For the first time in his life, Theo knew what it was to stand in true awe. He had never pictured himself thus: waiting at the altar whilst his bride made her stately progress down the aisle. It was not for want of imagination, nor even his habitual aversion to matrimony, butbecause he had never dared to conceive of contentment, let alone joy – and yet, here she was, approaching him one step at a time. Had he ever dreamt of such a thing, it would have been precisely this: Hetty Tolliver, looking at him in precisely this way.
It struck him then, with all the force of a canon’s volley, that perhaps this was what fools called love – not the tiresome sentiment he scoffed at all his life, but the kind that humbled a man and made him long to be worthier than he was. As she advanced with maddeningly slow steps, Theo found himself rooted to the spot, his heart pounding, for he realised all at once that he was not merely willing to marry Hetty Tolliver, but that he desired nothing more fervently in all the world than to make her his wife until death do them part.
To his own astonishment, his vision clouded. He blinked furiously to recover himself, but not soon enough; for as Hetty reached the altar, her lips parted in soft surprise.
Lord Tolliver paused beside her, for once appearing wholly aware of the gravity of the occasion. He took a breath, adjusted the set of his coat, and regarded Theo at length. “Langley,” he said gravely, “you have been loitering about our household for so long that I daresay I had nearly forgotten you were not, in fact, already one of ours. It is high time, I think, that we set the matter to rights, and make you family.”
Theo inclined his head. “I shall strive to loiter more discreetly in future, sir.”
Lord Tolliver gave a huff of laughter, then turned to his daughter and pressed a paternal kiss upon her cheek. “Hetty, my dear – do try not to shoot him again. Good men are dreadfully difficult to replace.”
Hetty smiled at him. “I shall do my very best, Papa.”
With a nod of satisfaction, Lord Tolliver took her hand and placed it within Theo’s, clasping them both for a wordless moment before stepping back.
At the clearing of a throat, all eyes turned toward the altar, where Reverend Peters lifted his gaze heavenward. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Almighty God – and, it seems, half thetonbesides – to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
As a soft ripple of laughter amongst the pews, quickly subdued, though not before Theo felt Hetty’s gloved fingers tighten about his own. He returned the pressure, his heart lodging uncomfortably in his throat.
“Marriage,” the vicar continued, “is a covenant most solemn, not to be undertaken lightly, but with reverence and due consideration of its sacred responsibilities.”
Theo caught the slight twitch of Hetty’s lips at the phrasedue consideration, which – given the circumstances – was generous at best. He resisted the urge to smile in return.
The vicar turned to him. “Theodore Henry Winslow, Earl of Langley, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, so long as ye both shall live?”
Theo drew a breath, holding Hetty’s gaze. Her eyes were wide, uncertain for just the barest instant. “I will,” he said clearly, loud enough for every person present, and perhaps the whole of London to hear.
The vicar nodded approvingly before turning to Hetty. “Henrietta Anne Tolliver, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, so long as ye both shall live?”
Theo watched her closely, recognising the particular gleam in her eyes – the one that meant mischief was afoot, perhaps a scandal or some other terrible Tolliver trick that would end with him embarrassed or fleeing the church. His pulse quickened despite himself.
After a pause long enough to cause Aunt Belinda to clutch her pearls, Hetty’s lips curved into a smile that was warm and terribly sincere. “I will.”
“And who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Lord Tolliver, who had become momentarily absorbed in the fresco above the altar, gave a slight start. “Eh? Oh – yes, quite. Her mother and I do. Most willingly.”
Reverend Peters inclined his head graciously and proceeded through the service with solemnity, unruffled even when Lady Tolliver sniffed loudly into her handkerchief, or when Nell dropped her hymn book with a crash that resounded down the nave. “The rings?”
Jasper Deverell, startled from some private amusement, fumbled momentarily before producing the simple gold bands from his waistcoat and offering them up with a sheepish smile.
Theo slid the smaller of the two bands onto Hetty’s finger, and she followed suit, a flush blooming across her cheeks as she pressed the ring home upon his.
The vicar offered a smile. “By the authority committed unto me, I pronounce that they be man and wife together. Those whom God hath joined –”
He never reached the end of his sentence, for Hetty – with neither hesitation nor remorse – rose up on her toes and seized Theo’s face between her hands. She kissed him squarely on the mouth, to the scandalised gasp – and then delighted laughter – of their audience. Nell cheered outright before being muffled by Mari’s gloved hand, and the Viscount Tolliver exclaimed “Ha!” so loudly that Aunt Belinda nearly leapt from her seat.
When at last Hetty drew back, pink-cheeked and triumphant, Theo arched a brow. “I believe,” he murmured for her ears alone, “the vicar was on the very cusp of granting us permission.”
Hetty smiled up at him. “I thought it best to establish at once, before witnesses, that I intend to be a most unmanageable wife. And besides, when have we ever been inclined to wait upon permission?”
—♥—
“I still cannot believe you wept,” Hetty declared, tilting her face towards Theo as they stood together amidst the cheerful disarray of the wedding breakfast. “You – of all men. Beneath all that cultivated indifference, you are a dreadful sentimentalist.”
Theo gave a dignified sniff, adjusting his cravat. “My dear, you wound me. Those tears were not born of sentiment, but of despair at my own folly. A wiser man would have taken to his heels before the banns were read.”
“You are a shameless liar, and you cannot deceive me. You blotted your eyes most conspicuously… not once, but twice.”
