by GinaRJ
Jacob forced his eyes opened, thinking she had changed her mind altogether. She took her hand to herself, straightening her posture, her eyes skipping about as she contemplated a remedy of her own. “There’s no need to set another date,” she finally said. “We will say our vows here.”
“What?” Marcus asked.
“Here?” Jacob followed.
A smile threatened to touch her lips while the idea became all the more satisfying…and not just satisfying, but possible. “After your pain has eased and you have rested, I shall call for Father Nelson, and those sent by the emperor to stand in as witnesses, and choice of the Higher Nobles as well. The outer room—it could comfortably contain a few dozen people. I will have them chosen, the most important, and they will this day see the vows exchanged between us.”
“Milady,” Marcus began to object, “It would not be such a difficult matter to have the nobles return on another date. It is obviously necessary. I propose it be scheduled for another time.”
“And I propose it be done as planned,” she said, peering up at him. “Today,” she added. She instantly smiled while refocusing upon Jacob. She took his hands in hers and leaned closer. “Just give me the word and I will arrange it.”
“How could you approve of such a thing?”
“One needn’t approve of an idea when it was theirs to begin with.”
“What sort of memory would it be? A lady awaits such a day, and anticipates a good wedding, a perfect one.”
“I, milord, am not every lady. And you are wrong. There are others who would do this very same thing.”
She could already see some color coming back to his face. “Would it make you happy?”
“I would be very pleased to have you as my wife before the midnight hour.”
“Then it will be so.” She stood and called out to the maiden who’d stood near the door simply watching and listening. “Holly,” she called, recalling her name, and saying it with the note of ire she felt toward her for having complained about her presence in the room. “Continue to care for him,” she told her, and then Jacob, “you should rest for a time. The physician will bring the medicine to help you sleep, just a while. And as soon as you are over this stage of the illness and able, we will say our vows here…in the outer chamber.”
******
While Jacob rested, Rachel went about making preparations for the change of events. Tilly, Roselyn and Zaria helped prepare the outer chamber, quietly so as to not awaken Jacob in the next room. His young page, Galvan, and Edwin, his closest guard, went about explaining the change of events to the heralds with few words. The word spread while the room was properly prepared. Roselyn went off to see to it Galvin and Edwin had succeeded with their mission. Tilly trailed away to have goblets and bottles of wine delivered to the room. Zaria went off without any direct order or explanation. Rachel stood in the outer chamber going thru the noble invitation cards, separating the names of the Higher Nobles and their ladies wherever applicable—those who would witness the exchanging of their vows. It was as she did this a voice sounded from the doorway saying, “It should have been postponed.”
She turned to get a look at Marcus whom, with hands in the pockets of his worn-out trousers, stood leaning in the doorway. “Don’t you think?” He added.
She turned her attention away from a shirt in need of tucking, back to the cards. “I can’t see where it matters the conditions under which a man and woman exchange their vows.”
“Despite his illness, something you have no knowledge of…without consulting Edison. Does he approve of this?”
“You heard him yourself. He wishes it to be so before the midnight hour.”
“After you had insisted it.” Hands in pockets he stepped inside. “Why are you doing this?”
She inhaled a very deep breath, becoming very impatient with him. “I assure you, Sir Marcus, my reasons are genuine and not at all what you or any other may suppose.”
“And what would that be? What would I or anyone else possibly suppose?”
Her eyes gradually slanted at him. “I don’t take kindly to your pernicious accusations, Sir Marcus, or to the discourteous manner in which you choose to reveal them.”
“Have I said anything to accuse you?”
“You needn’t verbally accuse me, you do so with your eyes.”
She refocused upon the invitation cards and began flipping quite harshly thru them, so annoyed she could hardly think straight or even see the names as she shuffled past them. Had she ever felt so exasperated by any one person? Certainly, she supposed, but this differed in that her character was being questioned…or so it seemed. And her motives—had anyone ever verbally questioned them? Not at all that she could recall.
