A month later
EVERYTHING HAD worked out.
The Church ofSt. Mary the Virgin was immediately adjacent to Tremayne Castle. A high, covered timber bridge linked the two buildings. The duke who built Tremayne had used the bridge to directly reach a church balcony that overlooked the sanctuary, so he could come and go and attend services without deigning to speak to any parishioners.
The duke didn’t sound like a nice man. Chrystabel thought maybe he’d deserved his beheading.
In any case, the bridge was long in disrepair, so the Ashcrofts and Trevors had walked out to the road and over to the church for the wedding on this fine, if cold, day. Since big church weddings were frowned upon by the Commonwealth government, there was only family attending and no parishioners to talk to, anyway.
As they weren’t really out in public, Chrystabel had decided to wear her new strand of pearls for her church wedding, together with a pre-Cromwell gown: a pale blue confection with silver scrollwork and seed pearls on the stomacher and underskirt. She’d changed into it after this morning’s civil ceremony, and Joseph had gaped appreciatively when he saw her all dressed up. Although they had already been declared man and wife by a Justice of the Peace, she didn’t feel married yet. She thought she might not feel really married until after the church wedding and the wedding breakfast. She’d been planning the menu for weeks.
But this service was taking so long that she feared half of her magnificent meal might spoil before their families got to enjoy it.
The tall, majestic church had been built in stages over the last several centuries. It had a Norman doorway, a Gothic chancel, a Tudor bell tower, a soaring dark wood hammerbeam ceiling, and many beautiful, colorful stained glass windows. Standing before the intricately carved altar while the vicar read the interminable service, Chrystabel felt dwarfed in the enormous old building. She normally enjoyed the quiet solemnity of church services, but today she was far too excited to stand still.
Today she gained not only a husband, but an entire family.
When she and Joseph had emerged from the priest hole, Lord Trentingham had been clearly bewildered to learn of their betrothal. But he’d bid her a hearty and sincere welcome to the Ashcroft clan, cracking open several bottles of Tremayne’s best vintage.
Lady Trentingham had, of course, appeared considerably less surprised. But when she’d requested this morning that the bride call her “Mother” from now on, Chrystabel had felt happy tears welling in her eyes.
And that was to say nothing of her three new sisters-in-law, three new brothers-in-law, and a growing gaggle of nieces and nephews. There’d only been time enough last night for kisses and congratulations, but Chrystabel knew they’d all be fast friends. The girls seemed a lively bunch—they obviously took after their mother.
And she’d already taken a particular interest in her eldest nephew, who was just a year younger than Arabel and never seen without a book in his hands. Looking over her shoulder, the bride laughed silently to see the boy reading in his pew and Arabel trying to hide her annoyance at his rudeness.
What a lucky coincidence that they’d been seated beside each other.
When the vicar finally flipped to the back of his prayerbook and cleared his throat, Chrystabel turned her attention forward.
At last, she thought, her heart soaring. She squeezed Joseph’s hand as the vicar began chanting their vows.
“Joseph Ashcroft, The Right Honorable Viscount Tremayne, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?” He was a very soft-spoken man, which she found a bit worrisome. “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
An expectant silence filled the church.
“Say that last part louder,” Chrystabel whispered to the vicar.
“So long as ye both shall live?” he repeated.
“Louder.”
“So long as ye both shall live?” he fairly yelled.
“I will,” Joseph said, his confident words finally booming through the magnificent arched sanctuary.
Along with everyone else, Chrystabel breathed a sigh of relief.
After the late Sir Leonard’s gun went off right next to Joseph’s head, his ears had been ringing and sore for days. He still hadn’t fully recovered his hearing, though Chrystabel thought he would eventually heal. In any case, over the last weeks she had assured him—very loudly and very often—that she would be just as happy to wed him hearing or deaf.
