What more could a man ask for? Ren Dryden could think of nothing as he waited for his bride at the altar of St Michael’s of All Angels. Kitt Sherard stood beside him, hair pulled back and dressed in a respectable jacket and trousers, not so respectably flirting with the pretty girl in the front row.
The church was full, although there were few people Ren knew personally sitting in the pews. But there were many who knew him at least by reputation. They’d come to his wedding to pay tribute to his efforts and Emma’s. Thanks to their efforts, the abandoned plantations had been broken into smaller farms and given to the freedmen who had worked them for the former owners. People who had given up hope of farming their own land had a chance again and those people, black and white, had come to witness his celebration.
The doors at the back of the church opened and Ren’s eyes were riveted on the sight of Emma coming down the aisle. The sunlight behind her shone on the filmy gauze of her veil and caught the seed pearls trimming her dress. She’d opted to wear white, an extravagant colour choice and hardly practical, but she’d insisted. White symbolised a new beginning, a slate wiped clean and no one knew the importance of that more than she.
Ren didn’t care. She’d look beautiful in any colour. As it was, the effect was striking against the foil of her dark hair. Every step she took brought his future closer to him, a future he’d only dared to dream about. When she was close enough, Ren reached out a hand for her, drawing her close and lifting her veil. He mouthed the words, ‘I love you’, and watched her eyes sparkle with tears.
The ceremony started. There were prayers and hymns, vows and rings, official and meaningful in their own way, a public pledge that mirrored the private one he and Emma had made earlier in front of the witness that mattered most. They’d come early and walked in the churchyard, taking time to visit Cousin Merrimore’s grave and leave a flower offering, feeling the old man’s presence wash over them in blessing as they stood before his headstone, hands entwined in silence as they were now.
The bishop was nearly done. Only one last instruction remained. ‘Ah,’ Ren whispered as he bent to carry out the bridal kiss. ‘The Caribbean, land of risk, rum and most unexpectedly, romance.’
Emma smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Especially the romance.’
* * * * *