A Wedding In Cornwall

by Pamela Sherwood

  The careful blankness of his expression dissolved, leaving it relieved, though still a touch anxious. “Well, then, what is it?”

  It hadn’t occurred to her that Robin might be able to read her as easily as she could read him. “Oh, nothing that important. It’s just—well, I’ve had a letter from David Cherwell.”

  “The tenor you sang with.” Some of the tension returned to his face. “A love letter?” His tone was light, but she thought she detected a trace of apprehension in it all the same.

  “From David? Certainly not!” she laughed, glad to relieve him on that score. While he’d accepted her past without judgment, she knew it wasn’t easy for him to be reminded of the other men she might have chosen during their years apart. “I told you before, he’s never felt the least bit romantic towards me. His nickname for me is ‘bachgen’—little boy, in Welsh. He’s called me that ever since I played my first breeches role!”

  His mouth twitched into an involuntary smile. “As an endearment, that leaves a certain something to be desired,” he admitted.

  “We are good friends, though—and at similar stages in our careers. So, if one of us hears of an opportunity that might benefit the other, it seems only right to pass along the news.” Sophie took a breath. “According to David, Sebastian Brand—the baritone—is putting together a production of Le Nozze di Figaro, and he’s already cast David as Basilio. The company is to play a weeklong engagement in Paris this coming spring, and their lead soprano has just discovered that she’s enceinte. She’ll be seven months along in April, not really fit to travel abroad or up to the demands of the role. David and Sebastian think that I should take her place.”

  “So you’d be playing Susanna? Or the Countess?”

  “Susanna,” Sophie confirmed. “I’ve sung the part opposite Sebastian once before.” And they’d enjoyed a brief, light-hearted affair—long over, so there was no need for Robin to know that. “But it’s out of the question, of course. You and I have planned our wedding trip for this spring, and I couldn’t possibly do both!”

  “Why not?” Robin sounded genuinely perplexed.

  “Because it wouldn’t be fair to you,” she explained. “Our marriage comes first, that’s what we both agreed! Besides, we haven’t even chosen a destination for our honeymoon yet.”

  “Paris seems as good a choice as any,” he countered. “Speaking as one who lived there for a time, I can attest that it’s particularly lovely in the spring. And this sort of opportunity doesn’t come along every day. You haven’t written to refuse, have you?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  “Good.” His sharp gaze softened. “You should take the part, my love. I want you to—and I plan to attend every single performance.”

  Her heart felt full to overflowing. “And our honeymoon?” she managed to ask, despite the constriction in her throat.

  “Oh, that’s easily remedied. Depending on which you prefer, we could travel to Paris a fortnight or so before rehearsals are to start or stay on for some weeks after your engagement.”

  “I have another idea,” Sophie said, after a moment. “Let’s take Sara.”

  He stared at her. “On our wedding trip, you mean?”

  “Why not? She’s part-French—I should think seeing Paris would be a wonderful experience for her. And you would be able to spend time together while I was working,” Sophie pointed out. “We’ll be away for at least a month. That’s a long time for a parent and child to be separated. I think she’d be much happier with us.”

  Robin shook his head, but his eyes were warm. “There’s not a woman in a thousand who would propose bringing her stepdaughter on her honeymoon!”

  “There’s not a man in a thousand who would encourage his wife to go on stage during their wedding trip!” she retorted, smiling. “We are unique, sir!”

  “So we are.” His own smile, the unguarded one that never failed to melt her heart, spread slowly across his face. “I love you, Sophie Tresilian.”

  “Sophie Pendarvis, in less than a week,” she reminded him.

  “Believe me, I’m counting the days.”

  She leaned into him, sliding her arms about his neck. “Let me give you something else to count now.”

  ***

  Harry glanced back over his shoulder and looked away almost at once. His sister and Rob were locked in an embrace that looked as private as it was passionate. He did not know whether to feel disapproval, amusement… or envy.

