Champagne flowed from bottles and fountains. Glasses were raised in celebration of the royal wedding. “To Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold!”
Inside the Effingham mansion, the ballroom was lit by hundreds of candles in chandeliers and wall sconces. Outside, a dainty paper lantern thoughtfully provided by Bella shed a feeble glow over one corner of the terrace. Stephen and Maryann stood well beyond the circle of light.
He raised his glass. “To you, my love. May you never regret taking on this worthless, impoverished—”
She stopped him with a finger pressed against his mouth.
“To us. To our love. Our dreams.”
He swept her into his arms. The chink of two glasses shattering on the pavement was the only sound to break the stillness of the night until the lilting tune of a waltz stole through the closed French doors.
Maryann listened wistfully. How she longed to dance the waltz. Her father had never permitted it, and now she was in mourning.
Gently, she pulled out of Stephen’s arms. “Would you think me outrageous if I asked you to waltz with me?”
He drew her close again. “No, love. You are courageous and without pretense. You’ll worry me and drive me to distraction with your expectations of independence, but nothing you do will be outrageous.”
“I daresay you’re right.” A gleam in her eyes belied the primness of her mouth. “Nothing could be more outrageous than the way you arranged our marriage.”
His mouth brushed her hair. “It’s the way knights work. Swiftly and efficiently. Besides. I didn’t dare give you time to change your mind. I knew it’d be best if I sent word to Sir Nathaniel last night, immediately after you said yes, to arrange for the special license.”
Nestled in the curve of his arm, she danced the waltz. The touch of his hand caressing the nape of her neck spawned the strangest notions. So she could not be outrageous? If he but knew of the awakened desires and longings, he would speedily be undeceived.
She smiled. Or, perhaps, he would not. He always seemed to know her most secret thoughts and to anticipate her every wish. Hadn’t he arranged for Mama and Reginald to witness the wedding? And for Bella and Meg to be bridesmaids? And within the hour they’d start on their wedding trip. To Cornwall. To her new home.
Her hand, which had, very properly, rested lightly on the sleeve of his coat, slid up his arm, across his shoulder, a move that inspired more outrageous notions. The smile deepened. How far, she wondered, would they drive before they stopped for the night?
Her fingers touched the crisp, dark hair. The golden glow of the paper lantern highlighted the sun-bleached streaks, as had the candles in the small chapel where they were married.
“Stephen?”
“Hmm?”
His mouth claimed hers, distracting her from the question she had been about to ask. It hadn’t been all that important. But some day, she thought, losing herself in a whirl of pleasurable sensations—some day, when she had nothing else to think about, she’d ask him why he never wore a hat.