The duke continued past his mother-in-law’s antics. “Indeed, Katherine is correct. I’d agree that you shouldn’t feel compelled to wed.” He peered down his hawk-like nose at Harry. “Either of them.”
Harry fished something out of his jacket. Her gaze fell to the orange ribbon dangling between his fingers. “This reminded you of everything you lost, Anne. Take it back now, take it as a reminder of what you’ll always carry. My love. My fidelity. My—”
“Yes,” Katherine and Jasper spoken in unison.
“No,” the countess cried out, burying her face in her hands.
Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the fiercely frowning duke who’d made little attempt to hide his dislike of the other man. He tugged at his lapels. “That is, if you’ll have him.”
Harry gave a slight nod and the duke returned the gesture, as a silent, unspoken truce passed between them.
Mother scraped her disapproving stare over Harry. “There is an agreement already reached. The scandal would be disastrous. Furthermore, he will break your heart. He is a philanderer, a rogue, and rogues cannot be reformed.”
Fury spiraled through Anne and she took a step toward her mother. “He is not him.”
Her hand fluttered to her breast. “What are you—?”
“He is not Father,” Anne said with steely strength underscoring those words.
The older woman’s skin turned waxen and she sputtered. “H-he is—”
“A good man,” she interrupted. She slid her hand into Harry’s. “An honorable man.” A man who will never betray me. A man who would care for his children. And always place his family first…because he loved Anne in ways Father had never loved her mother. To say as much would devastate the other woman and for that, Anne fell silent.
Harry cleared his throat and she looked to him once more. “If you’ll marry a bounder such a me…Even as I don’t deserve you. Even as you’d be better with damned Crawford—”
A little hiccoughy laugh emerged more as a sob from her lips. He still did not realize he was all she wanted, all she’d ever wanted. “Are you trying to convince me to wed another? Because if you are, it’s really not well done of you, Harry.”
He stroked her cheek. “I love you, Anne. Marry me.”
Four pairs of eyes looked intently back at her. She leaned up on tiptoes. “Yes,” she whispered. And pressed her mouth to his.
Four days later, in the presence of Mother, her brother Benedict, and Anne’s sisters Aldora and Katherine, along with their families, Anne found herself in the most unlikely of places. A rueful smile pulled at her lips as she glanced around at the pink, red, and peach rose bushes. But then, not all that unlikely if one knew Harry, the Earl of Stanhope.
A disapproving vicar beat the small black leather book in his palm which she suspected was the beginning of a rather hastily thrown together ceremony.
“Are you having second thoughts, love?”
She jumped at Harry’s teasing whisper. She gave her head a shake and stole a glance at her family. Her sisters waved, matching smiles on their faces. “Of course not,” she assured him. Though… She stole a glance at her mother. Mother certainly appeared hopeful her daughter would march from Lord Essex’s prized gardens and leave Harry standing there at the altar…well, an altar of flowers anyway.
The vicar fanned the pages of his book.
She winked. “My mother on the other hand…”
A bark of laughter escaped Harry and the vicar dropped his Bible. He bent to retrieve it, muttering something about reverence and bold, hastily thrown together ceremonies. Anne took this for clear disapproval with her and Harry’s not waiting the requisite period of three Sundays to have the banns read.
Anne schooled her features in a semblance of piety. Even as her husband-to-be stifled a yawn. Her shoulders shook with the force of her amusement. “Achoo!” Harry withdrew a kerchief and handed it over.
“Shall we begin?” the vicar began and glared at Anne for doing something as impolite as sneezing before he launched into the service. “Dearly Beloved, 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; which is an honorable estate…”
Anne glanced across the Marquess of Essex’s infamous conservatory.
The old lord’s loud whisper cut across the vicar’s recitation of her and Harry’s marital vows. “I do say, quite unconventional. A pleasure, nonetheless, just an unexpected pleasure,” the wizened gentleman rattled on to the Duke of Bainbridge. “Not every day a couple wants to be married in my gardens. Not that I can blame them,” he said on a rush, lest anyone present believe the man disparaged his own well-tended space. Her brother-in-law kept his gaze directed to the front of the room, wincing as the Marquess of Essex carried on. “It must be my prized peonies.”
Anne looked up at Harry and they shared a smile.
“I knew the gardener was well worth the sum he demanded,” Lord Essex said with a pleased nod, eyeing the small cluster of people and the vicar in his conservatory. “Or I supposed it might have been my rose bushes.” His brow wrinkled. “Then, there are the prized hibiscuses. Brought from Africa you know, they are. All very exotic. Er…Africa, and the flowers, that is…”
The Marquess of Essex’s ramblings reached Anne once more… “Achoo!”…As did the scent of one of those prized, exotic hibiscuses. Harry fished out a second handkerchief and handed it over. She blew her nose noisily into the fabric.
The vicar glared at her in response, clearly taking slight to her inability to control the flurry of sneezing.
It really was quite inconvenient that was the place they should have first met.
