Page 51 of The Music of Love

Stacy ran a finger down the sweet curve of her jaw, the worry he saw in her eyes making it difficult to swallow; she cared for him, at least a little. Perhaps that feeling would grow?

“You had incredible presence of mind, Portia. I knew that even in my groggy state.”

She squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. “Please never do that again, Mr. Harrington. Next time I shall be forced to present you with a bill for services.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He kissed her hand and they resumed walking. “Tell me, Signora Stefani, what do you charge for making a man scream?”

She laughed and the mood lightened for the remainder of their walk.

Chapter Fourteen

Their wedding day dawned sunny, warm, and lovely. It was too bad Portia started the morning by vomiting into her chamber pot. When she’d finished expelling the meager contents of her stomach she pulled the bell; it would be permissible to have breakfast in her room on her wedding day. After she’d ordered a small breakfast and hot bath she climbed back into bed.

By the time her tray arrived she was actually able to eat the contents. In addition to the toast and tea there was an egg, a small piece of ham, and yet more berries.

Daisy grinned at her. “The master had Cook prepare your tray according to his instructions, ma’am.”

“He will not be satisfied until I am as plump as a pigeon,” Portia grumbled, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

“I’ve heard men don’t mind a curve or two.”

“Daisy!” Portia chastised with a teasing laugh.

Her maid might have been all smiles and giggles about some matters, but about her breakfast she was adamant.

“Now, you make sure you eat your breakfast, ma’am, you have a long day ahead of you.”

Portia gave the food a sour look. “I suppose those are orders.”

“Mr. Harrington only wants what is best for you.”

Portia knew that was true and gave in to Daisy’s well-meaning hectoring, eating every morsel. As a result, she was feeling well enough that she was ready to leave her warm, comfortable bed. After her bath she was so relaxed that she allowed Daisy to dry, dress, and primp her like a doll.

Daisy wouldn’t allow her to look in the mirror until she’d finished and Portia smiled at her reflection. “You’ve done a lovely job with your lump of clay.”

“You look just like an angel, Signora.”

Portia laughed at her maid’s wildly inaccurate words. “Come, come Daisy, you’ll have me weeping and I’d hate to show up to the altar with a swollen nose and red-rimmed eyes.”

When Portia entered the tiny, ancient church a short time later she saw only one person: Stacy. He was so stunning it actually hurt to look at him. He was wearing silk breeches the same ivory as her dress, a wheat-colored coat that hugged his magnificent shoulders, and a waistcoat with tiny embroidered roses that matched those on her gown.

But the most fascinating part of his ensemble were his glasses. Rather than his usual dark blue-black pair, today’s spectacles were rose-tinted glass in delicate gold frames. He was breathtaking. As she came closer she saw the glasses were not opaque and she could see his eyes; he’d worn them just for her. He winked at her and she laughed.

The ceremony passed in a blur and it felt like hardly an instant passed before they were leaving the small church to encounter what must surely be every person in the village.

“I daresay the Lawsons are responsible for this,” Stacy said as they ran through a shower of flower petals to the waiting carriage. He handed her into the open barouche and took a maroon-velvet bag from a nearby footman, flinging handfuls of coins into the air, distracting the crowd before leaping up beside her.

He offered her the bag and she tossed a glittering clutch of coins into the air as the horses surged forward accompanied by an earsplitting din.

Stacy leaned close, having to shout above the racket. “Jewel, Hawkins, and Baker were sneaking around like young boys to do this and I didn’t have the strength to deny them their entertainment.” His warm breath warm tickled her ear and sent a delicious thrill through her body.

He took her hand and raised it to his mouth, his lips hot even through her glove. “Hello, Mrs. Harrington. Did I mention how lovely you look today?”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Is the sun not too bright for those?” She gestured at the rose glasses he still wore, shaded by the brim of his hat.

“I will survive such a brief trip.”

Portia suddenly remembered something. “Drat!”