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‘Then you’ll marry me.’ There was a note of hesitation in his voice. ‘Say the words, Henri. Say them for me.’
She took a deep breath. Her insides did a dance all of their own. It was exhilarating and made her feel wonderfully alive. Their marriage would not be perfection, but it would be full of passion. ‘We’ll marry. I adore a challenge.’
* * *
The wedding day which seemed to take for ever to arrive, went by in a flash. It did not matter that a steady drizzle came down all that morning, or that St Andrew’s was distinctly cold for a late August morning. All she noticed was how crowded the church was and how many people stood in the church yard as she came in on Doctor Lumley’s arm. Aunt Frances sat in the front pew, wiping her eyes, but Sebastian had long since departed for the Continent, one step ahead of the debt collectors after Robert provided him with money for the passage. To Henri’s great surprise, Sebastian had returned the money once he arrived in Venice with a note about how a gentleman always repaid his debts of honour to other gentlemen.
The coloured light from the stained-glass windows gave the church an enchanted air as Henri stood beside Robert, listening to his deep voice recite his vows. His fingers curled around hers tighter when he promised to worship her with his body. The rest of ceremony went by in a dream Just before they went out into the church yard, when they were in the quiet of the entrance porch, he stopped and turned towards her.
‘Problem?’ she breathed.
‘First this, Mrs Montemorcy,’ he said, bending down to cover her mouth in a heart-stopping kiss. Slow, sweet and a seductive promise of what the night would hold.
When he lifted his head, she struggled to take a breath. ‘And that was for.?’
‘To remind you of all you have been missing during this inordinately long engagement of ours.’
‘You were the one who refused to elope,’ Henri reminded him with a smile.
‘The village would never have forgiven me. Everyone has contributed to this wedding.’ He gave a mock sigh. ‘There is a problem, though.’
‘Problem? What sort of problem?’ Henri tried to crane around him. In the build up to the wedding, what had she missed? She had wanted a perfect day…no, she admitted, she had wanted Robert and that the rest didn’t matter.
‘Teasdale, Melanie Crozier and Miss Armstrong have nearly come to blows. Each is claiming responsibility for the match.’
Henri shook her head. They were all mistaken. ‘Let them if it makes them feel better. All I know is that I am devotedly glad that the match did happen. But this matchmaking is becoming infectious.’
Henri tucked her hand in the crook of her husband’s arm and prepared to go out in the special light of a Northumbrian August morning. The rain had stopped, and the entire world appeared festooned in diamond-studded sunlight.
And she knew that it didn’t matter that the flower arrangements were lopsided, that Miss Armstrong had burst into noisy sobs during the last hymn or that Lady Winship’s pugs had suddenly burst free of their mistress and were now tumbling about her skirts, making it difficult to walk. The perfection of the day was in her husband’s smile, the way his hand felt against her back and the love and joy that surrounded her. Perfection came not from outward things, but from within. It came from loving and being loved and she knew that the day would live in her memory as one of the most perfect ever.
‘I love you, Robert, my dearest friend,’ she whispered.
‘And I love you, Henri.’ He kissed her again to the obvious delight of the crowd.
