For the first time Elizabeth was happy the wedding would take place at eleven and not at an earlier hour. Geoffrey had argued for eight o’clock, but Lord Richard and his grandmother had objected to being ready before eleven. Naturally, they won. Elizabeth and Geoffrey could not have the wedding without his uncle.
Oriana was ushered into Elizabeth’s bedchamber an hour after the note had been sent by a running footman. “What a surprise this is!” Oriana hugged everyone including Elizabeth. “And such an honor. Bentley visited this morning, and told me about the wedding, but I never expected to be asked to attend you.”
“I do not know how you could have expected it when you’d left Town before Harrington even started courting Elizabeth,” Louisa retorted.
“Very true,” Oriana said, ruefully. “I was not in Town at all long.”
“Everything has happened so quickly.” Once Geoffrey had started to actually court her, it had not taken long at all for her to decide to marry him. “This has become a bit harum-scarum. Although, I do think we shall have a decent number for the wedding breakfast. Lady Markham took my aunt and me to visit all of her friends currently in Town yesterday and asked them to attend.”
The other ladies began to talk, and Dotty pulled Elizabeth aside. “Do you love him and does he love you?”
“I do love him, and I believe he loves me as well. He”—Elizabeth searched for the words—“he has done everything we discussed. At the last ball he glared at every other gentleman, and”—she certainly wasn’t going to tell even Dottyeverything. That was between Geoffrey and Elizabeth—“remained with me throughout the evening. He has not said the words, but he wants to be with me all the time. And he talks to me as if he respects my opinions. Doesn’t that sound like love to you?”
Dotty was silent for several moments before saying, “It does sound like he loves you.”
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. It was too late to change anything now, but having her friend’s reassurance relieved the small part of her heart that was as yet unsure.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Geoff glanced at the clock for the twentieth time in the past five minutes and continued to pace the morning room. Father’s lips, indeed his whole face, were set in grim lines.
“What the devil can be keeping her?” Geoff had done everything he could to ensure this marriage took place. Had something gone wrong? “She should have been here a half hour ago.”
“She certainly does not appear to be a particularly timely lady,” his father grumbled.
“Piffle.” Mama swept into the parlor, her silk skirts swishing with her movement. “Heaven forfend a lady wants to look her best on her wedding day.” She glanced at the burl and gilt mantel clock. “It is only twenty-five minutes to the hour. Richard has not even arrived yet, and your grandmother has not come down.” Mama fisted her hands on her hips. “You absolutely cannot expect your bride to be here a minute before five of the hour.”
That was another twenty minutes, if Elizabeth was not later than that. Refusing to comment, Geoff hunched his shoulders and resumed his circuit around the room.
“I do not recall you being so late,” his father mumbled.
“In that case, you have a very poor memory.” Mama lifted one regal brow. “I kept you waiting for a good fifteen minutes after the appointed time.”
“Fifteen minutes!” Geoff was sure he would never have survived it. He’d have been at her door tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her to the altar.
“I am positive that cannot be correct,” his father said.
“Merciful Heavens.” His grandmother walked into the room followed by his cousin. “Have a glass of wine, but stop making such a fuss. Markham, I remember exactly how disgruntled you were waiting for Catherine. You had called for your horse as if you’d go to her father’s house and fetch her to the church.”
Geoff grinned to himself. At least he wasn’t the only one who would have carried off his lady.
“Harrington, pour me a glass of claret and have one yourself. You are going to wear yourself out at this rate.”
He handed his grandmother a goblet of wine, and said as loftily as he could manage, “I don’t wish to be in my altitudes when I wed.”
“If one glass of wine is going to make you cup-shot you’ve got more problems than you think,” his grandmother said acerbically.
Geoff groaned, poured a glass of wine, and took a sip.
At five to the hour, his uncle, Bentley, and Gavin Turley arrived.
Had Turley come to tell Geoff the wedding was off? Good God! Despite everything they had done, and how happy Elizabeth seemed, he had become obsessed by the fear she would jilt him. “Where is Elizabeth?”
“She was coming down the stairs as I was leaving.” Her brother pointed to Geoff’s glass. “Is that claret?”
“Yes.” He poured glasses for everyone.
The under butler his father brought with him appeared at the door and bowed. “The Duke and Duchess of Rothwell, the Marquis and Marchioness of Kenilworth, and the Marquis and Marchioness of Merton.”
