by Kelly, Julia
And yet Gavin’s family was conspicuously absent. Perhaps her own nervousness at becoming a bride had her seeing conflict that wasn’t there, but he never went home. He never received visits from his family. She knew so much about Gavin, and yet there was an entire side to him he’d never let her see. His childhood was a mystery other than little snippets of stories that slipped into conversation here or there.
No matter what, he’s still Gavin, she told herself. He was still the one man she turned to when she needed him. He was still her rock.
At the top of the aisle, her father lifted her veil, pressed a perfunctory kiss to her cheek, and joined her hands with Gavin’s as the priest instructed. Shyly, she looked up at her groom, struck by how handsome he was in his morning suit, freshly shaved with his hair combed back with sharp precision. He gave her a little smile, and she sighed out a breath. Everything was going to be fine. If there was one man she could depend on, it was Gavin. They’d figure this out together.
The minister, Reverend Macdonough, bid the guests be seated and opened his Bible. “We give thanks to God for the gift of marriage and for the special gifts bride and bridegroom bring to each other; we ask for God’s grace for them that their marriage be enriched.”
The ceremony passed in a blur. Reverend Macdonough spoke of fidelity and sacrifice. When he mentioned a wife’s obedience to her husband, Gavin shot her a significant, if teasing, look. She was tempted to tread on his shoe, but she doubted the reverend would find the humor in it.
Finally, a small gold ring was presented and blessed, and the priest nodded to Gavin. All at once, her friend became solemn with the gravity of the moment.
“And now the ring and the exchange of vows,” said Reverend Macdonough.
Gavin picked up her hand and placed the ring on her fourth finger. He must have felt her tremble, because he brushed his thumb over the edge of her palm, soothing her.
Slowly, repeating the phrases after Reverend Macdonough, Ina said, “In the presence of God and before these witnesses, I, Ina Duncan, give myself to you, Gavin Barrett, to be your wife, and take you now to be my husband. I promise to love you, to be faithful and loyal to you, for as long as we live.”
Her throat was dry by the end of the vow, and she felt a little light-headed, as though someone had sucked all the air out of the soaring cathedral.
In a clear, strong voice, Gavin repeated his own vows.
It was done. Before a minister and witnesses and God, they were wed. Now they would have to figure out how to navigate this marriage together.
Nothing will change. He was still her friend. The only difference was that they’d be living under the same roof, and he’d have to contend with the preponderance of marble dust that would inevitably drift out of her studio and into their new home.
She stole a look at Gavin, who wore a rueful smile as though to say he didn’t know what to make of the whole situation either. Still, when they joined hands and hurried down the aisle to the applause of their guests, she couldn’t help but be a little hopeful for what the future held.
Out on the short flight of steps of the cathedral, Gavin tugged her to a stop.
“Well,” he said, looking about as their guests flowed around them, forming a semicircle of well-wishers, “what do we do now?”
A hand fell on Gavin’s shoulder. “You kiss your bonny bride,” said Moray.
Kiss Gavin. Here? In front of all of these people, with perfect strangers wandering up and down High Street watching them?
Intellectually, she’d known that at some point on their wedding day, they’d probably be goaded into sharing a kiss, but it had seemed safer not to think about it. Friends didn’t kiss. Especially not married ones.
“Reverend Macdonough can’t object here on the steps,” said Ina’s aunt.
“Aunt Jacqueline,” Ina said, a little taken aback.
Gavin shook his head. “There’s the wedding breakfast—”
“Go on,” Christine teased, a wicked glint in her eye.
Oh Lord, this was swiftly becoming a much larger thing than it needed to be. It was, after all, just a kiss. What harm could there be in that?
She glanced around before daring to meet Gavin’s gaze. “I don’t know if they’re going to let us get away without a kiss,” she ventured.
A half smile tipped Gavin’s mouth when Moray shouted out, “What are you waiting for, Barrett?”
She was about to hush the newspaperman when Gavin’s lips were on hers. Surprised, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her. The kiss was soft but fierce, and warmth flooded her chest like a drop of dye in water.
He pulled back slightly, but then, almost as though he couldn’t help himself, fitted his lips to hers again. Her mouth opened with a slight gasp, and he gently caught up her lower lip between his teeth.
This. I want this. The thought roared up in her with a force she’d never known. Suddenly he wasn’t just Gavin, her friend. He was Gavin, her husband, whom she liked kissing.
But then, just as quickly as it had happened, the kiss was over. He pulled back, and she would’ve stumbled if his hand hadn’t been on her waist to keep her upright.
Still dumbfounded, she let herself be hustled into a carriage by her friends. Christine made sure to loop her train in so the door wouldn’t close on it, winking at her before stepping back to allow Gavin to climb in.
A cheer went up as the carriage lurched forward. Ina’s eyes darted to Gavin, who was studying her.
“It’s done,” he said.
