“It is not too late, dear,” Lady Tisdale said hopefully while fussing with the drape of Sarah’s bridal gown.
Sarah looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror, her gown simple in silk sarsenet, fine touches of bead-work interspersed with pearls edging the bodice and hemline. “The wedding is about to begin, Mother.”
“Still.” Lady Tisdale continued along the same path, “I am sure the vicar would be willing to accommodate us.”
Sarah smiled. Although she’d never been a woman to dream of her wedding day, she had to admit that it was exactly as it should be.
The sun was shining gloriously in the clear blue sky. Her closest friends and family were in attendance—even Thomas, whom Lady Tisdale had been loath to invite, but whom Sarah could not imagine such a celebration without. The man had, in truth, saved her life and the lives of the ones she loved.
Sarah shivered at the thought. Nearly a month had passed, the days filled with emotion as Nigel had begun to heal from his ordeal, Sarah endured disconnected dreams of Marlowe, and Marcus had well and properly wooed Sarah as surely no other man had wooed a woman before.
She looked out the window of Lulworth Castle. In the spacious courtyard below, the guests were gathering for the short walk to the wedding site.
“Would you like me to fetch the vicar?” Lady Tisdale pressed.
Sarah turned to her mother, taking her hands. “Mother, I’ve explained to you why I wish for the ceremony to take place out-of-doors.”
“Really, Sarah, it’s unheard-of for a bride and groom to recite their vows in such a setting—”
“Mother,” Sarah repeated, her tone more serious.
Sarah had very nearly not asked Marcus whether he would consider being married on the cliff top.
In truth, she knew that it sounded shockingly unconventional—never mind sounding unconventional, it most surely was.
But everything that had anything to do with this day—the most important of Sarah’s life—was tied irrevocably to the cove.
Sarah and Marcus had discovered while walking one day that both had made it a habit over the years to stare out over the cove, in the black of night, and think. About life, love, and everything else that seemed so complicated despite the simple terms with which any of the issues could be—and should be—handled.
Many a night the two had looked out upon the same expanse of water, perhaps even passing each other without knowing.
Marcus had willingly and heartily agreed to exchanging their wedding vows in what was, truly, the place where they’d begun, their individual yearnings of the heart leading them to each other.
His only request was that she not race for the woods partway through the ceremony.
Sarah had laughingly assured him that she would never run again. Not from him, not from life. Not from anything that came their way.
And besides, she’d thought to herself though she didn’t say it aloud, she could just as easily run from the church.
With a small smile, Sarah came back to the present and her mother’s concerns.
“You’re missing the point,” Sarah said gently, patting her mother’s hands before turning back to the mirror. “All that matters is that Marcus and I want this—therefore, you should too.”
Sarah observed her mother’s reflection in the mirror, her mouth opening and closing like a trout’s.
And then, for no apparent reason, Lady Tisdale drew in a determined breath and nodded. “I’ll go fetch Claire for you. And Sarah,” she added, reaching to pat her daughter’s shoulder. “I love you.”
She turned quickly and walked from the room, leaving Sarah quite thunderstruck.
“Bollocks! If I’d have known that all it would take was obstinance, I would have tried that years ago.”
“I believe a bride is entitled to do whatever she likes on her wedding day,” Claire called, sweeping into the room, resplendent in a gorgeous amethyst gown, “but I’d be careful with the profanities, dear. One never knows who might be listening.”
She caught Sarah in her arms and hugged her, careful not to disturb her friend’s hair. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you,” Sarah replied, tears threatening. She brushed moisture from her eyelashes with her fingertips, and then fixed Claire with an excited gaze. “Now, you’ll never guess what just happened.”
Claire bent down awkwardly to remove a pale thread from Sarah’s skirt. “Is it something to do with your mother? I passed her in the hall just now and she looked as though she’d been struck with something quite large—and hard.”
“I told her exactly what I thought. Exactly.”
Claire looked confused at first, then her eyes grew round. “Exactly?”
“Exactly.”
“And she failed to spontaneously burst into flames?” Claire asked teasingly.
“Nary a flicker,” Sarah answered, hardly believing it herself. “And she told me that she loves me,” she added in a small voice.
Claire wiped at a tear slowly slipping down Sarah’s cheek. “Well, truly it is a day for miracles,” she said gently, “as you’ll have to agree once you’ve seen the remainder of your wedding party.”
Bones came into the room, his graceful gait in marked contrast to that of Titus, who bounded up behind.
Both dogs were elegantly turned out in ruffs about their necks, the purplish hue of their fashionable attire perfectly matching Claire’s gown.
“Oh,” Sarah sighed, dropping to her knees to accept a lick from each dog—Titus’s decidedly sloppier than Bones’s more delicate touch. “I shall dissolve into a puddle of tears now.”
“Oh, no, you will not,” Claire commanded, catching Sarah’s hand and pulling her upright. “Your mother may have reached some sort of epiphany in regard to you, but I highly doubt we can hope the same as concerns me.”
She straightened Sarah’s gown and eyed it critically. “She’ll never forgive me if you walk down the aisle in a wrinkled dress. Turn,” she instructed, brushing here and there as Sarah obeyed.
“Ladies,” Gregory’s voice called from the hallway.
“Is it time?” Sarah’s heart pounded.
“It is,” Claire confirmed. “Now, gather your dogs and let’s be off.”
“Any news of Marlowe?”
Carmichael clasped his hands behind his back and looked solemnly out over the small gathering. “Really, Marcus, on your wedding day?”
“I feel responsible. If only I’d realized sooner—”
The Corinthian leader sighed. “We managed to retrieve all eight emeralds, which means Napoleon has been stopped for now. I could not have asked any more from you. As for Marlowe, I can only assume that he had his reasons. As should you.
