by Laura Hile
Elizabeth’s heart nearly burst for joy. “I believe you do, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsey. “Sydney Gardens.”
‘Sydney Gardens!”
How she loved his rich chuckle!
“I thought it appropriate for the occasion,” she added, “seeing that we are to go to sea. Even if I am not fine enough.”
“How is this?” he countered, drawing back to look at her. “The beautiful Miss Elliot? Of course you are. Why do you doubt?”
Smiling, she shook her head at him.
“Why?” His tone was more insistent now. “Why are you not fine enough?”
Her foolish tongue! Why had she said anything? For now she must confess the whole. “Well,” she said lightly, “you know how Father is.”
“Yes,” said Patrick. “I do know. What has he done now?”
Elizabeth attempted a playful tone. “Apparently, today, I am not a credit to him.”
“Because of the dress?”
“Because of the dress. He knew—you know he did! —that there was no time to have anything new made. And besides, my trunks have been taken aboard the ship—stowed, do you call it? And also—”
“Elizabeth,” he interrupted, speaking low.
“But—”
His gently touched her cheek. “What your father thinks of you, and what he does, and what he says, no longer matter. Is that understood?” He gestured to the center aisle. “At that altar, a scant ten minutes from now, before God we shall make our vows. After that, we sign the register and are legally husband and wife.”
He pulled out his timepiece and opened it. “Four hours,” he said, showing her. “Four hours remain until the turn of the tide, and we leave all this behind.”
He snapped it shut. “You are, and will always be, fine enough for me.”
Elizabeth did not trust herself to speak.
“Oh, blast. Here now, I did not mean to make you cry.” He pulled out a handkerchief and carefully dried her tears.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and his arm came round her waist. “I never cry at weddings,” she insisted.
“Nor do I.” He chuckled and her favourite lopsided grin appeared. “However, I think this wedding will be an exception.”
Elizabeth could not help herself as she lifted her face to his. He bent his head and captured her lips with his in a tender kiss. Mary and the vicar and her father faded away; nothing mattered save her overwhelming love for this man. She needed him like she needed air to breathe.
Mary’s shrill voice interrupted Elizabeth’s reverie. “Upon my word!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah,” said Patrick, lifting his head and clearing his throat. “This is my wedding day?”
Mary gave a rap to his arm. “The groom is not supposed to see the bride before he meets her at the altar, let alone kiss her! Men! They know nothing at all.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Charles,” he murmured, twinkling at her. “I became carried away by the beauty before me.”
“See here, your hat is crooked,” Mary said to Elizabeth, turning her head to glare at Patrick. After making an adjustment, she stepped back. “There. I still do not care for your green with his blue, but it will have to do.”
“Her green with my—” repeated Patrick. “Tell me, Sister Mary. What say you to green with brown?”
Mary gave him a pitying look. “Gentlemen do not wear brown on occasions such as this. If at all.”
“But I think they do,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.
Elizabeth saw Patrick give a quick look around the sanctuary. “Pym,” he called, lifting a hand. “I say, Mr. Pym!” His voice carried with surprising clarity. Then he began to shrug out of his glorious admiral’s coat.
“Patrick,” whispered Elizabeth. “What are you doing?”
Pym came stamping up the side aisle. “Sir?”
“The, er, garment I mentioned last night. Will you bring it here, please?”
Pym gave a sigh. “The tweed, sir?”
“The very one. And take this with you.”
Pym took possession of the blue and gold coat and also his fine hat, cradling both in his arms. “Aye, sir,” he said, and went off.
“Patrick, what are you doing?” Elizabeth repeated. And then she wished she hadn’t, for her father heard and turned round. She heard him click his tongue in disapproval.
“Do you intend, sir, to be married in your shirtsleeves?”
Patrick McGillvary only laughed.
The vicar stepped forward. “Far be it from me to intrude, Admiral,” said he, “but we’d best mind the time. We ought to begin soon.”
“I quite agree.” Smiling, Patrick held out a hand to Sir Walter. “I shall see you at the altar, sir.”
With obvious reluctance, Sir Walter shook the proffered hand, and Patrick McGillvary went striding to the front of the church.
“From start to finish,” said Sir Walter to Elizabeth, “this wedding has been a deplorable, ramshackle affair.”
Elizabeth could only smile.
Presently the organist began the processional march. With her heart fluttering, Elizabeth tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. “Here we go.”
“Just one moment, if you please,” said Mary. “As your attendant, I go first.” With her head held high, off she went down the aisle.
Soon it was time for them to follow. Mincing steps, Elizabeth reminded herself. There was no need to hurry—or to risk stumbling over the hem of her dress.
Her father’s voice broke in on her concentration. “What,” he growled into her ear, “is that man wearing?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes and met Patrick’s loving gaze. “A coat, Father,” she said breathlessly. “He is wearing a brown tweed coat.”
“Paugh, I can see that. Is the thing on his head a hat?”
“I believe it is a cap.”
“He looks like a curst tradesman!”
“A clerk, actually. A clerk in a counting house.”
“Good gad, are those patches at the elbows of his coat?”
Elizabeth could scarcely breathe for happiness. “Yes, indeed they are.”
“Thirteen thousand a year, and he wears patches on his coat?”
“And I, a baronet’s daughter, wear a common muslin gown.”
Sir Walter gave a long harrumph. “You deserve one another.”
“By God’s good grace,” said Elizabeth happily, “I believe you are perfectly right.”
When they arrived at the front of the church, Patrick extended both hands to her—and Elizabeth did not think twice. At once she removed her hand from her father’s arm and passed him her bridal bouquet.
Sir Walter’s surprise was so great that he almost dropped it.
The vicar, too, looked rather startled, but he opened his book just the same. Hand-in-hand, Elizabeth and Patrick exchanged warm smiles—and were rewarded with a twinkle from the vicar.
“Dearly beloved,” he read out, pausing to smile at each in turn, “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 …”
~ ~ ~
The End
~ ~ ~
Thank you for spending many reading hours with Patrick and Elizabeth. If you enjoyed Mercy’s Embrace, an honest review at Amazon or Goodreads is very welcome. I’d like to know what you think.
The more reviews an independently-published book receives, the easier it is for new readers to discover.
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ALSO BY LAURA HILE
Darcy By Any Other Name
Mr. Darcy trapped in Mr. Collins’ body?
What could be worse?
A delightful Pride and Prejudice body swap romance
A Very Austen Christmas
Heartwarming romance novellas for the holiday season
Marrying Well for Fun & Profit
Laughable advice from Jane Austen’s Sir Walter Elliot
Mercy’s Embrace: Elizabeth Elliot’s Story
A Persuasion-based Regency romp in three parts
If you enjoyed So Lively a Chase, you will probably enjoy this book by Robin Helm
Understanding Elizabeth
What would you do to get exactly what you want?
How much would you be willing to pay?
A Pride and Prejudice romance
About Laura Hile
My Regency novels feature intertwined plots,
cliffhangers, and laugh-out-loud humor.
And something to think about, too.
The comedy I come by in my work as a teacher.
There’s never a dull moment with teens!
I live in the Pacific Northwest with my husband, sons, and a collection of antique clocks.
Visit me on-line at laurahile.com
Do stop by. I’d love to meet you.
For news of my new releases, follow me
on my Amazon author page