  James followed his gaze, then looked away as well with an indulgent smile. “I’d say the wedding couldn’t come soon enough!”

  “I imagine they feel the same.” Harry privately suspected that the bride and groom had anticipated the nuptial night by several months, but he neither sought nor desired confirmation of that. At least Sophie hadn’t suffered the all too common consequences—as far as he knew—though some might jest that this wouldn’t be a true Cornish wedding without the bride anticipating a happy event! “For my part, I’ll be glad when this whole hullabaloo is over!”

  He’d meant the remark humorously but to his chagrin, the words came out tinged with something perilously close to bitterness. Flushing, he glanced towards the sea, a wide ribbon of dusky blue in the distance, conscious all the while of James’s heightened scrutiny.

  “Has Mrs. Bettesworth responded to the invitation yet?” his cousin inquired at last.

  “Not so far.” Harry tried to sound nonchalant.

  “There’s still nearly a week before the wedding,” James observed.

  Harry shrugged. “For all I know, she may be leaving for Kent tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Harry gave a short laugh. “You’d be the only one in the family who is, then.”

  “It’s truly meant,” James assured him. “Neither Aurelia nor I know Mrs. Bettesworth well, but she must have something to recommend her, if you’ve kept company with her for two years.”

  “Thank you for that. It’s nice to hear that someone respects my judgment on women. Not that it matters, now that I’ve been given my congé.” Harry shoved his hands into his trousers pockets. “The worst of it is, James, what if everyone else was right?”

  “Right in what way?”

  He blew out a breath. “About how unsuited we are! Damn it all, I thought May cared for me! I wouldn’t have thought that she could end things between us so abruptly. So coldly…”

  “Perhaps that was the only way she could bring herself to end it,” James pointed out. “Make it a clean break. And perhaps,” his tone gentled, “perhaps she hoped to set you free. To find the love—and the mate you deserve.”

  Harry hunched an irritable shoulder. “The pen to my cob, you mean? Who’s to say I couldn’t have been perfectly content with May, or someone like her? Swans are ill-tempered creatures, at any rate,” he added crossly.

  “So are Tresilians, when they’re ill-matched,” James pointed out, smiling. “Just because you haven’t yet found your better half, why settle for less? That’s not fair to either of you.”

  “I doubt that my so-called ‘better half’ even exists. Don’t you think I’ve looked?” Harry challenged, his temper beginning to fray.

  For answer, James let his gaze drift ahead of them on the path to where Aurelia and Amy were walking arm in arm, their golden heads close together. “In my experience, love tends to come along most often when one is not looking for it.” He turned back to Harry, set a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry that you and Mrs. Bettesworth did not part on better terms. But marriage is for life, Harry—and you deserve better than a makeshift. You deserve the same happiness the rest of us have found. Please think on what I’ve said.”

  Harry reached up to grip his hand, grateful in spite of everything for his cousin’s understanding. “Very well,” he conceded. “I promise to give it some thought.”

  Chapter Five

  Come haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neighbors,

  The lovers their bliss can no longer delay,


  Forget all your sorrows, your cares, and your labors,

  And let every heart beat with rapture today!

  —“Haste to the Wedding,” Traditional Scottish jig

  The Wedding Day…

  “‘HAPPY is the bride the sun shines on,’” Cecily quoted, regarding the overcast sky with disappointment. “I do wish you had a nicer morning for your wedding, Lark.”

  Sophie shrugged, resigned. “One can’t count on sunshine in December, not even in Cornwall. At least it isn’t raining!” she added more cheerfully, buoyed by the knowledge that she’d be marrying Robin in just a few hours. And her nearest and dearest were gathered in her chamber to help her dress for the occasion. What were cloudy skies compared to that?

  Her maid, Letty, brought the gown, carrying it as gently as a newborn infant, and assisted her mistress into it. When the last fastenings had been done up, Sophie turned to face her reflection in the glass—and experienced a wave of astonished delight. Despite all the fittings she’d undergone, she felt as though she were seeing herself as a bride for the very first time.