She nodded. “We’re married.”
A silence full of unspoken things stretched between them.
“I’m sorry about the kiss,” he said, mussing his hair as he passed a hand over it. “Moray would’ve had all of High Street chanting for it if I hadn’t given them what they wanted.”
“Aunt Jacqueline too.”
“That was a surprise, but I suppose everyone loves a wedding.”
Silence again. Hesitatingly she asked, “Are you truly sorry about it?”
The muscles of his jaw worked in that way they always did when she asked him a question he didn’t want to answer.
“I don’t regret it, if that helps ease your mind,” she offered.
He sighed and leaned back against the quilted seat. “You don’t regret it.”
“It wasn’t disappointing. I imagine first kisses can be for some young ladies,” she said, toying with the ribbon that wrapped around the stems of her bouquet.
His head jerked up. “First kiss?”
She blinked at him. “Well, yes.”
“That was your first kiss?”
She frowned. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve spent quite a good number of years trying to avoid kissing anyone.”
“But—but surely there was someone before . . .”
“Before you?” She rolled her eyes at his sputtering. “No, there wasn’t. Really, Gavin, I don’t see why you’re having such difficulties with this.”
He studied her, his expression guarded. “Then I really do apologize, even if, as you say, you don’t regret it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because a kiss can be so much more.”
“Is that so?” she asked.
“Especially when it’s not performed for a group of people in front of a church. When you’re alone . . .”
All at once the same heady, hot sensation that had pulsed through her when he’d kissed her rushed through her veins. There was no one else in the carriage, no one watching and cheering. They’d been alone before—she’d spent hours with Gavin in her studio—but this was different. No chaperones or friends or family sat a discreet distance away for propriety’s sake. If he wanted to, he could reach across the carriage and haul her into his lap, pressing his lips to hers once again. If she wished, she could sli
de onto the seat next to him, lean in, and touch her mouth to the patch of skin above his collar and just below his ear. She shivered at the mere idea of it.
His eyes, more keen than she’d ever seen before, pierced her and she was sure he could see straight through her. He must know that she was affected by that kiss, caught off guard and yet undeniably drawn in by him. Just as he was to her.
His right hand twitched on the knee where he rested it, and she was sure that he was about to reach for her. Instead, he shifted a little, sliding down the bench seat, farther away from her.
“What has your aunt put together for the wedding breakfast?” he asked.
The anticipation building in her flattened. It was clear he didn’t wish to talk of kisses anymore, just when she was beginning to see the very real appeal of having a husband whom she might kiss whenever she chose.
“Luncheon at Papa’s home. Then they’ll send us off to the new house,” she said.
He nodded and set about gazing out of the window, clearly determined not to look her way.
Ina raised a brow. He could play at casual indifference all he liked, but there was no denying that he’d enjoyed their kiss just as much as she had.
“A lovely ceremony, Reverend,” Mrs. Sullivan said when Reverend Macdonough came to stop beside her after the bride and groom had climbed into their carriage.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. What are your hopes for the couple?” he said.
She glanced over at the minister clad in his long black coat, his Bible clasped in front of him. He was an earnest man, more scholar than counselor, yet he had a good, understanding eye for people. This wasn’t the first hasty wedding she’d asked him to perform, and he was more willing than most to overlook some of the irregularities when she vouched for the sincerity of the couple.
“What they always are for every marriage. A lifetime of love and happiness,” she said.
“Come now,” he said. “You know as well as I do that any couple who marries that quickly always has a story.”
“And you know that I never reveal it, even to a man of God,” she said.
He rocked back on his heels as though considering his next tack. “I heard from Father Olrich that you were at St. Mary’s last month.”
This time she turned the full force of a grin on him. She liked the idea of a gaggle of clergymen tracking her every move as she sent happy couples their way.
“Are you gossiping about me with the Episcopalians again? I should be flattered,” she asked.
The minister blushed. “Not in so many words. It merely came up in conversation over a glass of whisky. Father O’Hanah was there as well.”
“You know that my services know no denomination, Reverend. I go where the couples go.”
“St. Giles’ is always happy to have your patronage,” he said.
That the cathedral had been collecting donations for new pews for over a year now and grateful couples often opened their purses in thanks to the church was merely a happy coincidence.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now I’m off to the wedding breakfast.” She picked up her skirts to navigate the stairs but stopped to shoot a smile over her shoulder. “And would you do me a favor?”
He tipped his head.
“Pray for Gavin and Ina. I fear they have a rocky road ahead of them before they find their happiness.”
Chapter Six
HOURS LATER, INA sat toying with a fork at the head of a dining table large enough for twelve. Not a large table, her table, and sitting to her right was Gavin, her husband.
She set the utensil down gently. The metal hardly made a sound against her thin china plate, but it was all too noticeable in the silent room. The entire meal had been like this. Quiet. Subdued. Uncomfortable.
