“Him!”
“George!
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Dash it, I don’t understand anything anym?—”
“Order!” Sebastian’s voice cut cleanly through the room, and every head turned toward him.
He drew himself up, hands clasped behind his back. “Let us proceed with order. The facts before us are these.” He began to pace. “First, the bridegroom is George. I am not George. This point, I trust, is not in dispute.” His gaze sought Viola’s. She nodded emphatically. “Second, George is presently on the Peninsula, some eight hundred miles from here. Correct?” Once more Viola nodded. “Third, our grandmother wishes to see a wedding.”
“I do. Indeed, I do!” Nana interjected.
“Fourth, time is unfortunately against us. Are we, thus far, in agreement?” He paused, letting each point settle.
“You appear to be correct, my boy. It is somewhat of a dilemma.” Uncle Atti wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “What are we to do? How are we to get George here so quickly? It is impossible.”
“We are left with a single course of action. I move that we proceed withmatrimonium per procurationem.” Sebastian paused and surveyed the room. “All those in favour say aye.”
Silence.
Uncle Atti blinked. “Aye?”
Nana waved her approval.
“The ayes have it,” Sebastian said crisply.
“Good. Get on with it, then,” Nana groaned from the depths of her pillows.
Viola stared at him. “Wait. What just happened?”
“We just voted on how to proceed, and we agreed that the only way to move forward is throughmatrimonium per procurationem,” Uncle Atti explained as he rose. For him, the matter was settled.
“What does that even mean?”
“A marriage by proxy, of course.” Turning to Sebastian, he added, “A brilliant notion. I don’t know why I did not think of that myself. Well done, my boy. Well done. You will go far.”
“But how does that work, a wedding by proxy?” demanded Viola. Since no one was listening, and Rawlinson was hovering by the door, whence he had observed the entire interlude, she posed the question to him.
“I wouldn’t know for certain, my lady,” he shrugged. “But it sounds like someone else would stand in for the bridegroom.”
“Who?” demanded Viola. “Like anyone? For example, you?”
“Heavens, no, my lady. I’m merely here to inquire whether you would like some tea.” He retreated with a panicked expression.
“Leave the tea.” Uncle Atti now resumed control of the situation. “We’ll need you as a witness. You and you—” He beckoned the footman and the maid to enter. “And fetch another person as well. We need two official witnesses, but the more there are, the better.”
“Who do you have in mind, Your Grace?”
“Anyone will do, really.” He waved a hand.
Rawlinson disappeared and returned with a maid and Hawkins, his valet. “The witnesses, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. Stand here.” Uncle Atti pointed to the right of the bed. “And you, you are the bride, am I correct?” He extended his hand toward Viola. “What is your name again, child?”
“Lady Viola Leigh, Your Grace.”