“Now, are those dogs I see?” Carmichael asked, his tone indifferent as he hastily changed the subject. “In purple neck ruffs?”
Marcus made to argue, then found he could not help but smile as Bones and Titus proceeded down the flower-strewn ground between the aisles of chairs, their noses held high as they caught the scent of Cook’s pheasant, which had been strategically placed just behind an arrangement of flowers near him. “Yes, amethyst, I believe that particular hue is called.”
“Of course.”
The dogs sped up as they sensed the nearness of their prize, Nigel retrieving the morsels and urging Titus and Bones into line next to him.
Marcus smiled at the boy, warmed by the kindness and acceptance in Nigel’s responding grin. It had not been easy, the mending of their friendship.
But for all the talking they’d done, Marcus couldn’t deny that what was truly drawing them closer was simply time spent in each other’s company.
It did not seem to matter what they did, though fishing had quickly become a particular favorite. No, whether enduring Lady Tisdale’s rant concerning the length of sleeves that season or trying—and, most of the time, failing—to entice Percival into the barn for the night, the activity hardly signified. They were comfortable in each other’s company and grew closer by the day.
Claire walked slowly down the aisle, a jubilant smile lighting her pretty face. She took her place opposite Carmichael.
It was the talking and, more important, the listening that was bringing Nigel around, Marcus thought, his gaze moving from Claire and back to Nigel.
In Nigel, Marcus saw a bit of himself. Marcus could help the boy in a way that no one else could, because of Sarah.
And all of a sudden, as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts, she appeared.
She was a vision in silk, her auburn hair piled atop her head, the creamy expanse of her delicate neck and shoulders rising above the scooped neckline of her gown.
She’d made him see that he was so much more than what others allowed him to be.
“I read your letter,” Carmichael whispered, pulling Marcus from his thoughts.
“The one I asked you to read tomorrow, after I’d left for my wedding trip?”
Carmichael cleared his throat. “Weston, you really should know by now that I’m an exceedingly efficient individual.”
Marcus turned his head to meet Carmichael’s gaze, his smile wry. “And?”
“You really mean to leave the Corinthians?” Carmichael asked, an uncharacteristic sadness in his tone.
“I do,” Marcus replied confidently.
“I see,” Carmichael began, turning his gaze back to the bride. “And what will you do?”
Marcus looked down the aisle at Sarah as she walked toward him with her father, a sense of euphoria filling his chest. “The possibilities are endless.”
“I’d have to agree,” Carmichael replied, and then fell silent.
Sir Arthur stopped in front of Marcus. He bent to press a tender kiss on Sarah’s cheek and placed her hand in Marcus’s.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God …”
“You’re beautiful,” Marcus whispered, his eyes remaining fixed on the vicar as the man read from the Book of Common Prayer.
“I require and charge you both, as ye will answer on the dreadful day of judgment …”
“Thank you. I have to say, I’ve always loved a man in a kilt.” Sarah glanced sideways through half-lowered lashes, a small wicked smile curving her lips.
Marcus’s gaze snapped to her face.
“If no impediment be alleged, then shall the Curate say unto the Man …”
“Tell me, what does one wear under such a garment?” she murmured.
“Wilt thou have this Woman to be thy wedded Wife …”
“Nothing.”
“I will,” Sarah blurted, the small crowd gathered for the most joyous of occasions politely covering their mirth.
“I will,” Marcus answered, turning to Sarah and mouthing “I love you. With all of my heart.”
“Wilt thou have this Man to be thy wedded Husband …”
Sarah laughed and it caught on the mild breeze, the beautiful sound of it drifting over the wedding party and beyond, to the cove and the wide sea. “I will.
“I love you, Marcus, with all that I am, and all that I will ever be,” she said loud enough for all to hear.
Marcus pulled the ring from his pocket and recited the words that would bind him to his beloved forever:
“With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Are we married?” Sarah whispered excitedly.
“Not quite yet, child,” the vicar responded, clearing his throat.
“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
“Now?”
The vicar winked at Sarah. “Very nearly.”
“For as Marcus and Sarah have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth to each other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
“You may kiss your groom,” he said to Sarah. “Finally.”
Sarah turned to Marcus and threw her arms around his neck. “Do you recall what I asked of you on the cliffs?”
“That I kiss you,” Marcus answered, his arms coming around to encircle her waist. “And never, ever stop?”
“Precisely,” she replied, then leaned in, ready for her husband to make her the happiest wife in the world.
Marcus kissed her with the promise of forever on his lips and she responded in kind.
The low tones of a fiddle began, drawing Marcus and Sarah’s attention toward their family and friends.
I’ll no more to the sea, my first love, for sure.
She’s ruined for me by the one I love more,
A woman of substance, so fine and so fair,
Of uncommon beauty and long auburn hair.
Have mercy, Miss Sarah, and take me to wed,
I’ll give you my heart and a warm gentle bed,
You’ll nay lack for nothin’, we’ll live a good life,
Have mercy, Miss Sarah, and become my wife.
Thomas stood in the very back row, accompanied by his young son, who played the fiddle, and his wife, who gently tapped a tambourine with the palm of her hand.
Marcus took Sarah’s arm in his and escorted her down the aisle to the fine music, those in attendance standing.
Oh, the sea she is mighty and the sea she is strong,
But Miss Sarah’s the one to whom I belong.
And I’ll not go a-sailin’ upon the great waves,
With Miss Sarah I’ll stay for the rest of my days.
Thomas gestured for everyone to join in, Marcus and Sarah singing with particular gusto.
Miss Sarah had mercy and took him to wed.
He gave her his heart and a warm gentle bed.
They nay lacked for nothin’ and lived a good life.
Miss Sarah took mercy and became his wife.