Even if Marcus Wren was suspicious of her, what right had he to so boldly confront her?
Her chest had begun to rise and fall, but she quickly got hold of her temper, commanding herself to be calm, and did not speak until she knew for sure her voice would come out at least somewhat as lenient as she intended it to.
“My reasons are honorable. I suggest you be honorable yourself and simply do as is required of you. Be the friend he has claimed you to be, not only to him, but to me as well. Support him. It is my understanding you will stand alongside him during the exchanging of the vows. I do not think it unreasonable to request you prepare yourself for the occasion.”
She continued her task which was close enough to being accomplished. Without this interruption it would have gone quicker and she could focus upon something else. She intended to call upon Caleb and Nicholas to address the overall palace Guard whose assistance would be needed prior to and following the wedding.
Marcus watched her for a space of time. The room was very quiet except for the sound of her hands shuffling through the cards. His voice, therefore, sounded rather loud when he spoke.
“You love him,” he said.
Her hands instantly stopped what they were doing. She moved first her eyes to look at him and then her head. “Shouldn’t I?” She asked with the quirk of a brow. “We have taken this time to become acquainted, nearly six weeks altogether. Yes. Yes, I suppose I do. He is not a difficult man to love.”
“Then the agreement will not stay.”
Her brows came together as his words brought only one thing to mind. “The agreement,” she repeated, hoping for sure he meant something other than what first came to mind.
“Have you forgotten it?”
She considered Jacob in the next room. What would he think of his friend bringing up such a thing? She, herself, was not sure what to think of it. She turned her attention toward one of the two doors leading to Jacob’s bedchamber which had been left slightly opened. She dismissed the cards atop the table and made her way toward that specific door. Jacob was still sound asleep from the medicine. But it was sure to wear off sooner or later. Judging from the time that’d lapsed, she imagined soon.
She closed the door quietly together behind her back, gaping at Marcus; he certainly had some nerve! Now she would not do as well to censure herself. There was no time to stop from saying and doing exactly as she simply felt. “How dare you!” She hissed, and began walking toward him. “How dare you!”
“Yet once again I am out of line.”
“Indeed you are, Sir Marcus. You speak without thinking. Are you trying to provoke me?”
He said nothing at all to this.
She straightened her shoulders. “I suggest from this day forward you guard your tongue in my presence. I do not take kindly to you probing into my private affairs. Private,” she repeated, and quietly finished; “These things are between Jacob and I and have nothing to do with you.”
“He made them known to me.”
“I do not care,” she loudly returned, and then quieted her voice to say, “That does not give you a right to say these things to me.”
“Forgive me,” he plainly apologized. “I have spoken my mind where I should have been silent, or rather done away with wh
atever thoughts I wasn’t permitted to speak in the first place.”
“Are you sporting with me, Sir Marcus?”
“No,” he immediately answered. “I am not.”
“Then what are your intentions? These-these outlandish inquiries!”
“Perhaps I and the citizens of Westerly have something in common,” he quietly replied. “Perhaps I would rather you remain as you are…virtuous. For what reason I cannot say. But that is a possibility that I, myself, must even question.”
He studied her closely…in a way that made her feel as if he, this close friend and alliance of her soon-to-be husband, the All Trusted Marcus Wren, had some sort of feelings for her. His eyes were very sleepy now…tired-looking. They skimmed over her, and he took a step back. As he would have made an exit she called out after him, “Sir Marcus!” He stopped, turning about to face her once more. She observed his eyes, how very down-trodden and regretful they were.
She inhaled a deep breath and proceeded with an exhale. “I will forget this conversation and pretend it did not take place. Not for your sake…but for Jacob’s.”
After a brief stare, he turned and walked away. When he was gone, she returned to the table, retrieving the cards she’d momentarily disregarded. But now she couldn’t concentrate. The conversation replayed itself, and she felt immensely troubled by it.