“Achoo!” She buried the sneeze into Harry’s kerchief and grinned up at him.
He returned her smile.
But there was no more perfect place for them to be wed. Her mother continued to glare in their direction. Even if Mother quite disagreed.
“….Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined…”
“I’m going to try my hand with the azalea bush,” Lord Essex said noisily. A muscle ticked at the corner of the duke’s right eye, and Katherine’s lips twitched with silent amusement. “They say the soil acidity effects the color of the bush. What are your thoughts on that, Bainbridge?”
“Non-existent.” The duke’s curt response did little to dampen the other man’s enthusiasm.
Anne’s lips pulled with amusement and she spoke from the side of her mouth. “Do you think Lord Essex knows the truth?” she whispered to Harry.
He lowered his head. “The truth?”
The vicar glared them into momentary silence. He resumed the ceremony. Her mother sat stiffly beside Lady Essex, wincing every time the white-haired woman mentioned the words ‘prized peonies’.
“And what truth do you refer to, love?” he repeated on a hushed whisper.
She waggled a brow. “That it was really two glasses of champagne that first called you to this space.”
Ignoring the glowering vicar, Harry leaned close. His breath fanned her ear. “Ah, then you would both prove wrong, Anne. It wasn’t the peonies or the champagne that led me here.”
She cocked her head. She’d rather thought it had been the champagne and scandalous activities business. “It wasn’t?”
The vicar’s monotonous voice droned on with the ceremonial vows. “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful Day of Judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed…”
Harry brushed his knuckles along her cheek. The vicar stopped mid-sentence. A mottled flush splotched his cheeks. Harry ignored the man’s displeasure with his improper touch, his gaze trained on Anne. “How can you still not know? It was only you that brought me here, love. It was only you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
War
mth filled Anne’s heart as her love of this man spiraled out, in a burning conflagration of heat that could never destroy her. Harry made her stronger, and better and…
“If it is all the same to you, may I continue?” The vicar’s angry whisper cut into their exchange.
Harry waved a hand lazily about. “Proceed.”
Anne smothered a giggle with her palm. Her thirteen-year-old brother, Benedict, however, made little attempt to conceal his mirth. He laughed quite boldly in his seat beside Aldora’s husband, Michael. Mother leaned over and pinched him on the arm. He winced and shifted in his seat with all the embarrassment of a boy on the cusp of manhood who’d been properly chastised before a series of observers.
“Henry Richard Falston, 6th Earl of Stanhope wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?
Harry raised her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I will.” Her throat worked under the force of emotion in his hazel eyes. “There is no one I want but you, Anne,” he added, his voice hoarse.
The vicar cleared his throat, and glared at Harry for daring to add anything to the sacred vows. “Anne Arlette Adamson, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
She blinked back tears. “I’m not crying,” she whispered. But then a blasted drop fell. Followed by another.
“Because you don’t cry,” Harry said solemnly.
Another tear. “Precisely.”
“Anne?”
“Your vows,” Benedict shouted from his seat. The family frowned at the boy and he shifted. “I was merely reminding her,” he mumbled and slouched lower in his chair.
Anne’s cheeks warmed and she gave her head a shake. “Er, yes, indeed.” She looked at Harry and held his gaze. “I will. Love you and honor you, and forsake all others,” she amended. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “But you aren’t ever to do anything as horrid as fall sick and leave me. Do you hear me, Harry?”
His lips twitched with what she suspected was mirth. “What of obeying me? Do you intend to obey me, love?”
“We shall see.” She paused. “I’ll most likely be deplorable at the whole obeying business.” A loose golden ringlet fell across her brow.
Harry brushed the strand back. Seriousness replaced the gentle teasing in his eyes. “I will never leave you. Ever.”
The vicar cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve quite addressed the matters of my lord’s health and constancy, may I conclude this service?” There was something faintly beseeching in that question, so Anne took pity on the older, grey-haired gentleman and remained silent through the remainder of the proceedings.
“…by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Just like that, Anne Arlette Adamson became the Countess of Stanhope.
“Just lovely, absolutely beautiful!” Lady Essex cried.
Anne’s mother seethed in silence, a clear indication of just how beautiful she saw this particular day. A pang of regret struck. Her mother would never accept the love Anne had for Harry.
“I imagine the wedding breakfast prepared by your mother should be quite enjoyable,” he drawled close to her ear.
Father’s betrayal, however belonged to her past. Anne smiled at Harry—her husband. He was her future. “Indeed, it should.”
As Harry gathered with the loquacious, excited lot that was Anne’s family for his and Anne’s wedding breakfast, all his earlier suspicions had indeed proven correct, but certainly not in the manner he’d imagined. Seated beside Anne, listening to her laugh alongside her two sisters and younger brother, the feast really was quite—enjoyable.
“I daresay Lord Essex will brag about the brilliance of his gardens that brought a couple to wed in his conservatory for the remainder of his days,” Aldora said on a laugh.
Anne smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “He’ll certainly never imagine it was something as shocking as—”
The countess’ eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Anne,” she snapped.