Now, without the hubbub of the day to distract her, she was beginning to feel ill at ease. She reached for her wine, using the movement to surreptitiously steal a glance at her husband. He’d been quiet all day, politely greeting the callers who’d descended on her father’s house after the wedding breakfast to wish them well but not once rising to a quip. Someone who knew him less well might not have noticed, but to her it seemed he was wearing his reticence like a painted sign hung around his neck.
It was their wedding night that was the problem. The event—unmistakable in its gravity—sat at the table with them.
I can’t miss what I don’t know. The night they’d become engaged she’d brushed off his concerns that she’d never know the intimacy of a true marriage, but the kiss on the steps of St. Giles’ had her rethinking her careless concession. If just the press of lips against lips felt so good, what else had she given up?
She wanted her wedding night, she realized as she sat there, watching Gavin roll the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. Their agreement precluded them from regularly sharing a bed, but surely this night would be an exception. Their marriage wouldn’t be considered valid unless it was consummated.
She drew in a steadying breath. She didn’t know exactly what she was meant to do. Lana and Christine, one married and one widowed, had taken it upon themselves to give her a general working idea of the mechanics of sex, but that didn’t mean the situation was any clearer. Was a husband meant to come to a wife or vice versa? Should she undress and then don her night rail, or was it best to remain naked? How exactly did one tell one’s husband, “I wish you to deflower me now,” without having to express it in such ham-handed terms?
Under normal circumstances Ina would have had no compunction about pestering Gavin with a litany of questions, but the awkwardness hanging about them held her back.
“I suppose it’s getting late,” said Gavin at last.
“Not so very late,” she said quickly.
“It was a long day, and you received so many calls.”
“And I’ll soon have to return them all,” she said, doing little to hide her displeasure regarding the idea of having to sit in a carriage while her maid dropped engraved cards with her new name off at the houses of her acquaintances.
“You never did like making calls,” he said with a little smile.
“Neither would you if you were forced to do it.”
“You’re probably right.”
How does this start?
What if I don’t know what to do?
The questions raced through her mind, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words to ask.
In the end, it was Gavin who took charge, asking, “Shall we go to bed?”
Ina chewed her lip as Gavin led her upstairs on his arm. She fought to keep her steps steady and her hand from trembling. Perhaps he’d kiss her in the hallway and that would be her signal. Or maybe he’d request that she leave the door between their rooms unlocked. That seemed an entirely reasonable way to approach the logistics of the matter.
When they reached her bedroom door Gavin leaned down . . . and kissed her on the cheek.
“Sleep well tonight,” he said.
Ina let out a shaky breath. He was being a gentleman and letting her undress with the assistance of her maid. This was their wedding night, not a real good night.
Feeling no less unsettled than she had at supper, Ina retreated to her room and allowed Ruth to help her out of her things. Despite changing out of her wedding clothes when they’d arrived home, she hadn’t taken the time to loosen her corset. Her whole body felt like jelly when at last Ruth released the brutally tied laces.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the maid.
She tilted her head back and gulped in deep breaths of blissfully unconstrained air. “Mark my words, now that I’m married I have no intention of letting anyone tell me how tight to lace my corset ever again. Especially not my aunt.”
She didn’t miss Ruth’s grin as she stashed the offending garment in Ina’s armoire.
Ruth’s chatter kept her mind preoccupi
ed during her evening routine of washing her face and brushing her hair. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if Gavin was going through the same motions with Norris, their butler, who was valeting for him until he could find a manservant. A part of her hoped he was just as nervous with anticipation of the night to come.
When there was nothing left to be done, Ina dismissed Ruth and found herself with little to do but wait. Her night rail ballooned out around her as she dropped onto her chaise with a sigh.
She picked up a book, flipping through the pages, but nothing could distract her from the tick tick tick of the clock on the mantel. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty-five. When three-quarters of an hour had passed, Ina went from nervous to furious. Where on earth was her husband?
She snapped the book closed. “That’s it.”
Moving swiftly, she tugged on the long pink silk dressing gown Ruth had laid out at the foot of the bed and tied it in a loose knot around her waist. Pulling her unbound hair out from under the collar, she went to the door connecting her room to Gavin’s dressing room.
“Clearly there was no impediment there,” she muttered to herself as the unlocked door swung open.
There was no light in the dressing room, but by leaving her door open she could see enough to maneuver across the narrow space. It was only when she put her hand on the brass knob to his room that she paused.
He’s still Gavin. You trust him.
With as much authority as she could muster, she walked straight into his room. What she saw brought her up short. Gavin was sitting in an armchair. He’d taken his jacket off and unbuttoned his waistcoat, pulled off his necktie, and opened his shirt, but those were his only concessions to the late hour. The man still had his shoes on, and at the moment he was staring straight at them with a sheaf of papers on his knee and a whisky glass dangling from his fingers.