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Standing, as did her father, Philip felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of her. Beryl looked more beautiful, if possible, every time he laid eyes upon her. Or maybe, he was simply fonder of her each time.
She had stopped in the doorway, soft brown eyes wide, lips slightly parted. If her father hadn’t been in the room, she would be in his arms already.
“I do apologize,” she began, her gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea you had company, Father.”
“Quite all right,” Lord Angsley said. “You remember the captain, I’m sure. We had just concluded our business.”
Realizing he hadn’t yet said a word, Philip greeted her. “It’s good to see you, Miss Angsley.”
“Thank you, Captain. I hope you are well.”
“I am, thank you. And you?” He wanted to scream at the inanity of polite conversation.
“I am.”
They had used up all the frivolous welcome words. Now what?
“Beryl, did you need me?” her father asked.
“Why, yes, I...,” she trailed off, looking down at the cloth in her hands. Her cheeks pinkened. “I wanted to know which color waistcoat you wished the tailor to use.”
Philip saw she was holding two different swatches of fine brocade.
“Oh,” Lord Angsley said, “more wedding day decisions. Honestly, dear girl, I don’t mind. Whatever you and your mother think is best.”
Beryl nodded, and Philip felt as though the walls were closing in. The room seemed smaller than his cabin privy and with half as much air. He needed to get out of there.
“I’m sure the captain doesn’t want his time wasted on such matters,” his lordship said.
“No, my lord,” Philip agreed. Then hoping that wasn’t rude, he added, “I am certain whatever you choose, Miss Angsley, it will be the best. I must take my leave.”
Except she was blocking his exit.
“Please walk our guest out,” Lord Angsley said to his daughter, causing Beryl’s cheeks to turn redder.
Philip turned back to her father and they shook hands on their new arrangement.
“You’d best get started on those renovations, Captain.”
“I will, my lord.” With a small bow, he took his leave, finding himself walking behind the shapely figure who haunted his nights.
In the foyer, she asked, “What renovations is my father referring to?”
“To the Robert. I’ll be getting her ready for diplomatic use.”
Her eyes lit with interest. “For my father?”
“Precisely.”
She nodded her approval. “My mother is very pleased about his new post.”
At that moment, three of her siblings ran down the stairs, through the foyer, and along the hall to the back of the house. The third in line stuck his tongue out at Beryl on his way.
Philip laughed. “I can see why she might not want Lord Angsley so far away for a year at a time.”
“Precisely,” Beryl mimicked his word.
They stared at one another.
“Perhaps when I am settled,” she said, “I will take my siblings for a few weeks and let my mother travel with my father.”
When she was settled, meaning married. Philip hated to think of that day.
“What will your husband,” he asked, nearly choking on the word, “say to that?”
She shrugged slightly. “Arthur is quite amenable actually. He likes my brothers and sisters.”
Undoubtedly, he also rescued puppies and was in line for a sainthood.
“Perhaps when you are settled,” Philip considered, “then you will wish to take a trip with your father again.”
Her eyes opened wide at the thought, and then, dammit, her gaze went to his mouth, and he knew what she was thinking. If they were in close confines of his ship for any length of time, they would end up in a passionate embrace.
“No,” she said after a pause. “That would not be possible. Even if you can create one stateroom for my father, I don’t believe you have room to build another one.”
As if that were the issue.
“I would give you my bed,” he said, his voice unintentionally turning husky. “I mean, my entire cabin, of course.”
Beryl stared down at the fabric in her arms. Material for her wedding dress. When she looked up at him again, the softness of her expression had vanished. She looked determined, focused, even obstinate.
“No, Captain. I think not. When I am a happily married viscountess, I’ll have many duties keeping me here safely on shore. Speaking of duties, I must get back to them.”
She nodded to the Angsley butler, standing quietly by, and he opened the door wide.
Leo sat on the step, washing his paws in the midday sun. Looking up as the door opened, his paw halfway to his mouth, his tongue out, he was the picture of feline adorableness.
Predictably, Beryl cooed in delight. “Leo! Why on earth didn’t he come in?”
Philip shook his head. She said it as if he were an honored guest and not a mangy orange-yellow moggy.
Thrusting the bolts of brocade into Philip’s arms, Beryl bent down and scooped up the cat. Philip could swear the cat yelped in surprise. Allowing himself to be stroked was one thing, even snuggling beside her on the bed in the ship’s cabin — who wouldn’t want to? — but being unceremoniously picked up and held like a baby was quite another. Would Leo stand for it?
Ready in case he had to knock the beast out of her arms if he tried to scratch her, Philip watched as she rubbed her chin on Leo’s soft head, and then, to his amazement, he heard the loud purring begin.
The cat was entirely in love with Miss Beryl Angsley. Just as he was. He should toss the stupid cloth to the floor, take her in his arms, and offer her a life of ... what exactly?
A room in his parents’ townhouse and a cramped ship’s cabin. She was rather clear in looking forward to her life as a viscount’s wife. How could he hope to match the luxuries and the social opportunities that accompanied such a title? He couldn’t.
“I will leave you to your wedding plans,” he said, knowing he sounded stiff.
The door was already open after all, but should he take his cat from her arms and risk death by feline or ask her to put Leo down?