Anne’s grin widened. “Harry’s love of the exotic hibiscus.”
The three Adamson ladies dissolved into a fit of laughter.
Benedict scratched his brow. “What is it?” He looked to his new brother-in-law. “I say, do you have a thing for Lord Essex’s flowers? I’ve never known a gentleman to love gardening.”
Harry inclined his head. “I have a love of all things magnificent.” He winked. “Particularly your sister.”
The young boy groaned and slapped his hands over his ears to drown out any other possible words.
Harry chuckled and slipped his hand under the table to find Anne’s fingers. He took them in his and gave a faint squeeze. She looked at him and solemnity drove back his earlier teasing. The chatter of her siblings blurred with the conversation between Lord Michael and the Duke of Bainbridge. He ran a searching gaze over her face. Had there been a time when he’d truly not found her beautiful? There was no one more glorious than his wife.
“What is it?” She dabbed her napkin against her mouth. “Is—?”
He fished around the front of his jacket and withdrew a long, narrow box. “Here,” he said quietly. Anne dropped the crisp linen and accepted the gift. She looked to him questioningly. “Go on,” he urged.
Anne slipped off the top of the box and then gasped. She looked from the necklace within and then back to him. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. She gently removed the gold strand and ran the tip of her finger over the five-carat ruby heart.
Harry took it from her fingers. “May I?” he murmured.
She angled her head, in response. He appreciated the long, graceful stretch of her neck and brushed his fingers caressingly over the tempting silken, softness of her skin. “I imagined you’d no longer have need of the heart of a duke necklace, and thought to replace it with the heart of your earl.” He clicked the clasp shut. “Just so that some lofty duke doesn’t take it into his head to spirit you away from me.”
Anne touched her hand to the blood-red ruby. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “Surely you know no one could take me from you.”
He tweaked her nose. “With the exception of your cousin, the loathsome Bertie Ekstrom, who nearly succeeded?”
She pointed her eyes toward the ceiling. “Well, but for horrid, Mr. Ekstrom, I’m only yours.”
“What’s he given her?” Benedict shouted and leaned over, squinting. It would appear another Adamson sibling was in need of spectacles. The boy wrinkled his nose. “I’ll never understand a lady’s fascination with jewelry.”
Lord Michael Knightly cuffed the boy under the chin. “Some day you will, Benedict.”
Lady Aldora glared up at her husband. “I never had need of a jewelry.”
“Nor I!” Katherine intoned, with equal indignation. She looked to Bainbridge, a challenge in her brown eyes. Her husband, the duke had sense enough to say nothing on the matter.
Harry inclined his head. “I imagine each of you had need of some jewelry.”
The Adamson sisters’ three furious stares swung toward Harry.
He gestured to the collection of gentlemen seated about the table. “Why, if there had been no certain pendant, I don’t imagine there would have been a Lord Knightly.” He looked to Bainbridge, who he’d entered into a truce of sorts with. “And Katherine would have no Bainbridge.”
“And I would not have you,” Anne said quietly as Harry’s pronouncement spurred some level of debate amongst the table of individuals who clearly held all manner of different opinions on the hear
t of a duke necklace.
Harry returned his attention to his new wife. “Ahh, there you are wrong, Anne.” He brushed his lips over hers. “You always had me. Just as you always will.”
Anne’s throat moved up and down and from across the table, the ladies present released a collective sigh. He looked momentarily at his recent mother-in-law and detected the softness in her usually bitter eyes. She eyed Anne seated alongside him, and a wistful smile played about her lips, lending the first real warmth he could remember in the usually cold woman.
As though feeling his attention on her, the countess stiffened. She squared her shoulders and met Harry’s gaze. They looked at one another a moment. He, the man who’d been determined to have her daughter at any cost, she the mother who’d have rather wed Anne off to a horrid, lecherous second cousin. Something passed between them. She nodded her head once, and then shifted her attention to the babe on Katherine’s lap.
“Do you have any regrets, Harry?” Anne’s soft question pulled him back to his new bride.
He leaned closed. “I do.” She stiffened. Harry placed his lips close to her ear. “I regret that this meal is not over so I can have you alone.”
Anne lowered her voice. “Then you are not alone in those regrets, my lord.” She winked.
He fought back a groan. And suddenly what had once been a rather enjoyable breakfast meal became an interminable affair.
Chapter 26
Later that evening, at last free of her family and ensconced in her new home Anne giggled. She stuck her arms out, searching for purchase from behind the blindfold her husband had placed over her eyes. “Is this another one of your lessons on seduction, Harry?” She laughed again as he guided her by the forearm.
“Hush, love,” he scolded. “There are no more lessons.” He paused. “Well, perhaps there are some additional lessons, but none of which pertain to you learning to seduce another man.”
“As if I would ever want another…ouch…” She grunted as he steered her into some piece of furniture or another. Her hip struck a solid piece of…well, something. “You are quite a horrid guide.”
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