Page 66 of Just a Little Daring

August shrugged. “Well, longer than you did, at least. I tried to fight it, but there was no use. She decided she must have me and there was no gainsaying her.”

“Well, just think of it. The four of us, married and respectable,” Dare said, grinning broadly.

“Well, married, anyway,” Raphe added with a smirk.

“Speak for yourself. I’m respectable,” Bainbridge retorted, folding his arms and looking indignant. Frowning across the expanse of chairs to where people were taking their places, he made the entire room jump by bellowing at his father. “Pa! Pa! Your grace! Down here, you daft beggar. Bella! Bella, sort him out, love.”

Bella sent her husband a look of fond exasperation and guided the Duke of Axton to his place where a footstool had been put out to accommodate his gouty foot.

August, Dare and Raphe exchanged glances of delighted amusement but held their tongues.

“August.”

August turned to see Viv’s twin regarding him. He was ridiculously handsome, all deep golden skin and black hair gleaming like a crow’s wing, and for once his waistcoat was the height of elegance but otherwise quite unremarkable. Today it was white, with subtle gold embroidery, for August knew he would do nothing to upstage his sister on her special day.

“Ashton,” August said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

“I’m not losing a sister, but gaining a brother. That’s what Viv tells me,” Ash said, smiling warmly at him. “I hope you feel you are gaining a brother, too. We don’t know each other well, but you seem a decent fellow. Don’t prove me wrong on that, will you? I would hate to have to kill you.”

“I’ll take good care of her. I swear it,” August said, recognising the anxiety behind the man’s words. “If I do anything less than make her exceedingly happy, you have my permission to plant me a facer.”

“Oh, I shall,” he replied with the utmost seriousness. Then his mouth quirked in a wry smile. “She’s head over ears for you, and Viv’s no fool. I know you’ll be happy.”

“I love her,” August said simply. “And the invitation to come and stay for the summer was a genuine one. It’s a big enough house for everyone to have their space, and I’ll do my best to keep Gwen from importuning you.”

Ash laughed. “Thank you. I appreciate that, and I shall be glad to come for a visit. He went to turn away, but August put a hand on his arm.

“Wait. Viv asked me to give you this.” August reached into his pocket and withdrew a neatly folded white handkerchief. “She seemed to think you’d need it.”

Ash flushed as the other fellows chuckled and gave a huff of indignation. “Well, she’s not wrong,” he grumbled, and snatched the handkerchief before stalking off.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room, and everyone settled down.

“Here we go,” Bainbridge said, ushering August into place and then taking a moment to look him over, adjust his cravat and smooth his lapels. Nodding, apparently satisfied that August passed muster, he patted his own pocket. “Damn, the ring. Hell. Bella! The ring. In your reticule, love. The ring!”

There was a moment of frantic rustling as Bella fished for the small box, withdrew the ring, and handed it to Bainbridge.

“I told you to take it earlier,” she protested under her breath, blushing as everyone watched the exchange.

“Didn’t want to lose it,” Bainbridge groused, hurrying back to stand beside August and ignoring a glare of outrage from the minister. “Right ho. Ready now,” he yelled down the aisle as the congregation snorted and giggled with amusement and Dare and Raphe laughed themselves sick.

August laughed too, discovering he was delighted to see the smiling faces of the people he cared about. His dreadful family, his ridiculous friends, and… his beautiful bride.

Vivien appeared and stole his breath, his wits, and every last piece of his heart.

Her gown was red, though so heavily embroidered the red was barely visible. This gown had been a gift from her mother, a part of her trousseau, and was quite literally worth its weight in gold embroidery. Viv had told him the traditional Indian embroidery, or zardozi, was made with thread wrapped in gold and then twisted into tiny spirals and tacked into place. The spring sunshine flooded in through the windows and Vivien sparkled like the jewel she was. The light caught the fine precious metal and the stunning traditional jewellery that her mother had given her to begin her married life, and glittered and twinkled as she moved. Vivien said her grandmother had guarded the jewellery with her life when she had fled India, and had refused to sell a single piece of it, even when times were hard. Instead, she had worked her fingers to the bone to provide for Aashini, until Silas Cavendish had come along and helped her take her rightful place in the world. The pride of that history, pride of her heritage and in the women whose blood ran in her veins, shone from Vivien with such joy that August’s throat felt tight. She was stunning.

At last she stood beside him, and the minister began the service, though August barely took in the words, too dazed by the glorious creature beside him. When finally it was time to speak their vows, it took a sharp elbow from Bainbridge before he snapped out of his reverie.

“Wake up, dolt. This is the important bit,” Bainbridge hissed, in an undertone that could be heard all around the room going on the subsequent snickering.

Finally it was done, and August leaned in to kiss his bride. It was a chaste kiss, barely more than a touch of lips, but filled with all the promises they had just spoken to each other.

All at once everyone was on their feet and crowding about, congratulating the happy couple. August turned to see Bainbridge surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve, only to have Ash thrust a handkerchief under his nose. “Lucky for you, I brought a spare,” he said, smirking, though his eyes were glinting just as brightly.

Vivien laughed and embraced her brother tightly. “I’m so happy!” she squealed, making everyone laugh, and August’s heart felt as if it could soar like a hot-air balloon.

Sylvester regarded Lady Aisling as everyone began taking their places for the wedding breakfast. She had lingered in a corner, waiting until last as usual, and he barely resisted the urge to reach up and touch her perfectly arranged hair. It was dramatically dark, almost black, and he suspected if let free it would curl dramatically about her delicate face. Lord, but he wanted to see that. There was something in him that longed to put her all in disorder, to needle her until that meek little façade fell away and the real Aisling showed her true colours. She did not look at him but must have noticed him watching, for her sweet rose petal mouth tightened, settling into something mutinous.