The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (36 page)

His eyes scanned the room and came to rest on his mother. “Have you told them of the change in Arthur’s condition and what he wants us to do?”

“Yes.” Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks.

Marcus addressed the others. “Arthur told us he wants us to marry no matter what may happen between now and the morning. We’ve promised to honor his wishes. Although it will not change our decision, we would like to know if any of you have an objection.”

No one did. In the end, it was decided they would tell none of the guests how close to death Arthur stood. The rest of the day passed, if not in mirth—although there were moments—then at least in cordial equanimity. Quiet laughter could be heard here and there throughout the rooms.

At the end of the evening, before Phoebe’s sisters accompanied Phoebe to her chamber, Marcus was given a few minutes alone with his future bride.

“What are they doing?” he asked as Hester and Hermione went into Phoebe’s chamber, leaving the door ajar.

“There is an old Cranbourne family wedding tradition,” she replied, “that I’d forgotten about. My sisters will spend the night with me.”

Marcus kissed Phoebe deeply, longingly, wanting nothing more than to spend this night with her, vowing it would be the last time they were parted. After several minutes, her sisters gently pulled Phoebe away from Marcus. He was led off to the billiards room by Geoffrey, cursing under his breath as his brothers-in-law laughed uproariously.

Edwin clapped Marcus on his back. “Finley, stop complaining. We all survived it, and you will as well.”

John added in speciously dulcet tones. “It will make the wedding night that much sweeter.”

Marcus scowled at him.

Geoffrey was all good humor. “Marcus, you’ve been given enough time alone with Phoebe before the wedding. You can’t complain now.”

He could. The balls on the table were already set up. Entering the game with a purpose, he won several pounds from his new family members, and he was able to coax himself into a better mood. Until he discovered all his future brothers-in-law were to spend the night with him.

“From where,” Marcus demanded, “did this damned custom spring?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

John, the first of them to have married, said, as if remembering an event far in the past, “The old Earl told me it came from a spoiled marriage so long ago the time has been lost. The marriage had been arranged. The groom was not happy about it. The bride, a Cranbourne, was willing enough.” John leaned his billiards stick against the table. “The couple had only met a few times before the wedding and then, only with chaperones. They’d never been left alone because the marriage contract stipulated the bride would be a virgin. As it usually was in those days—and these days as well, for the most part—the bride knew nothing of the stipulation.”

“What happened?” Marcus asked.

John continued. “The night before the wedding, as the tale went, the groom found the bride’s chamber and deflowered her. The next day, after the vows were made, he took her to bed and announced to his family that she was not a virgin. The bride argued, of course, that her defiler had been her husband. Fortunately, the bride’s maid could produce blood on her mistress’s bed linens, and the maid had witnessed the groom enter the chamber the night before. Since that time, all Cranbourne brides are kept guarded by the women of the family.” John smiled. “Since Cranbourne women are a bit spirited, I imagine bridegrooms are guarded just to insure they don’t run away.”

The others laughed, but Marcus glowered. He would also like to run away, but this bridegroom would take his bride with him.

Chapter Twenty-four

P
hoebe woke to the sun shining through the windows. Her sisters were gone, and Rose was preparing a bath.

Phoebe wondered if Arthur was still with them. “Rose, have you heard anything about Lord Evesham?”

“My lady, he’s resting and sent his good wishes for the day. I’ll have your breakfast set out soon.”

Glancing at the clock, Phoebe was shocked to discover it was almost nine o’clock. The wedding was at eleven.

Phoebe jumped up, intending to apply herself to a number of chores she should attend to before she dressed for the ceremony.

“My lady, there is no point in hurrying,” Rose said. “You are not allowed out of this area until Lord St. Eth comes to escort you to the chapel.”

Phoebe sat back down on her bed. “What am I to do for two hours? It won’t take me that long to dress.”

Rose chuckled. “You could do what other ladies do and sleep some more, but I’ve no hope of that. After you’ve had your breakfast, your sisters and Lady St. Eth will come to help you dress.”

Phoebe stared at her. “What did you say?”

Rose smiled. “More tradition.”

For the first time in her life, Phoebe allowed herself to be pampered. Her bathwater had lemons, bergamot, and lavender. Her sisters left a cream to use on her skin. Her hair was washed and dried before the fire as all her attendants laid out her clothing.

Her sisters and aunt waited for Rose to finish Phoebe’s hair in a high knot, with locks of curls flowing over Phoebe’s shoulders.

Aunt Ester held out an antique comb of amethysts and pearls, which was set to hold the knot in place. “Phoebe, this is something borrowed and quite old. It has been passed down my family’s female line to be worn by the bride on her wedding day.”

Hester’s eyes misted as she twisted a long strand of perfectly matched pearls interspersed with amethysts around Phoebe’s neck to make three strands, and said, “Mamma left these to be worn for the first time on your wedding day.”

Hermione took her right hand and slid a sapphire ring on the finger, which, until last night, had held the ring Marcus had given her. That ring would, in a short time, be her wedding ring. “And this,” Hermione said, “is new, from Hester and me.”

Hester handed Phoebe a handkerchief. “No, no, you are not allowed to cry. It will make your eyes red. What a goose you are, Phoebe.”

“I’m not crying,” Phoebe said untruthfully. “I just didn’t know to-day would be so affecting. I thought I would wake up as I do every other day, but go to be married. I didn’t realize . . . my heart would . . .”

Aunt Ester hugged her. “No, of course you didn’t, my dear. You were too young to be really involved in your sisters’ weddings. Even
your
mother did not think it proper.”

Phoebe reflected on the previous night’s conversations with her sisters and agreed. She’d had no idea so much could take place between a man and a woman, and they’d given her some very exciting ideas of what she and Marcus could do.

