The entire Gresham clan was present at St. George’s in Hanover Square just two weeks later, filling one side of the church while members of Verity’s family sat on the other. The archbishop himself had suggested a special license for Randolph’s wedding, not so much granting it as thrusting it upon them. Now that the appointment had been made, he seemed eager to get his new envoy out of the country as quickly as possible. Verity’s hastily assembled wedding clothes had been sewn with an eye to the heat of the tropics. Her intense delight in this had been one of the high points of Randolph’s recent days.
Verity’s father presided at the ceremony, wholly reconciled now that the archbishop had shown signs of his favor. No one told Mr. Sinclair how the appointment had been achieved. And he didn’t ask, which suggested he had a good bit of diplomatic talent himself.
Alan stood up with Randolph, having drawn the long straw in a contest suggested by Robert, after Randolph confessed himself unable to choose a best man from among his brothers. The youngest of them did his part with assurance, even though his gaze kept straying to his new son, held by the lovely Ariel in the front row. Next to her, Nathaniel hovered over his wife Violet, due to deliver very soon.
The wedding breakfast was held at Langford House, since the ceremony had taken place so far from the Sinclair home. The duchess was up and about again, with limits, and had been pleased to give Mrs. Sinclair free rein in organizing the event. The crowd filled a great reception room, chattering and browsing the lavish buffet.
When the time seemed right, Randolph slipped away to fetch his lute. Then he stood before them all with his new wife beside him. Together, they sang the song that had come to him in a kind of dream, apparently for this moment precisely. That was what Verity had said, anyway, when he told her the story and taught her the tune.
More than honey, the words you speak are sweet,
Honest and wise, nobly and wittily said.
Yours are the beauties of Camiola complete,
Of Iseult the blond and Morgana the fairy maid.
If Blanchefleur should be added to the group,
Your loveliness would tower above each head.
Beneath your brows five beautiful things repose:
Love and a fire and a flame, the lily, the rose.
They let the harmonies twine and soar. Variations emerged unexpectedly, chiming sweet in a minor key. What one began, the other caught and embroidered. Their voices were perfect complements; their artistic instincts beautifully matched. This was what their life would be like, Randolph thought, as the ancient words vibrated in his chest. Thrilling. Reciprocal. A marvelous edifice built together, not all easily, but with delight.
There were tears here and there in the crowd when the last notes died away. The duke and duchess had twined hands.
“I got him the lute,” Randolph heard Sebastian explaining.
“I beg your pardon,” Nathaniel replied. “You taxed me with finding it.”
Sebastian grinned. “Oh well, Randolph wouldn’t know the song if it wasn’t for us, would he, Georgina?”
His wife nodded, smiling with wet eyes.
“Have you nothing to add?” Flora asked Robert. “There must be some way that you made all this possible.”
Robert shook his head. “I’m speechless. I only wish I’d found such a gift to give to you.”
Flora had to blink quickly then.
Verity leaned close to Randolph. “Do you think one can burst with happiness?” she asked.
“You’d better not,” he teased. “I have a great many plans for later.”
“I might need help with my laces,” she murmured in his ear.
“My fingers are yours to command. Always.”
They might have stood gazing into each other’s eyes forever. But one of Verity’s somewhat tipsy cousins offered a toast. “To Lord and Lady Randolph.”
The others echoed him and sipped champagne.
“Lady Randolph.” Verity tried the new title on her tongue, a little dubious.
“It’ll sound well on accounts of your travels,” Randolph suggested. “Sell more books.”
Verity’s answering smile was all he could desire, for the moment.