Page 78 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

They flew apart with a startled exclamation, only to turn and find Cilly in the doorway.

She was pink-cheeked and smiling with bashful amusement. “I’m so sorry, but Grandmama insisted,” she said apologetically.

“That’s all right,” Hetty said, getting to her feet and running to her sister, shrieking as she went, “We’re getting married!”

Cilly laughed and embraced her fondly. “Yes, love, I rather think you are.”

Chapter 18

All The Colours of The Rainbow

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816

To say that the Reverend Honeywell looked smug was to somewhat understate his expression.

Gideon laughed as the fellow shook his hand so heartily that the sleeves of his cassock billowed and flapped.

“Wonderful news, marvellous,” the fellow said, beaming at him. “It is too early for a drink to celebrate?”

“It’s eight in the morning, so I’m afraid so,” Gideon replied, unable to keep the stupid grin from his own face.

The reverend looked a little despondent but rallied as he returned to his seat behind the chaotically untidy desk in his study.

“Ah. A pity, a pity. Still, come back later and bring your lovely bride and we shall open a bottle of something splendid. I have just the thing for such a joyful occasion.”

“And you’re sure there’s no trouble in getting the common licence?”

Honeywell shook his head. “No. Not in the least. As the Dowager Duchess rightly suspected, I am the surrogate and I am well aware you have been resident in the town for some time, so I shall write it out this very moment and put it in your hands. You can be married as soon as you please, though it will be valid for three months.”

Gideon laughed, startled that it was so easy. He was still waiting for the inevitable objection—Oh, but you can’t marry her because—yet so far, there had been none.

Gideon waited patiently as the reverend negotiated the catastrophe that was his desk. Gideon was so happy he didn’t even twitch when the man sent an avalanche of paperwork sliding onto the floor. Instead, he simply bent and gathered them up, replacing them in a perfectly neat pile which seemed to glare reproachfully at the disaster strewn around it.

“There,” the reverend said with evident satisfaction as he liberally applied the pounce pot and covered what remained of the surface of his desk in fine powder.

He handed the paper to Gideon, who carefully folded it and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

Honeywell nodded. “You will forgive an old man for telling you—I told you so—but did I not tell you that being loved by a good woman would change everything?”

Gideon smiled. “You did indeed, sir, but I’m afraid it was not only that. I know I may trust in your discretion, so I shall tell you I recently learned that the woman who I believed to be my mother—well, she isn’t.”

Honeywell studied him with interest. “I see! Well, a relief for you I do not doubt.”

“I feel as though an immense weight has been lifted, if you want the truth,” Gideon admitted. “As though I’ve been living underground for years and now I can see the sun for the first time. It’s… it’s been remarkably liberating.”

Honeywell nodded, but his expression was thoughtful now. “But your brother—”

Gideon shook his head, feeling a stab of guilt, which was senseless as he was not to blame, and yet somehow, he felt responsible for the taint of madness that still burdened Damian.

“Damian is my father’s legitimate heir, and the woman in the asylum is his mother. There is no doubt of that, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting the viscount, for he is astonishingly adept at avoiding me,” Honeywell admitted, eyes glinting. “But I shall run him to ground, never fear.”

Gideon smiled at him. “I do not doubt it, and I pray you succeed. If anyone could use the benefit of your sage advice, it is my brother. But I must warn you, I was easy in comparison. You’ll have your work cut out trying to reform Damian.”

“Oh, but what is life without a little challenge?” Honeywell said, rubbing his hands together gleefully and returning an expression which Gideon could only describe as mischievous.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816