Barely a Bride

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

“That’s the last of them,” Griffin said, lifting Alyssa’s hand to his lips in salute as the final few guests passed through the receiving line and on to the buffet tables.

  “Are you certain?” Alyssa glanced around as Griff let go of her hand and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when she saw that the line had disappeared. “I know I sent out two hundred invitations, but I feel as if I’ve greeted two thousand people.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Griff automatically placed his hand at the small of her back to steady her. “I believe I recognized everyone on the guest list,” he said. “With a few exceptions.”

  Alyssa leaned against him, allowing Griffin to support her weight as she rested her aching feet.

  The trust in that intimate gesture took him by surprise. His chest expanded with pride, and he smiled at her. “I suppose that means we welcomed a handful of gate crashers along with the guests, but who can blame them for crashing when you managed to provide such a dazzling feast? Everyone who is anyone in the ton seems to have snatched an invite.”

  “Everyone except your friends.” Alyssa frowned. “I don’t remember being introduced to them.”

  “How could you not?” Griff teased. “Over half the people here were put on the guest list at the suggestion of my mother and father.”

  “That doesn’t explain why Lord Grantham and Lord Shepherdston didn’t come. I distinctly remember sending their invitations.”

  “Grantham and Shepherdston couldn’t come,” Griff told her. “They’re Fre—” He bit his tongue.

  “They’re what?” she asked.

  “They’re friends,” Griff improvised, “from my bachelor days.” He’d almost proclaimed them Free Fellows. “As such, I’m sure they sent their regrets. It’s generally understood that it’s bad form for bachelors to attend a friend’s wedding, even when invited to do so.”

  “But they’re your friends,” Alyssa protested. “And I didn’t want them to feel excluded.”

  Griffin pulled her closer, so that she fit neatly into the curve of his side, and then gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “They weren’t excluded,” he said. “You invited them. Shepherdston and Grantham sent regrets because they’re gentlemen and they understand how and why things are done the way they are.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, His Grace doesn’t subscribe to the same sensibilities, or he wouldn’t be here, either.”

  “I didn’t invite…” Alyssa turned to find the Duke of Sussex striding through the door. “His Grace.”

  “Well, someone did,” Griff said.

  He and Alyssa looked at one another and then spoke in unison.

  “Your mother.”

  “My mother.”

  Alyssa sighed. “It had to be my mother—or my father…”

  Griff shook his head. “Your father is a gentlemen. Gentlemen do not refuse another gentleman’s offer for his daughter’s hand in marriage and then invite him to the wedding. It’s poor form.”

  “Then it must have been Mama. She wants so much to be considered one of the premier hostesses that it would never occur to her not to invite a duke. Any duke.”

  “Nevertheless…” Griff scowled. “His Grace should have had the decency not to attend. He knows the ways of society. He understands that we were rivals for your hand.” Griff gritted his teeth until his jaw muscles ached. “He may have received an invitation,” he continued, “but he knows he didn’t come at my invitation.”

  Alyssa widened her eyes. “You don’t suppose he thinks he came at mine?”

  “Not unless you gave him reason to hope—” Griff began.

  “I haven’t spoken to him since we were children,” Alyssa said. “And I wouldn’t have provided him with reason to hope, even if such a thing had been possible, because I didn’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to become a duchess.”

  “Well, buck up,” Griff said, tightening his grasp on her waist ever so slightly in what could only be called a masculine show of possession. “Because he’s coming over to offer his felicitations.”

  “As if either of us wanted them,” Alyssa muttered. She understood exactly what was taking place, and none of it had anything to do with His Grace offering his felicitations on their wedding. Alyssa had seen this behavior before. If Griffin or His Grace had been one of her father’s hounds, they would have been busily engaged in the business of marking their territories.

  “May I offer you congratulations on the occasion of your wedding, Lady Abernathy, and offer you many happy returns of the day?” His Grace, the Duke of Sussex, bowed before Alyssa.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered.

  “And congratulations to you as well, Abernathy.” Sussex offered his hand to Griffin. “I cannot profess to believe that as a husband, you are the best choice for Lady Alyssa, but—”

  Griff looked Sussex in the eye but made no move to shake his hand. “I don’t care what you profess, Your Grace,” Griff said. “As a husband, I was Lady Alyssa’s choice.”

  Sussex lifted one elegantly arched eyebrow as he dropped his hand back down to his side. “Indeed? I was given to understand that Lord Tressingham’s acquisition of a prized stallion induced him to make the choice.”

  “Be careful, Your Grace,” Alyssa warned in a fierce whisper. “For I have been told once too often today that my father bartered me in exchange for a horse.” She gazed up at the handsome duke. “And I promised myself that I would shoot the next person who suggested it.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ve never shot anyone before, and I never dreamed I would have to begin with so august a personage, but I am willing to start at the top—if you are…”

  Griffin smiled at his wife before turning to the duke. “As you can see, Your Grace, you have been misinformed. Your understanding of the situation is incorrect. And I would not go around repeating so inaccurate a statement, were I you.”

  Sussex stiffened. “But you are not me.”

