She drew a breath and let it out slowly. The air smelled of salt and stone.
The idea struck like a bell, too loud for the silence.
Mrs. Bainbridge’s voice cut across it. “I can see the appeal,” she said, tilting her head as she examined the carved altar. “It’s private, it’s dignified, and it doesn’t smell of mildew. What more could a bride want?”
“An aisle long enough to make my mother feel important,” Barrington muttered, stepping past a half-rotted pew.
Leticia stifled a smile.
Mrs. Bainbridge turned to him, one brow arching with wry precision. “We’ll give her a good seat. Front and center.”
“She wants a choir. And a trumpeter,” he said, not facing her.
“She can bring them. I’ll be the one walking down the aisle.”
Barrington said nothing, though his expression suggested retreat.
Behind them, Kenworth entered, bearing a leather folio so stuffed it looked ready to burst. “Latest update on the guest list, sir. There’ve been twelve additions and four subtractions. Your mother decided the cousins from Surrey ought not be overlooked. Again.”
“How many cousins are there in Surrey?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked.
“No one knows,” Kenworth said grimly. “They breed in pairs and travel in battalions.”
Leticia laughed, startled by the ease of it, delighted by the sudden lift in mood. The sound rang too brightly in the chapel’s hush, but it felt welcome all the same.
Mrs. Bainbridge glanced at her and grinned. “You see? Even Lady Salisbury agrees.”
“Only because I fear I may be seated beside one,” Leticia said, glancing at Barrington, who was trying not to smile and losing.
“You’ll be seated with the wedding party,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “Ifyour intended hasn’t scared you off by then.”
The warmth rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “I doubt he’s easily rid of.”
From the other side of the chapel, the man himself appeared, brushing dust from his coat sleeve as he ducked beneath a leaning arch. His cravat slightly askew. Sunlight lit the curve of his jaw.
She hadn’t expected to see him. Not so soon. Not here. And certainly not looking so at ease. Her pulse quickened.
“Rid of what?” Gabriel asked, his tone mild.
“Surrey cousins,” Leticia said smoothly.
Gabriel glanced at Kenworth, who looked deeply affronted. “I assure you, sir. They’re a menace.”
He smiled, but Leticia saw the flicker of something beneath the ease, a quiet intent. He had come for more than banter.
Kenworth cleared his throat with the gravity of a diplomat. “Might I suggest a compromise? A simple fruit sponge. No creams, no custards, and certainly no lemon curd.”
Mrs. Bainbridge made a face. “You’ll upset the lemon growers.”
“We shall write them a letter,” Kenworth replied, utterly serious.
Leticia stepped toward the window again, pausing in the warm shaft of light. Something brushed her skirts, a draft, or a memory. She let her gaze drift back toward Gabriel, who stood with one hand in his coat pocket.
He withdrew something small and folded.
Her breath caught.
Her letter.