The soft-spoken vicar cleared his throat again and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Lady Chrystabel Trevor, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”
Tucked into the corner of a pew, Matthew and his new wife held hands, whispering their vows surreptitiously. They hadn’t been able to have a church wedding of their own, so it warmed Chrystabel’s heart to see them sharing in hers today.
After their civil ceremony in Bristol, they’d returned Christmas Day evening to the shocking news of Sir Leonard’s demise.
“Would you like to have our marriage annulled?” Matthew had asked Creath quietly, his face whiter than the snow falling outside. “Until the union is consummated, we can still get an annulment. And now that your cousin is no longer a threat…”
Creath had burst into tears. Racking, heart-rending, inconsolable tears.
Chrystabel had turned her eyes heavenward. “Matthew, you’re an idiot.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Arabel had put in politely.
The new Lord and Lady Grosmont had gone away to Moore Manor—where they meant to reside for the time being—and returned the next day smiling, holding hands, and saying nothing of an annulment. Which Chrystabel took to mean the marriage had been enthusiastically consummated.
Now the two were drawing up plans for a new house on Creath’s mother’s land. Since the authorities had taken nearly a year to verify Sir Leonard’s claim to the baronetcy, the couple expected they’d have plenty of time to build before the next baronet ousted them from Moore Manor.
Creath’s son wouldn’t inherit her father’s title, but eventually he’d inherit Matthew’s title instead. He’d be an earl instead of a mere baronet. She was fine with that.
And Matthew was more than fine with the resolution to his financial troubles. His income from Grosmont in Wales added to the income from his wife’s inheritance put them well on their way to rebuilding the Trevor family fortune.
But that was not why he’d married Creath, of course. Anyone with eyes in their head could see how much he loved her. And everyone who knew them remarked on how well they were suited—both having similarly levelheaded and affable dispositions. Chrystabel reckoned theirs would be an exceptionally polite and agreeable marriage.
Arabel and Creath had become great friends, a convenient turn of events since they were now sharing a home. Arabel would naturally continue living under her brother’s roof until she married. At fifteen and one-half, she was in no hurry to wed.
And given that it would be four or five years until the bookish nephew was old enough to marry, her matchmaking sister saw no reason to rush her.
In the meantime, Arabel was happy to not be in Wales and to have her brother and sister close by. As ever, she was easy to please.
As Chrystabel had dreamed, she’d be living at Tremayne Castle when Joseph’s Tudor gardens bloomed in the summer. But she hadn’t dared to dream of living just a mile from her siblings.
It was clear that she, Arabel, and Matthew had been sorely in need of a fresh start. While they’d always treasure fond memories of their old life at Grosmont Grange, Chrystabel knew they’d make even better memories in their new homes, surrounded by those who held family as their first priority.
“…so long as ye both shall live?” the vicar concluded expectantly.
In the hush that followed, Chrystabel drew a deep breath. “I will,” she pledged, her voice ringing clear and true through the sanctuary.
A few more words, a family heirloom ring slid onto her finger, and she was astonished to find she felt married, the new Viscountess Tremayne.
She felt married. Before the wedding breakfast.
It was, unmistakably, the most wonderful feeling ever.
When her new husband lowered his lips to hers, Arabel burst into applause. But Chrystabel didn’t allow the kiss to be as long or energetic as their usual kisses.
They were in a church, after all.
When he released her, she saw that Matthew and Creath had been kissing as well. And that Arabel was grinning at them like a lunatic, clearly overjoyed for both her siblings.
Chrystabel saw that Lady Trentingham—no, make that Mother—looked thrilled.
And that Lord Trentingham looked cheerful, but perplexed.
He’d been wearing that expression a lot lately.
“I still don’t understand,” he sighed as they all walked back to Tremayne, looking forward to Chrystabel’s masterpiece of a wedding breakfast. “You all met just three days before Christmas. How can it be that four people fell in love so fast?”
Feeling happier than she’d thought possible, Chrystabel linked arms with her new father-in-law. “Obviously, it was a Christmas miracle.”