The coach rolled along the coast smoothly, heading up to join the north road that would take them inland, to Duncliffe.
It took two days, stopping at Lowkirk. They stayed in another inn this time, one where they hadn't been seen before. Ettie made herself content with the ruse that she was his sister, and they were traveling to Duncliffe for the gathering. She lay in bed, conscious of his presence on the other side of the wall, and smiled.
What would it be like to be his wife?
She felt herself blush. How could she even think of such a thing? It was a shocking thought. She bit her lip and grinned, holding it back.
I know little of what men and women do. I have seen naked men, but it all seems preposterously improbable.
The whispered conversations she'd overheard in the village and one or two whispers about the households where she'd worked hinted at things of which she was fairly sure the anatomy she'd witnessed was incapable.
She blushed. Whist, Ettie, she told herself. You'll find out soon.
The thought made her smile again and she wondered, idly, if she'd ever get to sleep.
As it was, she drifted off shortly after, still smiling, and woke in happiness to an excitingly-cloud-dark morning.
The carriage ride from there to Duncliffe was short, two hours at most, and soon she was on the doorstep.
“Where is she?” a familiar voice called out almost as soon as she was going up the steps. “Is it...Oh! Ettie!”
“Milady,” Ettie said, her voice half a whisper. She found herself on the step, facing her mistress, who reached for her hands with an affection that was as real as it seemed impossible. Ettie fell gratefully into her embrace, then stopped herself, and curtsied low.
“Milady,” she said again.
“Oh, nonsense, Ettie,” Marguerite dismissed, wrinkling her small nose in impatience. “And look. Look who appeared while you were away...?”
Ettie straightened up, straining her eyes to see beyond her mistress where she stood in the doorway. It was dark there, but she discerned a tall, pale figure, black hair blending with the greater shadow behind.
She stared. “Lord Douglas!” she called out, so surprised she could barely contain it. “He's back!” she added to her mistress, who chuckled dryly.
“Indeed he is. Arrived a few days past. I can't tell you enough how pleased I am to have him by my side. “
“Indeed,” Ettie said, swallowing hard as she saw her mistress turn to look with such love at her husband. She knew precisely how it felt to feel that depth of love, and felt it echoed in her own heart. She knew she'd taken a step back, closer to Garrick. She felt her mistress pause.
“Ettie?”
“I, um, have someone to introduce,” Ettie said carefully. She had no idea how to do this, having never had to do anything like it in previous years, and she reached back into her training with Marguerite in etiquette, all those months ago. “Milady, please meet Mr. Garrick Hale.”
“Ettie? Who...oh.” Marguerite took in Garrick, the way Ettie's face lit and the way she had stepped back, reaching for his hand as he reached to her. She smiled. “Welcome, Mr. Hale,” she said. “I'll have a room made up for you, shall I?”
Ettie felt her cheeks go pink. “Yes, please,” she said, nodding happily. “He's to be wed soon.”
Marguerite looked at her, brow creased as she frowned. Then the frown lifted as she understood. She laughed. “Ettie! I...you! Congratulations!” She rushed toward her, arms opened, and, to everyone's utter surprise, Ettie's most of all, she hugged her firmly to her chest, sighing.
Ettie cautiously returned the fragrant embrace, wondering at yet another tiny thing that made her world so utterly different from anything previously experienced.
A mistress of a manor was hugging her? Ettie Lomond? Someone all the villagers had hated?
No, she reminded herself. There was no value in those old thoughts. She was Ettie Lomond, and many people liked her. What had happened didn't matter now. It was no longer important.
“Thanks, mistress,” she said softly. “I'm glad you're happy for me.”
“Ettie!” Marguerite laughed wonderingly. “I couldn't be happier. Now, let's go and find some tea. You must be starved.”
“I'm always hungry,” Ettie said, chuckling. Beside her, she felt Garrick start to laugh.
Biting her cheeks to stop the laughter that now threatened to swamp them both, a helpless tide of happiness, she headed inside.
