“Weddings are not about you, silly,” Lady Aster proclaimed, pinning a circlet of rowan to Erran’s thick curls. “You really did not think your bride would want to be married without her family around her?”
Erran really thought his bride considered them already married after uttering vows in a haunted castle, but he knew better than to try to explain that. He didn’t intend to add to family legend.
Although Celeste had probably scribbled it in her journal for future reference.
His beautiful bride slipped her hand through the bend in his elbow and bobbed down so Aster could place a ringlet on her carefully constructed coiffure. A maid had wrapped all that glorious mahogany hair in a construction of curls and ringlets that Erran fully intended to take apart as soon as they were alone.
“I am glad this could be done quickly so Jamar could be with us before he sailed,” Celeste murmured with all evidence of pleasure.
She slanted a look in Erran’s direction that said what he’d already heard— for the sake of others, she was allowing this insane ceremony instead of the private one they’d prefer. He was the biggest sap in the universe because he swelled with pride that he had a woman who believed she belonged to him without need of formalities—and that she was a woman large-hearted enough to share her joy with others.
Erran glanced over the small churchyard. The vicar had accepted Erran’s bribe to oversee this heathen ceremony, but he’d insisted it be held outdoors. That seemed to suit the party exceptionally well. Beneath the brilliant autumn colors of the trees, a vibrant swirl of guests milled. Nana Delphinia had donned her bright red African robes, and a colorfully printed bandana enswathed her graying hair. Jamar, too, had doffed his gentleman’s coat for a long robe he referred to as a dansiki. His celebratory attire was a more sedate brown and gold pattern that Nana had sewn up for him. He wore it with a tight cloth hat that suited his distinguished mien better than the top hats the other gentlemen wore.
Rather than risk tripping on unfamiliar ground he couldn’t see, Dunc sat in his open carriage, wearing his formal morning coat and top hat and looking like the wealthy aristocrat he was. The vicar had quit complaining the moment the marquess had arrived. Erran was grateful Dunc had made the effort. Celeste would now be accepted in the village as the person of importance that she should be.
Erran ignored the rest of the Malcolm women swirling about in billowing silks and lace, performing their family idiosyncrasies. As long as Celeste was at his side, he could endure whatever life flung at him.
“Tell them to come to order,” his bride wickedly proposed. “See how many respond.”
“If it will get us to the bedroom faster . . . ?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. He had conquered his fear of his voice enough to try scientific experimentation, but he still preferred judge and jury to decide on its use.
She tugged him toward the vicar in answer. Trevor stood to one side to give her away. Sylvia giddily twirled her new gown, holding the bride’s bouquet. Theo stood in for Dunc at Erran’s side. His older brother leaned over and whispered, “Last chance to enjoy the misery of bachelorhood, old boy. Any second thoughts?”
Erran glanced down at the woman smiling up at him as if he were the moon and stars. “Not a one,” he told his brother. Then straightening, he turned to address the chattering audience in his Courtroom Voice. “The service is about to commence, if you will please . . .” He almost said “take your places” but realized that could mean trees or London or anywhere but here. Instead, he added, “stand still and let the vicar begin.”
Their audience immediately halted their milling. Ignoring his order, as usual, Celeste stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love your authoritative way with words.”
He grinned. “And now, you may charm them all into believing you are modest and unassuming and would never think of starting a riot.”
She beamed, and he could swear he heard a chorus of birds sing as if it were dawn.