Phoebe choked on a sob. “I wish Mamma were here.”

Her aunt held her gently. “So do we all, and I think she is here in spirit. So smile and be happy you are marrying a man you love. She is overjoyed for you.”

Aunt Ester straightened. “Come, it is past time we should be off. Your young man will think you have changed your mind.”

Phoebe gave a watery smile. “Never, I am his.”

Uncle Henry stood near the chapel door with Phoebe and said gravely, “You are sure this is what you want?”

She nodded. “Yes, Uncle Henry. This is exactly what I want.”

He glanced down at her. “I am glad for you. My dear, you have never looked more beautiful, or happier.”

She smiled and peeked down the short aisle to where Marcus stood speaking with Rutherford and Edwin. She thought to the day at the inn when all she could see was his back. Later he’d told her he knew she’d been looking at him because he could feel her.

He turned now and gazed at her like she was the only woman in the church. Her heart filled with love. “Thank you, Uncle Henry, for saying that. I feel beautiful.”

Defying convention, all her nieces and nephews who were old enough to walk on their own had been made a part of the wedding.

The youngest boy and girls, scattering rose petals and green leaves on the stone floor, preceded her sisters who held the hands of Phoebe’s newest nieces. Two older boys remained behind to hold the long detachable train of her gown.

Once the advance procession was completed, Phoebe, on Uncle Henry’s arm, began her journey to meet her husband.

Marcus, flanked by Rutherford and Edwin, had turned when he felt her. He couldn’t believe the vision she made as she walked down the old church aisle.

Rutherford leaned into him. “Finley, you are a lucky dog. She is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”

Marcus nodded slightly. That was the word,
exquisite
. His wife, lover and friend.

She arrived at the altar rail, and St. Eth placed her hand in Marcus’s waiting one.

His smile matched hers as their gazes met before they turned together to face the rector.

Phoebe said her vows clearly, as did he. When they were pronounced man and wife, he threw caution and propriety to the wind and kissed her, a passionate kiss of long waiting and a new beginning. Then he took her arm and they began their walk out of the church to their new life.

As they passed Phoebe’s aunt and uncle, Ester whispered to Henry, “It was a very good idea for them to marry here rather than in St. George’s. They would have shocked the crowd if they’d decided to kiss, especially like that.”

Phoebe and Marcus grinned the rest of the way down the aisle.

Arthur had his wish to hear of his brother and Phoebe’s marriage.

Nurse stood in the back of the church and, after the vows were said, slipped out and brought him the news.

“I’m happy that the wedding was completed. Now my daughters are part of a new family.”

“Yes, my lord. Now you rest.”

He fell into a peaceful sleep.

Nurse continued tatting, until she realized Arthur was too quiet. She put her hand on his neck. He’d passed. Putting her tatting aside, she rose. “We’ll have to tell them he’s gone.”

Arthur’s valet, Timmons, stopped her. “You remember what his lordship said.”

She sat back down, staring at the man she’d raised from a child. Tears flowed down her wrinkled cheeks. “Yes, Lord Marcus and Lady Phoebe are to enjoy their new beginning. The world has lost a sweet and wonderful man to-day.”

Marcus and Phoebe led the short procession to the large ballroom where the wedding breakfast had been set for their guests. He introduced Phoebe to the local gentry and the few noble families residing in the neighboring area. She was already acquainted with some of them. They all promised bride visits upon the newlyweds’ return from France.

In mid-afternoon, not long after the cake was cut, the guests began departing for their journeys home.

As the last carriage left, Timmons approached Marcus. “Lord Evesham.”

Marcus had thought he was prepared, but his new title sounded strange to his ears. He stared at the valet seeing the sadness in his eyes. “Is Arthur . . . ?”

Timmons nodded. “Yes, his lordship, he passed a few hours ago.”

Phoebe came up to him and Marcus put his arm around her, needing to touch her. “My love, may I present Timmons, Arthur’s valet.”

Timmons bowed. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

She glanced at Marcus and bit her lip. “Arthur?”

Marcus’s throat hurt and he had trouble getting the words out. “Yes. He’s gone.”

Marcus heard a gasp and realized Anne and Emily were standing close by. He and Phoebe gathered the sobbing girls in their arms. They held the girls until they were exhausted from crying.

Priddy, their governess, took them away.

Bereft, Marcus wanted to blame someone for not telling them sooner, but Arthur planned it so they should enjoy their wedding, and there was no one with whom to argue. Marcus sat on the sofa, his head in his hands, until Phoebe took one of them in hers.

He lifted his head and, through his fog of grief, stared at her.

“Come.” She urged him up. “It is time we were alone.”

After bidding their families a good day, Marcus followed Phoebe to their apartments.

She opened the large, carved double doors into a hall, which in turn, led to their bedchamber, parlors, and dressing rooms. A bank of windows lined the wall of their bedchamber, giving a view facing the lake, and making the room light and airy.

The large four-poster bed was hung with cream-colored crewel curtains, decorated with myriad sizes and styles of flowers and vines in various hues. The window coverings were the same pattern. Turkey rugs covered most of the floor. Phoebe’s nightgown was laid out on the bed.

Their new rooms were beautiful, but would have to be appreciated later. Right now, her husband was hurting and needed her comfort.

Marcus looked around. His voice was thick with emotion. “Do you like it?”

If he wanted to discuss the room, that’s what she’d do. “Yes, it’s lovely. As if someone knew exactly what I liked.”

His breath hitched. “Well then, my lady, I’m glad it pleases you.” Tears misted his eyes. “I can’t believe Arthur’s gone. I wanted more time with him. He died soon after our vows.”

Phoebe reached up to put her arms around Marcus’s neck and searched his face. “It is not as we wanted it to be. But it is what we have. Your brother gave us a final gift of love. We will continue to honor his life.”