The Perfect Waltz

by Anne Gracie

Edward answered, “In three weeks. I arranged it this morning.”

  Hope said to Sebastian, “Then let us be married the following day. Friends and family members who come for the christening can stay on for the wedding, and we won’t have to worry about booking any silly old fashionable churches, for Gideon has a charming little church right here on the estate—St. Giles’s. And besides,” she added softly, with a glance at Prudence, “Mama and Papa’s Cairn is right next to the church. It’s like they will be with us.”

  Sebastian bent and kissed her. She’d told him about The Cairn. “Perfect.”

  Great Uncle Oswald watched the sudden hum of activity as wedding plans were instantly hatched and exclaimed in disgust, “Will no member of this dratted family ever get married in St. George’s, Hanover Square?”

  Into the silence that followed, Lady Augusta drawled, “Well, Oswald . . . I’ll do it, if you want.”

  Another silence fell, more intense. Expectant.

  “You mean—Gussie! After all these years, you’re acceptin’ me at last? You really will marry me?”

  She nodded, looking suddenly girlish. “Yes, Oswald, I’ll marry you.”

  He leaped up, grabbed her hands, kissed them both, then kissed her on the mouth. He said to the room in general, in a dazed tone, “I must have asked her a hundred times!” He swung back and demanded, “In St. George’s, Hanover Square?”

  She raised an incredulous brow, as if the question were entirely redundant. “Naturally! I wouldn’t dream of having it anywhere else. If I’m going to be married for the third time, I want a huge, splashy wedding with all the works! I am not the retiring type.”

  Great Uncle Oswald said fervently, “No, you’re not. Thank God!”

  Epilogue

  If music be the food of love, play on.

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  FROM CARRADICE ABBEY, ST. GILES’S CHURCH WAS A SHORT BUT charming walk along a narrow, winding pathway flanked by tall trees. A sixteenth-century church, the floor was of large stone flags worn smooth by many generations. It was built of local stone, partially lined inside with oak paneling, and plastered around the chancel. Over the years it had been endowed with several lovely stained glass windows, which on this glorious June day filled the church with a mass of color. Set into the walls were engraved plaques and memorials, and there were several brasses depicting medieval knights and ladies.

  Inside, the church was filled with flowers: pink and white clematis, wild purple orchids, lilies, tall canes of creamy, fragrant philadelphus, spikes of lavender, and masses of roses. Roses in every shade and size. Tightly furled buds and lush, fully opened blooms. Their scent filled the church.

  The same flowers covered a small stone cairn outside the church. The Merridew girls had laid them there the day before, taking the newest member of the family with them: the newly christened Aurora, carried by her godmother, Dorie.

  The oak pews were packed with people, quietly talking. The organ played softly. Late arrivals were still quietly trailing in.

  In the front pew sat Prudence and Gideon, Edward and Charity. Giles’s mother sat on the other side. Behind her sat Lady Gosforth and a group of her friends. The rest was a host of people Sebastian didn’t know.

  Prudence nudged her husband. Sebastian and Giles had spent the last ten minutes pacing, their eyes darting every few seconds to the door. It was hard to tell which man was more nervous—Giles or Sebastian. Now they’d stopped pacing and, in low voices, were apparently arguing. “I wonder what they’re saying?” she whispered.

  “But she has no bosoms!” Sebastian said. “You can’t marry a woman with no bosoms!”

  “What? Oh,” Giles groaned, remembering the old conversation. “Lady Elinore has bosoms, all right . . . tiny, exquisite bosoms . . . to which I am utterly, completely addicted. I am beside myself with lust, Bastion. Me!”

  Sebastian’s lips twitched at his tone of despair.

  Giles continued, “Do you know, I even long—nay, I yearn for her to return to wearing her seventeen acres of gray cloth!”

  “What difference would that make?”

  Giles sighed again. “None. I lusted after her long before she took to going about half-naked and in colors! But at least when she was smothered in gray draperies, she was my own special secret. Now . . .”

  “You’re jealous of other men looking at her?” Sebastian was incredulous. “You?”

  “Pathetic, isn’t it? I have no willpower, no control, not even any dignity when it comes to that woman. I am besotted—a soppy, sentimental heap! How did I come to this sorry state?

  Sebastian smiled.“I believe it’s called falling in love.”

  “I thought love was a game,” Giles said heavily.

  “And I thought it a lie told to children, but we were both wrong, weren’t we?”

  “Yes.” Giles pulled out a fob watch and glared at it. “I think my watch has stopped.”

  “No, it hasn’t.”

  “Are they late?”

