lit by scattered candles and spring sunshine filtering through the stained glass of the altar window. It depicted a cloaked monk holding a traveler’s staff. The place reminded Hadrian of another old country church, far to the north.
As they followed the vicar down the aisle, Hadrian’s small nephew seemed to decide the church was too quiet.
“Ah-do-ma-ba!” He made a sudden grab for Hadrian’s ear, doing his best to yank it off. His other hand found Hadrian’s nose and gave it a sharp twist.
“Ow!” The pain shocked Hadrian back into the broad northern dialect of his youth. “Giveower and whisht, ye blasted wee bug—”
Artemis let out a horrified gasp that cut him off before he blurted out something very rude in church.
Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, she wrenched the child out of his arms. “I will thank you not to take such a rough tone with Lee. He is far too young to know what he is doing.”
Her icy rebuke stung Hadrian more than his hot outburst seemed to have bothered their nephew. The wee imp chortled as if he knew he’d done something naughty and managed to get away with it.
Hadrian rubbed his smarting nose. “He’s none too young to start learning to mind.”
He sensed she wanted to fling a pithy retort at him, but by now they had reached the chancel steps, where their witnesses were waiting. Instead she turned away from him to greet the vicar’s sister, who looked absurdly like her brother in a voluminous black dress and high white collar. While the two women fussed over his nephew, Hadrian shook hands with the parish clerk. The vicar took his place and spent a moment leafing through his prayer book.
Once he found the right page, he cleared his throat and launched into the service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
Those words took Hadrian back to the last time he’d heard them, in Fort St. George, Madras. He could scarcely imagine a wedding more different from that one than this. He and his first bride had been so eager to wed. The early struggle to make his fortune was behind him, while the tragedy of his past had begun to loosen its grip upon his heart. Margaret’s vivacity and contagious high spirits had helped him look to the future with boundless hope.
He’d dreamed of siring a family of fine sons to carry on the Northmore name—lads who would never experience the danger and deprivation he and his brothers had endured. He’d foreseen a lifetime of happiness ahead with a family he would adore. Instead, after only two sweet, fleeting years, he’d lost his wife and infant daughter. And he had learned what a perilous thing hope could be.
An expectant pause wrenched Hadrian back from his painful reverie. Too late, he realized the moment for confessing any impediment to his present marriage had passed. Did the fact that he knew almost nothing about his bride count? Or that he did not much like the lady, let alone love her?
The vicar could not have guessed any of that, or he would never have fixed Hadrian with such a benevolent smile and asked, “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?”
Wife. Until now, that word had made him think of someone quite unlike Artemis Dearing. It troubled Hadrian to find her so very alluring when she was so different from the wife he’d lost. He held her in a solemn gaze, determined to betray nothing of the wrenching memories this ceremony had revived. “I will.”
Next the vicar addressed Lady Artemis. “Wilt thou take this man to thy wedded husband?”
“I will.” She focused her attention on her small nephew, as if pledging her love and life to him instead of her bridegroom.
Stifling an unexpected pang, Hadrian reminded himself this marriage was entirely for the child’s benefit. And he would have it no other way.
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