  Mrs. Cardew had outdone herself. Ice blue silk flowed like a waterfall from a close-fitting bodice of pale blue brocade. Embroidered silver lozenges sparkled about the hem of the gown and the demi-train, and silver lace edged the modestly puffed sleeves.

  “Oh, Sophie,” Lady Tresilian breathed, her lovely green eyes misting at the sight.

  Cecily was silent a moment longer, just staring at her sister. Then, finally, she spoke, with only the slightest quaver in her voice. “I still wish you’d chosen white… but you do look beautiful, Lark.”

  “Exquisite,” said Grace fervently.

  Sophie smiled at them all, her heart too full to speak. But their reaction was even more reassuring than her reflection in the glass. She hoped Robin would be equally pleased when he saw her—more, she hoped he’d be dumbstruck.

  Married in blue, you will always be true. And she would be. Just as she always had been in her heart, even when things looked their blackest. True to Robin and the love they shared—a love that was to be recognized and consecrated this very day.

  Sophie’s veil of delicate silver lace had just been pinned into place, when Sara, accompanied by her governess, shyly entered the room. The girl’s dark hair had been coaxed into soft ringlets about her shoulders, and she wore a pearl-grey frock sashed with a wide ribbon of deep blue silk, nearly the same shade as her eyes. Robin’s eyes, Sophie thought with a rush of affection for her soon-to-be stepdaughter.

  “You look lovely, sweeting.” The endearment—the one Robin used for his daughter—just slipped out, but Sara only smiled.

  “So do you,” she said, in a near-whisper.

  Lady Tresilian picked up Sophie’s bouquet—white camellias tied with blue and silver ribbons—and placed it in her arms before kissing her lightly on the cheek. “There now, my love! Are you ready?”

  “Never more so,” Sophie declared, returning her mother’s embrace. Indeed, had she not been ready for this day since she was seventeen?

  Harry, dapper in morning dress, was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. His eyes widened most gratifyingly as Sophie descended. Folding his arms, he made a great show of looking her over once she’d reached the floor.

  “Not half bad,” he remarked, a shade too heartily, but the suspicious gleam in his eyes betrayed him. “And I’ll wager Rob would agree!”

  “No wagering on my wedding day!” she laughed, accepting his proffered arm.

  “No need to wager on a sure thing,” Harry agreed as he led her towards the front door and the carriage waiting outside. “Let’s get you married, Snip!”

  ***

  “Is it hot in here?” Robin asked, running a finger along the inside of his collar.

  James, acting as groomsman, shook his head. “Not that I’ve noticed.” He paused, surveying Robin with a critical eye. “You look as white as a sheet, old fellow. Take a few deep breaths before you pass out on the spot.”

  Robin complied, making himself concentrate on the air flowing in and out of his lungs until the light-headedness abated. Impossible not to remember the last time he’d stood in a church to be married. It had been winter then, too: a cloudy, grey morning not unlike today. But there the resemblance ended. He’d been little more than a boy, just past his majority, trying to pretend he knew what he was about. And Nathalie had been even younger, a charming but flighty girl even less ready than he for the challenges and responsibilities of married life. Such a mess they’d made of things between them, in their youth and immaturity—a tangle that, ultimately, only death could undo.

  Today, however, he was marrying the right woman, at the right time: his true love and partner, the mother of his future children, who had already opened her heart to Sara. Marrying her in their parish church, before their friends and families, who were even now filling up the beribboned, flower-bedecked pews behind him.

  So much more to lose, but also so much more to gain. He understood marriage far better now than he had then, and he rather suspected that Sophie, with her parents’ happy example before her, had always understood.

  His breathing eased, a sense of… rightness taking root in his soul. This was what he wanted, what Sophie wanted, and together they could withstand anything life handed them.

  “All right now?” his best man inquired.

  Robin nodded, squaring his shoulders. “And once my bride gets here, I’ll be even better.”