  “No, or only a minute. We got here early, remember.” They stared at the oak doors of the church, but there was no movement, no sign of a bride. After a moment Sebastian said, “So Lady Elinore has permanently abandoned her gray draperies?”

  “Mmm. She has discovered they don’t work, you see.” There was a trace of smugness in his tone.

  “I see . . . Are you sure about this decision? She is older than you by ten years at least.” Sebastian was determined Giles would eat every last word.

  “Only six.” Giles gave him a satyr’s grin. “But what I lack in years, I make up for in experience.”

  “I heard she was as plain as a pikestaff.”

  Giles made a disgusted gesture. “Did I truly say that? I was a blind fool! Her looks are not in the common way, but once she stopped doing her hair in that hideous scrape . . .” He sank his head into his hands. “She’s the sweetest little beauty, Bastian.”

  Sebastian was enjoying himself enormously. “But you danced with her once. She found you repugnant! You!”

  Giles glanced complacently down at his well-formed person. “She has changed her mind,” he purred.

  Sebastian shook his head in mock sorrow. “And I thought her a woman of discrimination.”

  “She is. She didn’t want you. She wanted me. Shows immensely superior taste, if you ask me.”

  “Pooh!” Sebastian waved his hand dismissively. “As I recall, her only passion is for good works. Orphans and charitable causes. Are you a charitable cause then?”

  “Far from it!” Giles wagged a finger in reprimand and said smugly, “You have forgotten her fascination for matters scientific.”

  Sebastian was surprised by this unexpected turn. “I know of it. But what have you to do with matters scientific?”

  Giles explained in a dulcet tone, “Lady Elinore is planning to spend the next twenty years or so investigating some of her mother’s theories in greater depth. And I am to be her sole assistant.”

  Sebastian could think of at least a dozen of Lady Ennismore’s crackpot theories, none of which was worth more than a cursory glance, let alone twenty years of solid investigation. “You must be joking. What theories?”

  Giles looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary and followed it off with a jug of cream. “Those concerning the excitement of uncontrollable masculine passions.”

  Sebastian choked.

  “I am to be her sole subject,” Giles explained modestly. “It will be an exhausting task, I know, but there is a strong streak of nobility in all the Bemertons, and we always rise to the occasion. Besides, you know I’ve always been devoted to . . . science.”

  The oak doors opened, and both men’s minds were immediately wiped blank. The organ music swelled, and Sebastian and Giles swallowed, threw out their chests, and took their places by the altar.

  Four bridesmaids, achingly lovely in their fresh, bright youthfulness, stepped solemnly down the aisle. First Dorie and Cassie, then Grace, then Faith.

  Hop
e entered, a vision in creamy silk and lace, on her great-uncle’s arm, and Sebastian’s eyes blurred, and he could see no one else, only the woman he adored floating toward him. His beautiful, loving Hope. His Hope, eternally.

  Lady Augusta followed, and on her arm was a small, slender woman, Lady Elinore Whitelaw, also dressed in lace. And Giles’s eyes blurred, and he could see no one else, only the woman he loved coming to him. At last.

  The organ music came to a final crescendo, the magnificently robed minister stepped forward, and the weddings commenced.

  The wedding of Sebastian Reyne and Hope Merridew.

  And of Giles Bemerton and Lady Elinore Whitelaw.

  And afterward there was laughter and tears and much kissing and embracing.

  And in the evening there was feasting and music and dancing.

  Hope and Sebastian stood kissing on the terrace. The night was warm, the moon was full, and they planned to slip away to make love for the first time as man and wife. As they tiptoed away, the band inside struck up a waltz.

  “Dance with me, my husband.” Hope held up her arms. “It’s the last waltz, and you know I never dance it with anyone but you.”

  Sebastian made no reply. He’d said very little all day. He doubted that he could. His heart was too full for mere words.

  She’d brought him out of the shadows of his past, into her unique, special light. The light of love.

  He wrapped himself around his Hope, kissing her deeply. As they kissed, their bodies moved slowly to the music. They danced slowly, sensually, pressed together so closely there was no space at all between their bodies, breast to chest, thigh to thigh. Two people dancing as one, a living part of the music, in the warm night air, bathed in moonlight.

  And it was perfect.

  Award-winning author Anne Gracie spent her childhood and youth on the move. The gypsy life taught her that humor and love are universal languages and that favorite books can take you home, wherever you are. In addition to writing, Anne teaches adult literacy, flings balls for her dog, enjoys her tangled garden, and keeps bees.

  Visit her website at www.annegracie.com.