Later, in the kitchen, a bowl of broth pushed away from her, a second bowl, almost finished now, she found herself alone with Merrick.
“So,” the woman said softly.
“So,” Ettie agreed. She stared into the older eyes, feeling the care and wisdom reflected there. She felt thin fingers tight on her own. She wanted to say so many things – to tell Mrs. Merrick her vision had been right, to tell her of her own vision, to ask about the vision of the future. However, as she looked into those black eyes, she had a sense that Merrick knew it all already, or almost. She obviously approved.
She felt her heart ache with happiness and looked down, a grin stretching her cheeks. “Merrick,” she said softly. “It all seems so right.”
“It is right, lass, as it seems,” Merrick said gently. “Trust your heart.”
Ettie swallowed hard, and nodded. Her eyes filled with joyful tears. That was one thing she would be doing from now on.
Later, when she and Garrick had eaten their fill and Garrick was in the courtyard, being shown about by the stable-master, Ettie found herself in the old solar with Marguerite.
“So,” Marguerite said. “I think you went to confront...our enemy?”
Ettie nodded. “He wasn't your uncle, mistress,” she said. “It really was a merchant, Mr. Crae. He wanted to aid Hanoverians in a plot to take your household.”
“Well, Duncliffe is strategic,” Marguerite admitted, reaching for a cup of tea. “It was a fortress in the old days.”
“I know,” Ettie nodded. She had heard the household's history, both from Marguerite and, later, in snatches from others who worked here. All the same, it seemed truly horrific to her to think that someone would have been willing to take this home, harm Marguerite and Douglas, and quite likely kill Garrick and herself, all for profit. “It's terrible.”
“It is terrible,” Marguerite agreed. “But that fellow – and I understand from Garwick that he was...dealt with...by the harbor's Watch – will never know happiness as you and I do,” she said. “A heart so full of ruthless hate, so tight and small with neediness, will never feel the way I do now.”
“No,” Ettie agreed. That was its own worst punishment, she thought fervently – worse even than whatever the Harbor Guard had done to him.
Her mistress leaned back, her eyes with that faraway look in them that made Ettie think she might be sad. “What is it?” she asked gently.
“You will stay, won't you?” Marguerite asked. “At least for the wedding? Now Douglas is back I am not so lonely, anymore, but...I will miss you, dearest Ettie. We're fine friends.”
Ettie swallowed hard, looking at her hands. “Well, I would love to wed here, of course...” she asked tentatively, aware that she was asking for a great gift. “But, of course, if that's impossible, I...We can wed in the village, at Low...”
“Nonsense,” Marguerite interrupted briskly. “Of course you will wed here! I won't hear of anything else. It's been far too long since the Duncliffe chapel was used. It's the least I can do. Now. Have you spoken to Mrs. Pringle, the seamstress?”
Ettie stared at her in disbelief. The happiness she’d thought couldn't possibly expand anymore was filling her chest, spilling through her like syrup, making it impossible to breathe or think or even say anything. “You...mean it?”
Marguerite laughed. “Of course I mean it! You'll have the dress made here, and the veil. The feasting, too, if we can persuade Mrs. Merrick in the kitchen to get a feast in order...Of course!”
Ettie was sobbing and couldn't st
op it. She was so happy. Everything she would have longed for, would never have imagined, was coming true. And she would be wed to Garrick soon.
The wedding was set for a month later. Marguerite, declared that, since it couldn't be a summer wedding, it would have to have the drama of being held at the very heart of winter, decided it.
The dress fit perfectly. Ettie stood in the parlor – isolated from the rest of the house by means of Mrs. Hume, the head maidservant, stationed there like a fire-breathing monster to keep off all comers – and stared.
Velvet, the sleeves long and lapping over her hands, the skirt slashed to show a thin white petticoat of linen so fine it could have been silk, the dress was warm but so beautiful, the dress Ettie would never have even imagined could be, much less dreamed about. She stared.
“Mistress...” she said, a lump in her throat. “You really mean it. You're sure..?”