She recalled his eyes, his stature. Was Jacob’s dearest friend just a curious man or…? She couldn’t think of him sporting with her, for it made her heart pound and the air difficult to breathe. She felt as if she was smothering. Eventually, she set the cards aside and left the room. She made a hasty exit and her way up the hall, taking a path rarely taken; so she’d observed during the course of the past few weeks. Her steps quickened until she was almost running. By the time she burst thru the chapel doors she was out of breath. Beads of sweat had popped up on her forehead. She travelled the aisle and fell to her knees at the altar.
“Have mercy,” she quietly pled, her voice a mere whisper. That final image of Marcus had planted itself in her mind as if to become a permanent fixture, and those words they’d exchanged in reference to her virtue. She should be furious, but it seemed he had managed to arouse some curiosity in her…and other emotions that she did not even want to face.
“Have mercy on me,” she repeated and with her head bowed began to weep. Not harshly. But she cried there a short time until the final conversation she’d had with Jacob took the place of that she’d had with Marcus. She heard his voice. She saw his expressions from that day and those before it—over five weeks of good memories: pleasant conversations, laughter, of dining, strolling hand in hand.
Her eyes dried. She rose up, wiping them, thinking about what she was about to do. Yes, she was so close to marrying the man that she did, in fact, love. Yes, she did love him. And he loved her. Dearly.
She considered the wedding, however peculiar it would be. She could see the people gathered around, and see the joy in his eyes, and she felt it in her heart. She smiled to herself, and even laughed. Happiness suddenly consumed her, filling her to the brim with joy, peace and satisfaction. A surge of excitement coursed through her veins. Yes, she was about to marry the man she loved. A man she had not planned to love. Surely this was meant to be. Yes, of course.
She began making her way back to the palace, this time taking the normal route. Her steps hastened. The eyes of servants and guards settled upon her as she passed by them. People gazed curiously. She couldn’t help laugh at them. She stopped at one point, taking the hands of an elder lady, Hattie, who was in charge of dusting and sweeping the chapel—Hattie who’d simply stood by as if for no particular reason at all.
“I will be the happiest bride.” Rachel told her, and then startled her with an impulsive hug. She’d never felt better. Yes, this was the perfect thing to do. The decision was final.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The scene of the wedding was beautiful!
The room had been so swiftly decorated with flowers and ribbons and banners, and even a few of the statues from outside. The rugs had been replaced with some more suitable for the occasion, and candles lit the room from every angle. The windows had been covered with black silk…so that it was not extremely lit, and so the candles could give the room a more intimate feel.
The medicine given to Jacob had allowed him to rest and now feel no pain. As stated, the most painful part of the illness was over. But he was still tired and not himself at all…but very much in his right mind.
Now, it was still evident that he was ill, but those present overlooked his sickness, choosing rather to focus upon the actual exchanging of the vows; the fact that Jacob Trent would be wed as he so desired that day despite it all, in sickness or in health. It was quite inspirational.
Getting properly dressed was time-consuming and quite exhausting for Jacob. But he was determined to do this, and persevered despite his physical ailment. In the end, he and Rachel appeared every bit a king and a queen, he in his white suit with gold trimming…she in her beautiful silk and lace gown with its long train which Tilly and Zaria arranged in an almost circular form on the floor behind her. Pleased glances were exchanged amongst their witnesses, and quiet words of praise.
And they stood side by side before Father Nelson and before the gazes of the Higher Nobles, those she’d chosen simply from having paid attention and noticed which were the most important to Jacob. None seemed to care the location of the wedding, only that it was taking place, and they were happy for him. Yes, lords and ladies alike stood wearing the same peaceful expressions upon their very peaceful faces, arrayed in their very fine and decent apparel. They were handsome and beautiful themselves. The scene was glorious. They waited. They watched. They listened. The sacred marital vows were exchanged.
