Page 62 of Sinfully Daring

Montagu nodded, unperturbed. “Of course. Let’s see, it’s six thirty now. Give me until eight o'clock and everything will be in place. Matilda, my love, I believe I require your assistance.”

Matilda leapt up to follow him, her face alight with pleasure. “How exciting. Oh, I do love weddings.”

There were no two ways about it: marrying again just five days after his wife had died—or been killed—was utterly beyond the pale. It was scandalous and wicked, and Sebastian was drowning in an excess of emotion. Guilt churned in his guts, but the overwhelming rightness of this moment battled it down. Rosamund’s hand was in his, and she was staring up at him as she recited her vows, her gaze so solemn that he knew without question she meant to honour the words.

For Sebastian speaking the sacred words again ought perhaps to have terrified him. Once again, he was rushing into marriage with a woman he had not known for very long, yet everything was different. He was old enough to know his own mind, old enough to be a far better judge of character, and his heart was in no doubt at all that he would never live to regret this decision. Rosamund was a part of him, was so familiar to him that he finally understood what people meant when they spoke of their other half. It was as if she was woven into the fabric of his soul. He had realised she’d been missing from his life the moment he’d first seen her. He'd been a clumsy oaf and thrown champagne over her, but it had been the shock of recognition that had hit him, and that moment still lingered in his mind, like being struck by lightning. Sebastian had not allowed himself to dwell on it and had pushed the knowledge way down in the dark recesses of his mind. Knowing he could fall in love with her in the blink of an eye was one thing, but allowing his feelings to follow where they wanted to was quite another. But now he had been set free. Poor, unhappy Adelia had paid a terrible price for his freedom, but as much as he wished that were not so, he could not find it in himself to regret the opportunity it had given him: an opportunity he would not let slip from his grasp. He knew he must live with the guilt he felt for a long time, but he would not let Rosamund go and lose his one chance for happiness. Not for any price.

Somehow, Lady Matilda had worked a miracle. The chapel had been decked with flowers, making it feel beautiful and intimate, instead of the hasty, scandal-driven affair most would view it as. Rosamund also carried a bouquet of white and yellow roses: white for purity and innocence, and yellow for friendship. The thoughtful gesture touched Sebastian deeply, for above all she was still his friend and, though he longed for more, he did not wish to lose the connection that had brought them together.

The minister, who must have been well-acquainted with the gossip circling society and had been giving Sebastian dark looks through the entire service, lingered for an uncomfortably long moment to ensure no one had any objections to the marriage. To Sebastian’s relief, and to the minister’s obvious disappointment, no one spoke up. Despite his obvious misgivings, the fellow finally pronounced them man and wife, and Rosamund smiled. It lit up her face, lit the little chapel brighter than the lamps that were chasing away the darkening skies as night fell, and lit up his heart like a beacon guiding him home.

Sebastian bent and kissed her, a chaste brush of lips so as not to scandalise the minister any more than they already had, but he heard Rosamund’s swift intake of breath, and longed to be alone with her. The small congregation comprising Lord and Lady Montagu, their daughter Cat, Miss Agatha, and the Bedwin clan, gave a little cheer of glee. Everyone bustled forward to congratulate them before bearing them back to the grand house where a lavish dinner had been prepared to help celebrate their nuptials.

Before they went in for dinner, Montagu drew Sebastian aside.

“I’ve had the Dower House prepared for you, and had yours and Lady Rosamund’s belongings taken there. I beg you will forgive my presumptuousness, but I rather suspected you’d prefer not to spend your wedding night under the same roof as her father.”

Sebastian let out a breath and hoped Montagu could see how grateful he was. “My lord, you have been everything that is kind and honourable, but for all you have done today, for Lady Rosamund and myself, I shall never be able to repay you.”

Montagu shrugged, his silver eyes glinting. “Oh, well. You never know about that,” he replied, reminding Sebastian that Montagu was not known as the most powerful man of the ton for nothing. “But either way, I was glad to help. My lady and I are very fond of Rosamund, we wish for her to be happy. So long as you continue to make her happy, I shall consider that repayment enough.”

Sebastian could not fail to hear the implicit threat in the words, one which it had not surprised him to hear from the duke too, shortly before they’d spoken their vows.

“I have every intention of doing so, I assure you,” he replied, noting with relief the amusement in Montagu’s expression.

“I know, and so does the duke, which is the only reason Bedwin let it happen. Good luck to you, Hargreaves. I know what it is to cause a scandal by marriage. I hope you have a robust constitution. You will surely need it.”

With these encouraging words, Montagu let him go into dinner.

Sebastian endured the next two hours in a tumult of anticipation. He tried to do justice to the excellent meal provided but the knowledge that Rosamund was his wife now consumed him so completely he could have been eating stale bread for all the attention he paid the food.

Finally, dinner was over, and he guided a blushing Rosamund out to the waiting carriage, which would take them the short distance to the Dower House. Once they had bade everyone farewell and the carriage door closed on them, the night became still and silent, the only sounds the horses' hooves and the turn of the carriage wheels.

“No regrets,” he asked softly, trying to make out her face in the shadowy interior of the carriage.

“Not so far,” she replied, and he heard the smile in her voice.

“Well, that’s a relief.” He reached out and took her hand. “We’re still friends, Rosamund. I hope, as your husband, I can be far more than that to you, but I want you to know you can trust me. I would never hurt you, never betray you by word or deed. I swear it.”

Rosamund shifted closer on the seat, leaning into him. “I know that, and I do trust you. How could I not? I have seen you act with honour and dignity despite the worst kind of provocation, but I can promise you I mean to honour my vows, too. You need never doubt me.”

Silence fell between them again, and Sebastian racked his brain for a way to put her at ease. They had never been uncomfortable with each other before, but… well, this was a rather unique situation.

Sebastian was uncertain if the Dower House appeared too soon or not quickly enough. It was hard enough to speak what was in his heart in the dark confines of the carriage. Once in the brightly lit Dower House, he felt a certain restraint fall over them as the strangeness of what was happening came rushing in upon them. The housekeeper was a friendly but brisk woman of middling years who showed them to their room, told them baths were being prepared and would be ready momentarily, and left them alone in the luxurious confines of their bedroom. Rosamund glanced at the bed and quickly away again, her fingers knotted tightly together.

“Do you remember what I said?” he asked, watching her as she inspected the paintings on the bedroom wall.

“I do.” She nodded, not looking at him and concentrating instead on tugging her gloves off, one finger at a time. “You said I could wait if… if I wished to.”

“I meant it when I said I would not rush you, not when everything has happened so quickly and in such a way. I want to make you happy, Rosamund, not to cause you a moment’s disquiet. We may have married quickly, but there is no need for everything else to follow suit.”

She nodded, still not looking at him.

Sebastian waited, studying her as she moved about the room, touching the heavy brocade curtains and inspecting the selection of novels displayed on top of an elegant chest of drawers.

“And… And if I don’t want to wait?”

Sebastian’s breath caught, hardly daring to believe he had heard correctly.