Lady Trent (12 page)

She turned to get a look at Marcus whom, with
hands in the pockets of his worn-out trousers, stood leaning in the
doorway. “Don’t you think?” He added.

She turned her attention away from a shirt in
need of tucking, back to the cards. “I can’t see where it matters
the conditions under which a man and woman exchange their
vows.”

“Despite his illness, something you have no
knowledge of…without consulting Edison. Does he approve of
this?”

“You heard him yourself. He wishes it to be
so before the midnight hour.”

“After you had insisted it.” Hands in pockets
he stepped inside. “Why are you doing this?”

She inhaled a very deep breath, becoming very
impatient with him. “I assure you, Sir Marcus, my reasons are
genuine and not at all what you or any other may suppose.”

“And what would that be? What would I or
anyone else possibly suppose?”

Her eyes gradually slanted at him. “I don’t
take kindly to your pernicious accusations, Sir Marcus, or to the
discourteous manner in which you choose to reveal them.”

“Have I said anything to accuse you?”

“You needn’t verbally accuse me, you do so
with your eyes.”

She refocused upon the invitation cards and
began flipping quite harshly thru them, so annoyed she could hardly
think straight or even see the names as she shuffled past them. Had
she ever felt so exasperated by any one person? Certainly, she
supposed, but this differed in that her character was being
questioned…or so it seemed. And her motives—had anyone ever
verbally questioned them? Not at all that she could recall.

Even if Marcus Wren was suspicious of her,
what right had he to so boldly confront her?

Her chest had begun to rise and fall, but she
quickly got hold of her temper, commanding herself to be calm, and
did not speak until she knew for sure her voice would come out at
least somewhat as lenient as she intended it to.

“My reasons are honorable. I suggest you be
honorable yourself and simply do as is required of you. Be the
friend he has claimed you to be, not only to him, but to me as
well. Support him. It is my understanding you will stand alongside
him during the exchanging of the vows. I do not think it
unreasonable to request you prepare yourself for the occasion.”

She continued her task which was close enough
to being accomplished. Without this interruption it would have gone
quicker and she could focus upon something else. She intended to
call upon Caleb and Nicholas to address the overall palace Guard
whose assistance would be needed prior to and following the
wedding.

Marcus watched her for a space of time. The
room was very quiet except for the sound of her hands shuffling
through the cards. His voice, therefore, sounded rather loud when
he spoke.

“You love him,” he said.

Her hands instantly stopped what they were
doing. She moved first her eyes to look at him and then her head.
“Shouldn’t I?” She asked with the quirk of a brow. “We have taken
this time to become acquainted, nearly six weeks altogether. Yes.
Yes, I suppose I do. He is not a difficult man to love.”

“Then the agreement will not stay.”

Her brows came together as his words brought
only one thing to mind. “The agreement,” she repeated, hoping for
sure he meant something other than what first came to mind.

“Have you forgotten it?”

She considered Jacob in the next room. What
would he think of his friend bringing up such a thing? She,
herself, was not sure what to think of it. She turned her attention
toward one of the two doors leading to Jacob’s bedchamber which had
been left slightly opened. She dismissed the cards atop the table
and made her way toward that specific door. Jacob was still sound
asleep from the medicine. But it was sure to wear off sooner or
later. Judging from the time that’d lapsed, she imagined soon.

She closed the door quietly together behind
her back, gaping at Marcus; he certainly had some nerve! Now she
would not do as well to censure herself. There was no time to stop
from saying and doing exactly as she simply felt. “How dare you!”
She hissed, and began walking toward him. “How dare you!”

“Yet once again I am out of line.”

“Indeed you are, Sir Marcus. You speak
without thinking. Are you trying to provoke me?”

He said nothing at all to this.

She straightened her shoulders. “I suggest
from this day forward you guard your tongue in my presence. I do
not take kindly to you probing into my private affairs. Private,”
she repeated, and quietly finished; “These things are between Jacob
and I and have nothing to do with you.”

“He made them known to me.”

