by Nina Mason
As he stared at her, awestruck by her beauty, she came up to him and modeled her costume. “Well … will it do?”
He blinked at her in confusion. “Will it do what?”
She smirked at him. “Will it do for the ball?”
“Oh,” he said, finally catching on. “Yes, of course. You’ve exceeded all my expectations.”
“Good,” she said with a smile that was as triumphant as it was radiant. “Because that was my goal.”
Christian was too enthralled to devise a clever come-back, so he did what his instincts told him to do. He went down on one knee and looked up at her, his heart overflowing with love and admiration. He had no care that all their friends and family were gathered around them. In fact, that only made the moment more perfect.
“My dear Georgianna. I am in awe of you. Not just at this moment, but in every moment, by your beauty, courage, spirit, and intellect. You have pierced my soul and stolen my heart. I could no sooner live without you than the air I breathe. If you will do me the honor—nay, the great mercy—of becoming my wife, I vow to endeavor to be worthy of you and your love for all the rest of my days.”
She, of course, accepted him without hesitation and, with his ring on her finger, they danced together at the Twelfth Night Ball more often than was strictly proper, even for a couple newly engaged. They did not find the bean and pea (those honors went to Winnie and Benedict), but they did win the award for the best couple’s costumes. And, when they stood before all the company to accept their trophy, Christian took the opportunity to announce their forthcoming nuptials to the betters of Much Wenlock society.
In making their plans known, Christian saw disappointment on only one face in the crowd: Edmund Goddard’s. Loathe to understand why the vicar should be adversely affected by such happy news, Christian attributed his reaction to disinterested envy. Clearly, the gentleman wished to be married himself, he decided—and judging by the interest shown him by Georgie’s two younger sisters (whose attentions, oddly, appeared almost to be rivalry), the cleric would not have to wait overlong to take a wife of his own.
They were married three weeks later in Holy Trinity, before a crowd of well-wishers that included Christian’s father, who stayed on at Greystone to witness his eldest son’s nuptials (as well as to woo the bride’s mother).
That night, after making love, the newlyweds lay in each other’s arms, congratulating themselves on their success and making plans for their future together. “Next Christmas, let us invite everyone to Wingfield for an extended house party,” Christian said softly to his bride. “What do you say to that idea?”
“I say a resounding yes.”
“Good,” he said, holding her tighter. “And I have already selected the play we shall do.”
“Not Romeo and Juliet, I hope.”
“Heaven forbid,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Though the one I have selected is by the same author.”
“May I guess?”
“By all means.”
“Twelfth Night?”
“Try again.”
She took a moment to consider. “The Tempest?”
“Wrong again.”
“I know, Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m sure I must be right this time.”
He fought to suppress a smile. “And yet, you are mistaken.”
“Hamlet?”
“No.”
There was a pause before she said with frustration in her voice, “Oh! There are too many to choose from. Be a dear and give me a hint.”
He thought for a moment before saying, “The title is indicative of our own circumstances.”
“Please tell me it is not Taming of the Shrew.”
He laughed. “Would I dare?”
“Not if you know what is good for you.”
He laughed again. “Care to venture another guess?”
“Is it a comedy or a drama?”
“Neither, technically speaking.”
She made several more wrong guesses before conceding defeat. “I am out of ideas and grow weary of the game.”
“In that case, I shall tell you—and watch you laugh at how obvious was the answer. The play, my darling, is All’s Well that Ends Well.”
Georgie got quiet before drolly remarking, “And you, I suppose, will claim the role of Count Bertram, the great war hero and seducer of virgins.”
He did have the part in mind for himself, but thought better of owning his intentions at present. “All casting is yet to be determined, with one exception. Your youngest sister, from what I’ve observed, is a natural for the part of the predatory heroine, Helena.”
Alarmed, Georgie pushed up on her elbows. “Please tell me Charlotte has not made inappropriate advances toward you!”
“Not toward me, God be thanked,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “But the same cannot be said of any other gentleman in Much Wenlock, including Benedict and Reverend Goddard. My brother, I trust, having all but secured Miss Raynalds as his bride, has better sense than to be taken in by your sister’s coquetry, but I do worry for the poor vicar. When he performed our wedding, I got the distinct impression he longed for the same office to be performed for himself.”
“Did you?”
“Did you not think he seemed out of sorts all during the ceremony?”
There was a prolonged silence before she sighed and said, “At the risk of sounding immodest, I have suspected for some time now that our vicar has been carrying a torch for yours truly. If he seemed out of sorts, I suspect it was not because he is in want of a bride per se, but because he had designs on yours, my love.”
A mixture of jealousy, triumph, and pity bubbled in Christian’s belly. “Oh, dear. Poor man. I had no idea he was pining for you.”
“I gave him no encouragement, I assure you,” she said, kissing him quickly.
“Well, no matter,” he said, running the backs of his fingers down the side of her face. “You are mine now, and he’ll have to come to terms with it. Fortunately, the heart is a very resilient muscle.”
After a moment’s contemplation, Georgie said, “I was thinking my sister Henrietta might make the good vicar a suitable wife—if Charlotte would only get out of the way.”
“My advice to you is to stay out of it,” he cautioned her, for meddling in other people’s affairs always invited trouble. “Things have a way of working out when allowed to take their natural course. Just look at us.”
She laughed. “Had I allowed things between us to take their natural course, you might well be in bed this night with Jinny Stubbs instead of me.”
Fearing she might be right, and having nothing more to add, he rolled toward her and covered her mouth with his. For the heart, he was primed to demonstrate, was not the only resilient organ in the human body.
about the author
Nina Mason is an incurable romantic who strives to write love stories that entertain and edify. Born and raised in Southern California, Ms. Mason lived in Oregon briefly before moving to Georgia, where she lives with her husband and daughter. When she isn’t writing, she meditates, makes dolls, and putters in her garden.
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