  “Good man.” James clapped him lightly on the back. “I was a mass of nerves too, on my wedding day. Then I saw Aurelia, and everything simply fell into place.”

  Up in the loft, the organist who’d been quietly working away at “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” launched into a stately processional from Handel, and the church doors swung open with an almost triumphant air.

  And so it begins. Robin’s pulse quickened as one by one, the wedding party entered. To his delight, Sara led off the procession, her small face serious as she scattered flower petals from a tiny wicker basket. Sophie’s sister-in-law, Grace, came next, followed by Cecily, both young women looking smart and stylish in matching dark-blue gowns.

  An appreciative murmur arose from the congregation as Sophie, a vision in blue and silver, appeared in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on Harry’s arm. Robin’s heart seemed to bound into his throat as she looked towards the altar, clearly seeking him. Their eyes met, and she smiled, radiant even through her veil. It was all he could do not to race up the nave to her, tradition and decorum be hanged.

  Not a moment too soon, she was beside him, her gloved hand in his, as they turned to face the altar and the benignly smiling vicar.

  “Dearly beloved…”

  ***

  They spoke their vows as though no one else was there in the church.

  Listening, Harry found himself compelled to blink and swallow several times. His youngest sister, to whom he’d sometimes been as much of a father as a brother. The sweet-natured, silver-voiced child who’d traveled further than any of them, in more ways than one. Marrying—at long last—a man Harry was, for the most part, proud to call his friend. A man as devoted to Sophie as she was to him. Pray God it would always be so, that the conviction he heard in their voices today would burn brightly for the whole of their shared lives.

  It came to him at that moment that this was what his family wanted for him too. The conviction, the faith, the utter belief in the person he was marrying and the future they could have. And for all his earlier doubts and scoffings, something stirred to life within him at the idea, something that felt far too much like yearning.

  “—man and wife together,” the vicar pronounced with a stentorian flourish worthy of a Shakespearean actor.

  Not all newly married couples kissed at this point, but Robin and Sophie did, so long and so thoroughly that an amused murmur swept through the congregation. Then they turned, both smiling brilliantly, from the altar to begin their progress up the nave.
<
br />   Harry followed in their wake, along with the rest of the wedding party. Faces on either side of the church were wreathed in smiles or bathed in happy tears—friends and neighbors who’d known the bride for years, who’d come to like and respect the groom…

  Then he saw her, sitting in one of the back pews, wearing a pretty ensemble in a soft plum shade that became her dark hair and fair skin surprisingly well. She looked up as he approached and gazed straight into his eyes, as she had two years ago across a crowded ballroom. Something subtly different about her… it took a moment to realize that her smile held no irony for once, and its absence made her look younger—and softer.

  A little uncertainly, he smiled back. What her presence here today meant he could not begin to guess, but something inside of him lightened at the knowledge that she’d come. That, perhaps, in spite of what she’d said, they weren’t quite finished with each other yet.

  Then the church doors opened, letting in a flood of light that left the wedding party blinking and bedazzled. The sun had made an appearance after all, venturing out from behind the clouds to cast a mild but heartening radiance over the churchyard and the newly married couple. Harry saw Sophie tip her face up to the sky and laugh. After a moment, Robin joined in.

  Happy is the bride, indeed.

  * * *

  The wedding breakfast was a triumph of good food and good cheer, and Mr. and Mrs. Robin Pendarvis were at the center of it all. They stood with Sara between them: a happy trio, a newly formed family, receiving the congratulations of their guests.

  As host, Harry knew it was his duty to circulate and he did so—making sure that everyone was comfortably situated, with enough food and drink to hand, and enjoying the celebration. But even as he exchanged pleasantries, he kept an eye out for a plum-colored gown and its wearer.

  What if May had decided to slip away after the wedding?

  Relief washed over him when he caught sight of her, talking with several other women over by the window. Not the best time to approach her—she’d always insisted on discretion in public—but at least she’d chosen to come.