“I do not care,” she loudly returned, and
then quieted her voice to say, “That does not give you a right to
say these things to me.”

“Forgive me,” he plainly apologized. “I have
spoken my mind where I should have been silent, or rather done away
with whatever thoughts I wasn’t permitted to speak in the first
place.”

“Are you sporting with me, Sir Marcus?”

“No,” he immediately answered. “I am
not.”

“Then what are your intentions? These-these
outlandish inquiries!”

“Perhaps I and the citizens of Westerly have
something in common,” he quietly replied. “Perhaps I would rather
you remain as you are…virtuous. For what reason I cannot say. But
that is a possibility that I, myself, must even question.”

He studied her closely…in a way that made her
feel as if he, this close friend and alliance of her soon-to-be
husband, the All Trusted Marcus Wren, had some sort of feelings for
her. His eyes were very sleepy now…tired-looking. They skimmed over
her, and he took a step back. As he would have made an exit she
called out after him, “Sir Marcus!” He stopped, turning about to
face her once more. She observed his eyes, how very down-trodden
and regretful they were.

She inhaled a deep breath and proceeded with
an exhale. “I will forget this conversation and pretend it did not
take place. Not for your sake…but for Jacob’s.”

After a brief stare, he turned and walked
away. When he was gone, she returned to the table, retrieving the
cards she’d momentarily disregarded. But now she couldn’t
concentrate. The conversation replayed itself, and she felt
immensely troubled by it.

She recalled his eyes, his stature. Was
Jacob’s dearest friend just a curious man or…? She couldn’t think
of him sporting with her, for it made her heart pound and the air
difficult to breathe. She felt as if she was smothering.
Eventually, she set the cards aside and left the room. She made a
hasty exit and her way up the hall, taking a path rarely taken; so
she’d observed during the course of the past few weeks. Her steps
quickened until she was almost running. By the time she burst thru
the chapel doors she was out of breath. Beads of sweat had popped
up on her forehead. She travelled the aisle and fell to her knees
at the altar.

“Have mercy,” she quietly pled, her voice a
mere whisper. That final image of Marcus had planted itself in her
mind as if to become a permanent fixture, and those words they’d
exchanged in reference to her virtue. She should be furious, but it
seemed he had managed to arouse some curiosity in her…and other
emotions that she did not even want to face.

“Have mercy on me,” she repeated and with her
head bowed began to weep. Not harshly. But she cried there a short
time until the final conversation she’d had with Jacob took the
place of that she’d had with Marcus. She heard his voice. She saw
his expressions from that day and those before it—over five weeks
of good memories: pleasant conversations, laughter, of dining,
strolling hand in hand.

Her eyes dried. She rose up, wiping them,
thinking about what she was about to do. Yes, she was so close to
marrying the man that she did, in fact, love. Yes, she did love
him. And he loved her. Dearly.

She considered the wedding, however peculiar
it would be. She could see the people gathered around, and see the
joy in his eyes, and she felt it in her heart. She smiled to
herself, and even laughed. Happiness suddenly consumed her, filling
her to the brim with joy, peace and satisfaction. A surge of
excitement coursed through her veins. Yes, she was about to marry
the man she loved. A man she had not planned to love. Surely this
was meant to be. Yes, of course.

She began making her way back to the palace,
this time taking the normal route. Her steps hastened. The eyes of
servants and guards settled upon her as she passed by them. People
gazed curiously. She couldn’t help laugh at them. She stopped at
one point, taking the hands of an elder lady, Hattie, who was in
charge of dusting and sweeping the chapel—Hattie who’d simply stood
by as if for no particular reason at all.

“I will be the happiest bride.” Rachel told
her, and then startled her with an impulsive hug. She’d never felt
better. Yes, this was the perfect thing to do. The decision was
final.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The scene of the wedding was beautiful!

The room had been so swiftly decorated with
flowers and ribbons and banners, and even a few of the statues from
outside. The rugs had been replaced with some more suitable for the
occasion, and candles lit the room from every angle. The windows
had been covered with black silk…so that it was not extremely lit,
and so the candles could give the room a more intimate feel.