Across the room, Marguerite laughed. She was twining orange-blossom into a garland. “Of course I mean it,” she said gently. “You look beautiful, Ettie. Now come here and let me see if this wreath is big enough.”
Ettie swallowed, blushing, and went across the room to Marguerite. The wreath fit perfectly, after a minor adjustment, and she stared, still not quite believing what she was seeing, as Marguerite gently affixed it to the floating linen of her veil.
“Now, then,” Marguerite said firmly. “I don't think you should put this on yet, because it'd be a shame to cover how lovely you look, and you have to see for yourself in the mirror. Doesn't she, Douglas?” she added.
Ettie went scarlet, noticing the master was at the door. He was dressed in a dark velvet suit, his hair carefully brushed, and he looked grave and oddly older than she recalled him looking.
“Yes, she does,” he nodded. “She looks beautiful. Garrick is a lucky sort.”
Ettie flushed.
“Well, then,” Marguerite nodded. “We ought to go down. We can't wait too long. Here we are,” she added, passing Ettie a posy. Mrs. Merrick had assembled it with Ettie, choosing flowers known in herb-lore for their beneficial properties. Ettie took it, feeling a lump in her throat. It was yet another small gesture of love, as if everything she wore and experienced today was woven of the love and care that others felt for her.
“Here we go. Now, off we go. Down to the church. We can't keep everyone waiting.”
Ettie nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and followed Douglas down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, he turned to her, arm crooked.
“It's my job to lead you the rest of the way,” he said, grinning.
Ettie nodded. She went white. Since she had no family, the master had agreed to step into the role for her. He led her down the hallway, through the courtyard, and along the path to the chapel.
She walked in a kind of daze, and then she was inside the church. She looked down the aisle and saw a suited form at the end.
Tall, wearing black velvet – Garrick, in velvet – she would have known that broad-shouldered, lean presence anywhere.
Swallowing, she walked, leaning heavily on Douglas' arm until she was beside him.
He turned. Looking at her, his eyes were gentle. Ettie felt that touch in every part of her and felt her heart melt with it. She stood beside him and stared up at him through the thin gauzy fabric of the veil and her heart was awash with love.
“Dearly beloved!” the priest began the ceremony cheerfully, addressing the congregation. “We are gathered together in the sight of...”
As the words fell around her ears, Ettie tried hard to focus. She still felt as if this couldn't possibly be happening, heart beating fast.
Before she expected it, the priest had turned to face them. He was saying something to Garrick, who turned to her.
“I do,” he said.
The words rocked through Ettie's heart. Garrick smiled at her, the smile gentle on his rugged, handsome face. Ettie nodded and looked back at him.
Then the priest was turning to her. “And do you, Ettie Lomond, take thee Garrick Durrell Hale...”
Durrell, she thought, smiling. She hadn't known his second name, hadn't known he had one. She felt a smile twist her lips and temporarily lost focus on what the priest was saying. A pause followed, one she knew she had to fill. She cleared her throat.
“I do.”
The ceremony continued. Almost before she knew what was happening, the priest was turning to them, beaming. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Ettie looked up at Garrick, and she saw in his face that he was both surprised and amused by the expression on her face, which mirrored his own. She grinned up at him widely through the veil.
Then, gently, he was kissing her. The veil fell back and his lips descended onto hers and she felt herself melt under the touch on her shoulders. They had kissed before, many times, but it had never felt like this – a sacred promise.
When he leaned back, their eyes met. She found it difficult to breathe. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was finished. They were man and wife.
Ettie swallowed hard, walking down the stairs.
Outside in the courtyard, hands clasped, they ran quickly from the chapel to the manor, the congregation cheering them, showering them with tokens of good luck as they ran, laughing, to escape the cold. It was freezing out there, Ettie realized, though she had barely noticed it when she walked to the church less than an hour before.
When they reached the manor, it was to be met by the steward, who took Garrick's coat and showed them to the great hall. Ettie swallowed. This was another surprise. A proper banquet.