To the direct right of Rachel stood Tilly and Zaria, dressed beautifully themselves in matching yellow gowns, wreaths of flowers settled upon their heads. To the direct left of Jacob stood Edwin and also Marcus—a selfless expression upon his face as if he’d forgotten all about the words he and Rachel had earlier exchanged. When it became suitable to do so he handed Jacob a ring which Jacob in return slipped onto her finger. They were pronounced husband and wife.
The guests of the occasion applauded while Tilly and Zaria did as they’d been instructed to do, swinging open the windows and tossing out flowers of various colors so that they caught in the air, blowing and drifting, carried with the breeze in all directions. Jacob and Rachel exchanged their first actual kiss, pressing their lips gently together, holding them there for a time, pulling away with shadows of pleasure and sparks of joy in their eyes. The guests clapped fingertips to palms, and she happily joined the maidens at the window.
They stepped aside so that she could come forth. Leaning forward she extended the bouquet of flowers she’d been holding to, tossing it out and into the air. It landed on the ground amidst a crowd, and into the hands of a young girl who snatched it up as if it were a small fortune. Rachel waved down at her while everyone below applauded and cheered with delight. She rejoined Jacob. He had accepted a goblet of wine from Percival who, if she was not mistaken, was so close to weeping. Rachel also accepted one, smiling a bit pitifully but amused at the emotional steward.
Everyone in the room was likewise offered a glass. When it was finished and every hand holding the stem of a wine-filled chalice, Jacob raised his, and everyone with him theirs, to propose a toast. “To my beautiful bride,” he said, “to my wife.” And he leaned over to kiss her so very soft and simply, yet passionately on the lips. They raised their chalices and drank.
“This,” Jacob afterward said, “is by far the happiest day of my life.” He was obviously tired and drained, the illness sucking a great deal of life out of him. But he was strong for the moment, refusing to let his sickness interfere with the most important day of his life.
Afterward, the nobles took turns greeting them as husband and wife, bowing their heads, the men shaking his hand and planting a light
kiss upon hers. The women bowed their heads so slightly, congratulating him, and leaned in to drop a kiss on both her left and right cheek. The duchess of Tarot took a moment longer than the others, taking Rachel’s shoulders and gently hugging them. She pulled away, a smile Rachel had never witnessed and could not have even imagined touching her lips, proceeding to her eyes and her entire face. “May you live a long and peaceful life. May you be happy.”
Before Rachel could dwell upon the recollection of the duchess admitting her own unhappiness, she was pulled closer, a kiss planted on her left cheek. The lady continued to smile at her as if to say, “it is well”, and then turned with her husband, the duke, who’d also stood before her, bowing and kissing the top of her hand. The well-mannered pair was escorted by a duo of guards from the room—just as the couples before them. Squires and pages also followed behind as they’d been instructed to do. Rachel had thought everything through…and everything fell perfectly into place.
Marcus was the final one to step up before them. The room was now vacant except for Tilly, Zaria and Roselyn, Holly and the other maiden who cared for Jacob, other servants and guards, Edison the physician, Father Nelson. Grinning deeply, Marcus shook Jacob’s hand, leaned forward so that they almost hugged but didn’t. He patted his shoulder with his free hand.
“Congratulations, my friend,” he said, obviously straight from the heart, and his eyes fell upon Rachel. She felt a disturbing hesitance as he stepped before her. Any recollection of the conversation from earlier in the day vanished as if to have never occurred. He grinned pleasantly, handsomely, and taking her hand dropped a very light and gentle kiss upon it, raising himself only to afterward bow slightly at the waist and to audibly hail, “Lady Trent.” It was the first she was greeted by the title, and she felt particularly pleased by it.
She, too, bowed her head, accepting the gesture with genuine ease. He turned away, following the lead of the others except on his own. No guards went with him. His final words to her repeated themselves again and again in her mind. “Lady Trent.” The greeting stuck in her head. She was now Lady Trent and felt utterly satisfied, pleased to be so named.