Deciding on the latter, he stepped outside.
“Captain,” her tone sounded expectant, as she lowered Leo to his paws on the stoop beside him.
“Yes.” Whatever she asked of him, he would do.
“Will you attend my wedding?”
Except that!
“No, thank you, Miss Angsley. I have no interest in weddings, neither ceremonies nor feasts.” And he gave the waistcoat fabric back to her. “Good day.”
He turned quickly so he didn’t have to look at the disappointment in her eyes.
***
IT WAS HER WEDDING day, at last. Arthur had surprised her with a beautiful bracelet the night before, and now Beryl was holding still as her maid fastened it to her wrist. Diamonds and sapphires, nothing from the beryl family of gemstones, but he wasn’t to know that even mattered.
In a few hours, she would be newly titled Lady Wharton. Nice.
It was as strong an emotion as she could summon. She wasn’t terribly unhappy about it. He was a caring man, and after a few tries, she’d taught him how to slant his head so their mouths fit well, but so far, she couldn’t quite get herself to touch his tongue, and he hadn’t tried to thrust his into her mouth, either.
That would come later, perhaps tonight. She wasn’t even too bothered about getting undressed in front of him, so utterly comfortable with him, as if he were her favorite dressing gown or house slippers.
Assuredly, she told herself, it was better than always having butterflies take flight in one’s stomach upon seeing a certain captain. Or having one’s cheeks heat up and one’s mouth go dry. Occasionally, she’d even experienced shortness of breath around Philip Carruthers. None of that could be healthy. Nor should it be the least bit desirable.
It wasn’t. She was very fond of Arthur, and they would suit.
Besides, Philip had said he had no interest in weddings, and she assumed he meant his own, as well. Truly, he didn’t seem the type of man to go to work in an office and then come home in the evening, day in day out. He seemed the type of man best suited to standing behind the wheel with the wind in his beautiful dark hair.
Staring into the looking glass, wearing a gown in the palest blue so it was nearly white, she wondered what the captain would think of—
No! She wondered what Arthur would think of it.
“Are we finished?” Beryl snapped at her maid, instantly regretting the peevish tone to her voice. “What I mean, Emma, is you have done such a lovely job with my hair and dress, I cannot imagine there’s anything else to do.”
“Yes, miss. I believe your parents are ready to leave.”
Good. She wanted to get this day over with and get on with her life. As soon as the ceremony was over, the registry signed, and they left the vestry, they would hold the bridal breakfast at her cousin’s home since the Earl of Cambrey had a larger entertaining room at Cavendish Square than they had at her own home. The many presents had all be taken there and put on display in the Cambreys’ drawing room. Even Beryl’s travelling suit was already there, laid out in a guest bedroom for her to don after the celebratory meal.
Her trunk was packed for a week’s long trip to the seaside. Arthur had said if they had to go farther than Gravesend, then he avowed it would not be to Ramsgate. Though good enough for Queen Victoria when she was a child, the seaside town was now considered a bit shabby. Instead, they had two tickets on the South Eastern Railway to Dover, where they would see the chalky cliffs and enjoy the new pier, ice rink, and bathing machines, and stay in a lovely hotel room on the main crescent.
Nice.
Soon, Beryl arrived at the church, All Souls on Regent Street, holding flowers in her hands, the palms of which were inexplicably moist. Why she was even the littlest bit anxious, she couldn’t fathom. Everything was in order — the church having been correctly named in the license and both she and Arthur living within its parish. Her fiancé had even insisted on the banns being published on three successive Sundays by the officiating clergymen, though with the regular license, it was unnecessary.
The sandy-colored stone building designed by the famed architect John Nash was both a little strange and also quite beautiful. Entering beneath the oft-ridiculed, overly pointy spire — which made Beryl think of a medieval lance — she passed between the expansive Corinthian columns with her family and into the vestibule.
As she crossed the gray and green mosaic-tiled foyer in her wedding slippers, she could hear voices of family and friends floating out from the church’s interior.
This is it, she thought.
As she followed her bridesmaids, including Eleanor, down the main aisle of the nave toward her fiancé and his groomsmen, Beryl stopped counting pews after fourteen. She ought to be thinking deep and loving thoughts about God and Arthur Wharton, not counting the seats. What was wrong with her?
Her heartbeat seemed to quicken the closer she got to the altar and the rector smiling benignly at her. Glancing up at the soaring ceiling, trying to think peaceful thoughts, she took in the second story of each of the side aisles, and their symmetrical line of columns, giving the entire church a lofty and classical feel. The upstairs pews were empty as her father had kept the guest list down to a manageable hundred or so.
She was glad at that moment not to have more eyes peering down at her, perhaps judging her. For she was feeling a little fraudulent, having discussed with Eleanor earlier in the morning how tepid her and Arthur’s emotions truly were.
Eleanor had told her to call off the whole thing.
Beryl had laughed at that. Now, she didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, she reminded herself there were brides all over Britain who’d married with only fond feelings and had long and happy marriages.
Or so she supposed.
The sole thought that niggled at her, ate at her with every step she took toward saying her vows with Arthur, was this: I love Philip Carruthers with my entire heart and soul.