Page 68 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“I’ll try some as soon as you are well enough to drink with me, Kinellan.” Matthew rose. “Wouldn’t want to drink alone.” He grasped Gareth’s arm and squeezed. “I’ll see you later, downstairs.”

Avoiding looking in Jane’s direction, Matthew stalked out of the chamber, faster than his normal pace.

“So what have you been doing all day, my love?” He drew her hand to his hot, cracked lips for a kiss.

Jane sat in the chair Matthew had just vacated and smiled into the beloved face. Since this morning it seemed thinner, his cheeks redder, his eyes sunk back in their sockets. Still the face of the man she loved, heart and soul, though the heart seemed ready to burst in two. Summoning her courage, she clasped the hot hand and rubbed it gently. “I have been busy, love. You set me almost an impossible task, to prepare for a wedding in a matter of hours. But I demanded the help of the Widows’ Club . . .” Jane faltered but continued on. “I mean the Happy Ever After Club. We changed the name once you and I decided to wed . . . because we will all now be happy forever.”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

She could not bear this, bear to lose him. A sob tore out of her throat. “Gareth, you must try—”

“Hush, love,” he said gently. “Tell me what you and your friends have planned for our wedding.”

She must do this, for him. “Charlotte and Elizabeth went out into the garden and I believe stripped every bloom in sight. They are arranging them around the room. With a bouquet for me to carry as well.”

“You will be the most beautiful bride imaginable.” His eyes shone as they rested on her constantly, as though he could not get enough of the sight of her.

“Georgie is practicing some special music. St. Just and Brack have moved the piano into the drawing room, so we can all enjoy it.” She wanted to continue babbling on, a stream of mindless information so she would not have to stop, to think about what was happening to him. To both of them, really. Weren’t husband and wife supposed to be of one flesh? So whatever befell one, in some way, befell the other as well.

“Jane?”

“And Fanny and Maria are conferring with Cook about the wedding breakfast,” she rushed on, anything to stop him from speaking about . . . this. “Although it’s actually a wedding dinner since it is happening at dinnertime.”

“Jane.”

She bit her lip and looked at him.

The kind eyes were kind still, despite the redness and their sunken appearance. “My love, sit here.” He took both her hands. “You will survive this.”

“You mean marriage to you, Kinellan?” Her voice was too shrill, but she had to shy away from what they were really talking about. “I think it will be a challenge, but I’ve weathered greater storms than you.”

“And you will weather this one as well, my love.” With his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her, she could pretend no more.

“Oh, Gareth, no. I cannot weather this. Anything but this.” Sobs overtook her and she laid her head facedown on the bed and wept.

Resting his hand on her head, he stroked her hair lightly, as though she were made of butterfly wings. His touch soothed her, calmed her heart, and at last, her tears spent, she raised her face to his. “You cannot leave me, Gareth.”

“I solemnly promise to try my hardest to stay with you, love. There is nothing in this world I want more. Some things, however, are simply not possible, no matter how much we wish for them.” He rubbed his thumb against her hand, the smallest touch imaginable, as though he could muster strength for nothing more. “No matter what, we will be husband and wife, even if only for a short while.” He smiled lovingly at her and Jane’s heart broke. “And for however long that may be, it will be enough.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

To have been so hastily put together, Jane’s wedding could not have gone smoother. They all assembled in the big drawing room where Gareth’s guests usually met prior to dinner, save now, in addition to the elegant blue and gold décor, myriad flowers graced every surface until the room took on the look of some fantastical bower from Shakespeare. Charlotte and Elizabeth must have been true to their words and stripped the garden bare, for the room was redolent with rose, peony, sweet William, lilac, and columbine.

Mr. Ross had taken his place before the fireplace and a chair had been moved before him, where Gareth sat, his face pale from the journey from his chamber but smiling nevertheless. Jane stood beside him, a sweet bouquet of pinks and daisies grasped in her hand. She’d worn a blue gown, sprigged with tiny white flowers because blue was Gareth’s favorite color and she wanted above all to please him today. Fanny and Matthew had agreed to be witnesses, so once the little group had gathered they stood together with Jane and Gareth, and Mr. Ross began the brief ceremony that made Jane a widow no more.

She scarcely glanced at the minister the whole time, her attention solely on Gareth. His color was still hectic, his breathing a little labored, but he too ignored Mr. Ross and gazed at Jane, so much love and longing in his eyes she feared she would weep. She wanted desperately to hold on to every moment, each one so precious as they might be their last, but time continued on, as was inevitable.

As they spoke their vows, the words so similar to those they had spoken at their handfasting, Jane experienced a sense of the two ceremonies overlapping in time. Gareth slipped a wide gold ring on her finger, and they were pronounced man and wife.

Georgie began to play the piano and suddenly they were engulfed by their friends, each one hugging Jane then shaking or squeezing Gareth’s hand. Mr. Ross presented the register, which Jane signed, then handed the pen to Gareth. His hand shook as he gripped it, but he signed and handed it back and looked up at her.

“I know it’s not the thing to do at a ton wedding, but I would like to kiss my bride, if I may.”

Barely able to hold back tears, Jane stooped, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him, lingering to commit every second to memory. His lips were fever cracked and rough, but she gently urged them apart so her tongue could taste him once more.

He gave a soft moan, then drew back, breathing heavily. “You are more delicious every time I kiss you, love,” he whispered, then sagged in the chair.

Aware his strength was flagging, Jane rose. “I think this has been quite enough excitement for you for one day, my dear. Matthew, Nash, can you please take my husband back to his bed.” She patted Gareth’s arm. “I will see you there shortly, husband.”