The medicine given to Jacob had allowed him
to rest and now feel no pain. As stated, the most painful part of
the illness was over. But he was still tired and not himself at
all…but very much in his right mind.

Now, it was still evident that he was ill,
but those present overlooked his sickness, choosing rather to focus
upon the actual exchanging of the vows; the fact that Jacob Trent
would be wed as he so desired that day despite it all, in sickness
or in health. It was quite inspirational.

Getting properly dressed was time-consuming
and quite exhausting for Jacob. But he was determined to do this,
and persevered despite his physical ailment. In the end, he and
Rachel appeared every bit a king and a queen, he in his white suit
with gold trimming…she in her beautiful silk and lace gown with its
long train which Tilly and Zaria arranged in an almost circular
form on the floor behind her. Pleased glances were exchanged
amongst their witnesses, and quiet words of praise.

And they stood side by side before Father
Nelson and before the gazes of the Higher Nobles, those she’d
chosen simply from having paid attention and noticed which were the
most important to Jacob. None seemed to care the location of the
wedding, only that it was taking place, and they were happy for
him. Yes, lords and ladies alike stood wearing the same peaceful
expressions upon their very peaceful faces, arrayed in their very
fine and decent apparel. They were handsome and beautiful
themselves. The scene was glorious. They waited. They watched. They
listened. The sacred marital vows were exchanged.

To the direct right of Rachel stood Tilly and
Zaria, dressed beautifully themselves in matching yellow gowns,
wreaths of flowers settled upon their heads. To the direct left of
Jacob stood Edwin and also Marcus—a selfless expression upon his
face as if he’d forgotten all about the words he and Rachel had
earlier exchanged. When it became suitable to do so he handed Jacob
a ring which Jacob in return slipped onto her finger. They were
pronounced husband and wife.

The guests of the occasion applauded while
Tilly and Zaria did as they’d been instructed to do, swinging open
the windows and tossing out flowers of various colors so that they
caught in the air, blowing and drifting, carried with the breeze in
all directions. Jacob and Rachel exchanged their first actual kiss,
pressing their lips gently together, holding them there for a time,
pulling away with shadows of pleasure and sparks of joy in their
eyes. The guests clapped fingertips to palms, and she happily
joined the maidens at the window.

They stepped aside so that she could come
forth. Leaning forward she extended the bouquet of flowers she’d
been holding to, tossing it out and into the air. It landed on the
ground amidst a crowd, and into the hands of a young girl who
snatched it up as if it were a small fortune. Rachel waved down at
her while everyone below applauded and cheered with delight. She
rejoined Jacob. He had accepted a goblet of wine from Percival who,
if she was not mistaken, was so close to weeping. Rachel also
accepted one, smiling a bit pitifully but amused at the emotional
steward.

Everyone in the room was likewise offered a
glass. When it was finished and every hand holding the stem of a
wine-filled chalice, Jacob raised his, and everyone with him
theirs, to propose a toast. “To my beautiful bride,” he said, “to
my wife.” And he leaned over to kiss her so very soft and simply,
yet passionately on the lips. They raised their chalices and
drank.

“This,” Jacob afterward said, “is by far the
happiest day of my life.” He was obviously tired and drained, the
illness sucking a great deal of life out of him. But he was strong
for the moment, refusing to let his sickness interfere with the
most important day of his life.

Afterward, the nobles took turns greeting
them as husband and wife, bowing their heads, the men shaking his
hand and planting a light kiss upon hers. The women bowed their
heads so slightly, congratulating him, and leaned in to drop a kiss
on both her left and right cheek. The duchess of Tarot took a
moment longer than the others, taking Rachel’s shoulders and gently
hugging them. She pulled away, a smile Rachel had never witnessed
and could not have even imagined touching her lips, proceeding to
her eyes and her entire face. “May you live a long and peaceful
life. May you be happy.”