by Anne Gracie
All were tokens from the people who loved her. Abby knew she was blessed. It was foolish to wish for some small item from her mother or father to wear or carry on this most important day, but they’d paid for Mama’s funeral with her wedding ring and there was nothing else.
“Come on, Abby, you don’t want to be late,” Jane said.
Abby looked up at her sister and smiled. Of course, how could she forget? Here was her most precious gift from Mama and Papa—her sister Jane, smiling and beautiful, the very image of Mama.
She smoothed on her long white gloves. “I’m ready.”
* * *
Every inch of the church had been scrubbed and polished, from the ancient oak pews glowing with beeswax, to the decorative brasses and the glittering stained glass windows. Since it had been an unseasonably cold summer, and there were only a few flowers left, the church had been decorated with sprays of autumn leaves, huge silver vases filled to overflowing with crimson and gold and copper and rust, glowing in the candlelight and filling the small stone church with light and warmth and the clean, earthy fragrance of the forest.
Every pew was filled, for not only had all their friends from London traveled down for the wedding, but most of the local villagers and Davenham tenants had turned out too. Abby recognized most of the faces that turned to smile at her as she entered the church, her sisters behind her. These people had all helped with the massive job of readying Davenham Hall for the event. Apart from Featherby and William, Max had insisted on employing only local labor. It had been a bad season for crops and people needed the income, he’d explained.
Now they’d all come, shyly filling up the back rows, dressed in their Sunday best, with scrubbed faces and polished shoes and slicked-back hair, full of smiles and nods and even a few tears as Abby walked slowly down the aisle.
Abby blinked back some tears of her own. This was her future, her people. Her home.
More and more people turned to smile at her, members of the literary society, Lady Beddington and her friends, Featherby and William—Featherby sobbing already.
And in the front pew, leaning on her cane, a most magnificent old lady who’d taken in a burglar and claimed her as her niece. She nodded at Abby, gave a smile that wobbled, and blew loudly into a handkerchief.
Her family.
And there by the altar, standing tall and somber and magnificent was her love, his gray eyes burning in the dark little church as he waited for her, for plain Abby Chantry, who in the light of his gaze felt utterly beautiful. Her beloved Viking.
He held out his hand to her. Her eyes misted. She was home.
* * *
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Berkley Sensation titles by Anne Gracie
The Merridew Sisters
THE PERFECT RAKE
THE PERFECT WALTZ
THE PERFECT STRANGER
THE PERFECT KISS
The Devil Riders
THE STOLEN PRINCESS
HIS CAPTIVE LADY
TO CATCH A BRIDE
THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING
BRIDE BY MISTAKE
The Chance Sisters
THE AUTUMN BRIDE