Anna followed Mrs. Pembroke through the servants’ hall toward the back of the house. No candles burned near the windows or unnecessary lamps had been lit. Mrs. Fenwick went to bed early with complaints about her feet, and Elias had been assigned the heroic task of being useless near the front of the house should anyone knock.
When Anna reached the garden door, her knees almost failed her. Nathaniel stood beneath the arbor.
He wore no uniform, of course. She’d seen him in a red coat only once when he first started coming to the house to meet with Captain Whitby. But tonight, he wore a dark coat, worn boots, and a linen cravat tied with care. There was a bruise near his jaw and a bandage around one hand, and his face was tired. Butwhen he saw her, everything in him seemed to quiet, as though he’d come home.
Anna pressed a hand to her middle.
Caleb Avery, the man Mrs. Pembroke told her about, stood beside him, hat in hand. Near the arbor, an older man Anna didn’t know held a small prayer book close to his chest. The reverend, she realized. He looked kind, yet grave, and not especially surprised to be marrying people in a garden under threat of arrest.
Mrs. Pembroke took Anna’s elbow and walked her forward.
Nathaniel waited, never taking his eyes off her. When she reached him, he bowed. Not as a courier or a man performing a role. But as himself. “Miss Turner,” he said softly.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. “Mr. Reed.”
His eyes searched hers. “Are you certain?”
Anna studied him. He was bruised, weary and alive. She thought of all the fear that might still come. All the miles duty might put between them. The thin walls, coded lines, hidden papers, and dangerous men that wouldn’t disappear simply because they spoke vows in a garden.
Anna smiled. “No. But I choose you.”
His breath hitched.
Caleb looked down, a smile on his face, and Mrs. Pembroke made a suspicious sound into her handkerchief.
The reverend opened his prayer book. “Then we shall begin.”
The ceremony was quiet. There were no flowers save the battered ones still clinging to Mrs. Pembroke’s garden. No music but the faint rustle of leaves and the distant sound of wheels passing along the road. No gathered family, feast or church bells.
Only the witnesses, a reverend’s steady voice, and Nathaniel’s hand wrapping around Anna’s in this precious, fragile moment.
“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife,” the reverend asked, “to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”
Nathaniel’s hand tightened around hers. “I will.”
Anna’s heart filled with joy.
The reverend turned to her. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?”
Anna gazed at Nathaniel. All her fear was still there. So was her answer. “I will.”
The vows followed, simple and ancient words spoken by countless men and women in safety and hope and ordinary times. And now by the two of them in a garden while war prowled the roads beyond the gate.
Nathaniel’s voice didn’t falter. Neither did hers.
When the reverend pronounced them man and wife, Anna felt the whole world shift beneath her feet.
Nothing visible changed. The garden remained dark, the roads dangerous. And the British still held the town. Major Ellis would continue to suspect everyone and their cat while Captain Whitby barked orders.
But Anna was no longer waiting for her life to begin after the war. She was Nathaniel’s wife, and he, her husband.
He lifted her hand, bowed over it, and this time, kissed it.
Anna closed her eyes. The kiss was brief. Reverent. And enough.
When she opened her eyes, Nathaniel was watching her with such tenderness, she forgot for one foolish heartbeat to be afraid.
Mrs. Pembroke cleared her throat. “Very good. Before the two of you dissolve entirely into sentiment, there is still the matter of the note.”