She looked around, feeling intensely shy. The hall was filled, as it would be for any marriage in the house, except that she was not a member of the Duncliffe family. The servants – her friends, many of them – sat at the benches in the hall, with some of the townsfolk and local farming families. The dais was set with a table for the family – where Lady Marguerite and Lord Douglas and their friends and relations would sit – and at that table was space for her and Garrick.
Ettie shook her head, feeling a flush of shock fill her cheeks. She couldn't sit there. It was her wedding, it was true. However, she didn't know anyone. Her eyes fell on the servant's table and the woman who sat there, regal as an empress.
She nodded to Merrick, who nodded back, and stood. Her eyes held Ettie's. “Go on and enjoy it, lass,” she said gently. “The sun shines and the flowers bloom with it.”
Ettie nodded. Merrick was right. There was no use to be had in not taking advantage of every moment of joy life had to offer. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned to Garrick. “Should we go up?” she asked.
He nodded. He looked nervous too, she noticed. However, if he could do it, then so could she. She took his hand and together they went up to the dais.
She squeezed his fingers hard.
“What, dearest?” he asked gently.
“I'm scared,” she confessed, nervously licking her dry lips. The entire day – the dress, the flowers, the veil, the attention – it was all too much for her. Now this? A seat on the dais with the gentry? She was terrified. “It's all too much. I don't know what to do.”
He smiled at her, drawing her closer and looking into her eyes so that it seemed that it was just the two of them, alone in the vast hall. Then, tenderly, he took her hands. “I know you,” he said, gently stroking her cheek. “You can be anyone you want to be. You change from gentlewoman to healer, to my wise owl and back again in an instant. You know exactly what you're doing up here. And you'll have to teach me,” he added, laughing. “I have no idea. Never sat down with gentry in my life.”
Ettie felt her heart fill with love. She reached up and gently touched his face, smiling into his gaze. “Well, I know you,” she said gently. “You'll know more of what you're doing than I do, soon enough. You catch on awfully fast.”
He roared with laughter, and then turned around, realizing it was only the two of them up there, with the steward, who was still checking that
the cutlery was all in place. Ettie smiled and blushed. She didn't mind anymore, she found. It could still have been just the two of them, alone in a world made of their love.
Marguerite arrived a moment or two later, with Douglas and some of the local gentry, who had come for the feast. They all took their seats, with Marguerite and Douglas beside Ettie and Garrick, who sat across from her.
“So, how did you find the ceremony?” Marguerite asked.
“Frightening,” Ettie confessed, grinning. “Wonderful. So soon over!”
Marguerite grinned knowingly. “It seems so short,” she agreed. “I went up there with Douglas, fully-expecting it to take hours and for me to lose interest rather fast, as I do sometimes...”
“You didn't tell me!” Douglas said, affronted.
Everyone laughed. Ettie, accepting a silver goblet of wine from the steward, felt as if her heart was so full of joy that it might actually burst. However, the joy kept growing, and her heart seemed to stretch to hold it.
“A toast!” Douglas announced grandly. “To Ettie and Garrick Hale! May they have a prosperous and long life!”
“Ettie and Garrick!”
The shouts echoed around the hall. Ettie bit her lip, knowing she was crying and unable to stop the tears that were part wonder, part joy and even a little shock. She would never have expected to receive so much love before.
Douglas sat down and winked at her, his usually-serious face briefly boyish. “You certainly caused a stir, the pair of you. They all love you down there.”
Ettie swallowed hard and reached for Marguerite's arm, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It was a night of surprises.
And, she reflected, there were more to come.
She felt a slight tingle in her belly at the thought of what came next. There had been a chamber prepared for them somewhere – she knew, because she'd seen Mrs. Yates and some of the others from the household staff surreptitiously traveling back and forth up the hallway, carrying linen or firewood and, once, fresh lavender. Nevertheless, she didn't know where it was.
Love For A Reluctant Highland Lass (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 20