  “On that we are agreed.” Griff smiled at the young duke. “For I am Lady Alyssa’s husband. You are not.” He offered Alyssa his arm. “Now, if you will be so kind as to excuse us, Your Grace, there are other wedding guests who wish an opportunity to offer us their felicitations.”

  Sussex inhaled sharply. One did not dismiss a duke. One waited until the duke dismissed him. But, His Grace admitted, one didn’t normally challenge the bridegroom on his wedding day, either. “It’s been understood for some time now, that I would take one of Tressingham’s daughters to wife.”

  “I’m afraid you missed out, Your Grace,” Griffin responded, taking a step toward the duke. “Four times. Lady Abernathy’s sisters preceded her in marriage. And Lord Tressingham hasn’t any other daughters.”

  “Only horses and hounds,” Sussex said, refusing to give ground.

  “Stop this at once!” Alyssa stepped between the two men. “I am not chattel to be bartered for in exchange for a horse, nor am I a bone to be fought over by gentlemen who persist in behaving like hounds marking the lamppost boundaries of their territory.” She eyed her husband and his onetime rival. “I know where my father keeps his firearms. And I am quite an accomplished target shot. This is my wedding day, and since you two gentlemen seem determined to spoil what remains of the wedding breakfast, I must tell you that at the moment, I am not averse to depriving Bonaparte of another English cavalryman target or of depriving His Majesty of one of his ‘right trusty and right entirely beloved cousins.’ If I am to be made a widow, I prefer to do the making. As of this moment, your bit of territorial marking is over.” Alyssa glared at the duke. “Do you understand, Your Grace? Or must I gain your attention in a more violent manner?”

  Griffin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look on the young duke’s face. “I believe, my lady, that this episode, as you call it, stems from the fact that you have already gained His Grace’s attention.”

  “I recognize the honor His Grace has paid me with his attention, but in truth, I did not seek it prior to my marriage, and I do no
t seek it following my marriage.” Alyssa looked up at the duke. “I do, however, appreciate His Grace’s unexpected felicitations on this, my wedding day.”

  The Duke of Sussex’s second dismissal wasn’t quite the surprise the first one had been. He bowed once again over Lady Abernathy’s hand. “By your leave, milady.” He gifted Alyssa with an indulgent smile before turning to Griffin. “Unlike you, my lord, I’m in no rush to join a regiment and become cannon fodder. I can wait.”

  “Yes, you can, Your Grace,” Griff shot back. “You appear to be quite adept at waiting.” He tucked Alyssa’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the bride and groom’s table to begin the toasts and the distribution of presents to their guests and to the members of the household staffs.

  After all the toasts to the health of the bride and groom and to the health of the bishop had been exchanged and Alyssa and Griffin had presented the gifts, Alyssa went upstairs to change from her wedding dress into a traveling dress.

  She emerged from her bedchamber half an hour later, said her good-byes to her family and the many loyal retainers who had served the Tressinghams since before Alyssa was born, and joined with Griffin on the east portico to say his.

  Tossing her wedding bouquet toward the cluster of unmarried girls and debutantes, Alyssa laughed when Miranda caught it, then gasped as the gathered crowd began throwing old shoes and fistfuls of rice. Griffin took her by the hand and nodded toward the coach. Gathering her skirts in hand, Alyssa ran with Griffin to the coach, dodging handfuls of rice and old shoes as they made their way through a gauntlet of well-wishers.

  Alyssa climbed into the coach, sank down onto the velvet-covered cushions, and heaved a sigh of relief as the coachman slammed the door of the coach shut behind them. She started to put her feet up on the opposite seat, then thought better of it.

  “Go ahead,” Griffin invited. “It’s as much your coach as it is mine. And I know your legs and feet must be killing you.”

  Alyssa nodded.

  “How long have you been on your feet today?” he asked.

  Alyssa thought for a moment. “Since five.”

  Griffin moved to the opposite seat, then reached down and gently encircled her ankle, carefully lifting it onto his lap. He untied the ribbons that held her slippers on her feet and slid her shoe off. Positioning her foot in the cradle of his thighs, Griffin began to massage the ball of her foot.

  “You can’t.” His hands and fingers were magical; still Alyssa made a halfhearted protest.

  “Why not?” Griff asked. “We’re married.”

  “We’re taking up too much room,” she explained, biting back a moan of sheer pleasure as he kneaded a particularly tender spot in the arch of her right foot with the pads of his thumbs. “Where are Durham and Eastman going to sit?”

  “It’s our coach,” Griffin reminded her. “We’re allowed to take up as much room as we like. And your lady’s maid and my valet are riding with the luggage in a separate coach. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and I thought you might like to rest before we get there.”

  “That would be heavenly,” Alyssa admitted.

  “Then close your eyes and go to sleep,” Griff advised.

  “You don’t mind?” She smothered a yawn.

  Griff shook his head. “Not at all. Go on, close your eyes. I’ll wake you at the first stop.”

  She didn’t have to be prompted twice. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the velvet cushion, and allowed the tension in her body to melt away as Griff massaged first one foot and then the other.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Needlepoint cushions in varying sizes and lap robes of cashmere or woven cotton make useful additions to any lady or gentleman’s traveling coach.”

  —Alyssa, Lady Abernathy, diary entry, 04 May 1810