"You have gone very far away all of a sudden," he remarked.
Lydia glanced down at the white cotton and lawn which covered her. "I was only thinking that once upon a time, I would have worn silk for an occasion such as this. Some confection possibly of satin and lace which only existed for the purpose of making you desire me. I don't often miss those trappings—gowns and kid gloves and dancing slippers to match every frock—because I know now they were all but stolen. Purchased on credit with no hope of repayment, which is little better than thievery. But there was a pang of regret for those nightgowns with their sheer robes which hid nothing at all. I suppose because I now fully understand their purpose."
"You could be draped head to toe in sackcloth and ash and still be the most desirable woman in the world to me. You haveno need of silks and satins to lure me, but if you want them, then we shall get them for you... You'll need a new wardrobe at any rate. You cannot continue walking about in drab gray and brown, trying to blend into the wall coverings or the floors... well, in every room except the Blue Room."
"Which is still chartreuse," she pointed out with a grin. "Why were no changes made to Hartwell? I know the money became an issue—or the lack of it."
"If I'd wanted the changes, I could have made them," he said. "But I had long ago determined that no changes would be made to Hartwell Hall until you were the one to make them... Because even when you weren't here, in my heart, it was still very much your home."
If there could have been one perfect thing for him to say, it was that. For the first time in more than twelve years, she truly had a home. Not an assigned room nor a borrowed space in a rented house.
"Are we going to be wicked tonight? I do believe you promised me wickedness."
Lydia let out a startled laugh as he rolled over, pinning her to the rug beneath them. But her laughter faded quickly, amusement replaced by something much sharper. The weight of him, the hard press of his body against hers, along with the memory of all that had transpired between them the night before, made her acutely conscious of what their current position signified. And she was beyond ready for that, eager for the feel of his hands on her body and his hardness moving within her.
When he kissed her then, it was no longer just affection. Now that kiss was a prelude to something more, something undeniable. Layers of clothing vanished, stripped away in the coolness of the night air. Flesh to flesh, there was no chill. Everywhere he touched her created heat that spread, diffusingthroughout her until she felt as though she were burning up with it.
And when their bodies were finally joined fully, straining together under the light of the full moon above and the soft golden glow of the lanterns surrounding them, she could do no more than give herself up to the sweet release.
The following morning,as a light rain misted over the fields of lavender not yet harvested, the carriage had set out from Hartwell, just a small distance beyond Yardley Hastings, toward Northampton with two sleepy but well-sated passengers inside it.
Lydia's head rested on his shoulder, one of his arms draped about her and the other covering her hand which rested on his chest. For the nearly two-hour journey, that was how they remained as they both tried to reclaim the sleep which had been forfeit the night before.
As they entered Northampton, the dirt road gradually transitioned to stone and the noise of the busy market town invaded the carriage, audible even above the clomping of hooves and rattle of wheels. It was that which awakened him. Instantly he was aware of their proximity to the church, to the fate that had been delayed for far too long. Oliver looked down at Lydia, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She was more beautiful at thirty than she had been at eighteen. More complete. Life, as hard as it had been, had not made her brittle. It had made her strong, and that shone through, even at rest. Loath to do so, but knowing it was necessary, he awakened her gently.
"We're nearly there," he told her.
Lydia sat up, stretching as she did so. "We slept the entire way?"
"Very nearly," he said with a smile. "We earned our rest."
She blushed. "I suppose we did. Will Gemma be upset that she is not going to see our wedding?"
"We'll bribe her with a puppy and she will be fine. The cleric will undoubtedly be able to provide witnesses. There are many who linger near churches in the early morning hours just for that purpose... Acting as witness to hurried nuptials can bear a fairly generous return for limited effort."
As they neared the church, the carriage slowed perceptibly. When it came to a halt, Oliver disembarked first, then helped Lydia down. The coachman then left, heading to the nearest inn to await them.
Weaving their way through the throng of people gathered outside the church's portico, from street vendors to day laborers, they passed through the heavy mahogany doors and found a young man, well dressed and bespectacled, seated at a small writing table in the vestry.
"May I help you?" he asked in a surprisingly imperious fashion for such a non-assuming appearance.
"I am Lord Hartwell," Oliver said, happy to have a title to throw around for a change. "We have come to obtain a common license and be married. This morning."
The clerk glanced at the clock. "My lord, it is nearly ten a.m."
"I'm prepared to make a sizable donation to the church to atone for any inconvenience our haste may require," Oliver answered.
That got the clerk's attention very quickly. "Indeed, my lord. I am certain we will be able to accommodate you and your bride. Please take a seat in the nearest pew and I will see if the curate is available."
They moved deeper into the church, surrounded by heavily carved wood that had darkened with age. Moments later, the clerk returned.
"Please do come with me."
Following on his heels, they were shown into the curate's office. Oaths were undertaken, avowals of eligibility were made. Coins were slid across the wooden surface of the desk, and then Oliver was given the freshly signed license.
At that point, the parish clerk whispered in the curate's ear and the man's bushy brows shot up.
"Now? You wish to be married now?"
