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DRAKE WASTED NO TIME making the wedding arrangements with Captain Schiffer. Thank heavens. If Bria had to spend one more night without being in his arms, she’d burst.
She stood in front of the looking glass and pressed her hands to her stomach. There she stood, about to marry a duke with only her ratty old costume to wear, not to mention the skirts were scandalously short. One of the sailors had come up with a handful of hairpins, so at least her hair was tidy. She had no rouge or face powder, nothing to improve her appearance.
And yet, when she’d argued all these points, Drake repeated three words: “I don’t care”.
“Bria!” Johnny burst through the door and charged inside with Buggie, the cabin boy on his heels. “Look what we have for your wedding.”
No matter how excited and adorable the child appeared, as his guardian, she mustn’t abide his audacity—not to mention hauling a friend into a future duchess’ cabin without so much as a knock. “I beg your pardon, but before you show me one single thing, I insist you go out to the corridor and knock. A young man never bursts into a lady’s or anyone’s chamber without first requesting permission.”
“But—”
Bria thrust her finger toward the door. “Do it, I say.”
Johnny rolled his eyes at the older boy. “Bleeding hell.”
“And without the colorful language,” she added before they skulked away, shutting the door behind them.
An impatient rap sounded. “May we please come in, milady?” asked Johnny, followed by a considerable amount of giggling.
“May we come in, your worship?” Buggie barely contained his laughter while his voice resounded through the timbers. The troublemaker.
“Your magnificence,” the younger miscreant chortled.
“Oh, please.” But Bria had asked for their sauciness. She cleared her throat. “Enter.”
Again, the door burst open. “Buggie told me one of the sailors makes flowers out of paper.” Johnny thrust his arms forward with an enormous grin. He held at least a dozen paper roses that looked as if they’d been made from castoff letters. “Now you’ll have a posy to hold for your wedding.”
Bria took one and held it up. It really was a work of art and if not for the ink, the flower would have looked like a real rose. “These are splendid.”
“I knew you’d like them.”
“I do. Very much.”
The boy grinned as if it were Christmas morn. Then he nudged Buggie. “Go on. ’Tis your turn.”
The older lad shoved a bundle of lacy cloth into Johnny’s hands. “You do it. I’m not accustomed to speaking to girls.”
“All right then.” Giving Bria a bow, the lad held up the lace. “This is the captain’s tablecloth. He said you could use it for a veil.”
“It’s good as new,” added Buggie. “And no one will be the wiser.”
“Why, thank you.” Bria imagined gravy stains accompanied by a spot of red wine or two, but she shook out the cloth, grateful to have something to cover her costume. “You’re right, it looks new.”
“You’ll have to give it back after the ceremony,” said Buggie. “The captain needs it on account he is hosting the wedding feast in his cabin.”
“I don’t mind. Thank you for being so very thoughtful.” Swinging the cloth around her head and shoulders, Bria performed a pirouette. “A bride always wears something borrowed when she’s married. This is perfect, and I doubt anyone will know it is really a tablecloth.”
Johnny beamed. “I think it’s beautiful.”
***
HOW DID SHE MANAGE it?
Drake expected to see the love of his life appear on deck dressed like the Sylph. But she’d found some ivory lace and had it wrapped around her head and shoulders like a shawl. Smiling, her face pure and radiant, no other woman had ever looked as beautiful.
In her hands she carried roses. Paper roses, but they looked so real, he could practically smell them. Johnny strutted beside her protectively as if he might kick anyone in the shin if they tried to touch the bride. “I’m giving her away.”
Drake patted the boy’s sandy curls, which were almost clean now he’d had a bath. “You’re doing a fine job. Thank you.” But he didn’t linger long on the lad. Today was Britannia’s day and he wanted to shower her with adoration. “You look stunning.”
She smiled. “Delicious, perhaps?”
“Delicious, stupendous, wonderous, divine...”
“I suggested delicious because I’m festooned with a tablecloth.”
He stifled a laugh. “No woman hath ever put mere drapery to so good a use.”
“I’m glad you approve. Though I must say the groom is far better clad than the bride.”
“I have nothing but my theater attire from that fateful night and a spare shirt I borrowed in Portsmouth. But I would marry you no matter what you chose to wear.”
Her gaze slid to his chin. “You shaved.”
“Only for you, my love.”
“Shall we begin?” asked the captain, holding the Common Book of Prayers.
Drake gave the man a nod. “Please.”
“Dearly beloved...”
He barely heard another word. As Captain Schiffer droned on about the sanctity of holy matrimony, Drake stared into the whisky eyes he’d grown to love, the pert lips he was dying to kiss, the radiant smile of a woman who would be his for the rest of their lives.
“Drake Alexander Thomas Chadwick, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”
When Bria’s expression became inquisitive, Drake realized a response was necessary. “I will,” he croaked.
“Britannia LeClair, wilt though have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?
“I will,” she said as if no one on earth possessed the power to change her mind.
The captain looked across the crowd of sailors. “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
“That’s me, Johnny. I don’t have no surname. But I give her in holy man-a-mony all the same.”
Drake chuckled and gave the boy a wink.
“Sorry,” Britannia whispered.
“Not at all. He’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
“May I continue?” asked the captain with a sober frown.
Johnny gave the bride a very inappropriate nudge. “There’s more?”
“Yes, and now you must go stand by Buggie.”
Drake pulled upon all his ducal training and swallowed a laugh. There he stood, seventh in line to the throne, eloping with the love of his life who was wearing a tablecloth, who happened to be of questionable birth, given away by a foundling who had been convicted of thievery and sentenced to fourteen years transport.
And I couldn’t be happier.
The rest of the ceremony continued without further incident and, when it came time to place a ring on Bria’s finger, Drake removed the unicorn signet. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow...”
Britannia gasped as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Your seal?”
He bent down and whispered into her ear. “Until I find a proper jeweler.”
“Without ado, I pronounce you man and wife!” The captain closed his prayer book. “Open a barrel of rum for the crew. Two drams per man, mind you. I’ll tolerate no drunkenness aboard His Majesty’s ship.”
As the Hasting’s deck erupted into mayhem, Drake drew Britannia into his arms. “You have made me the happiest man in Christendom.”
“And me the happiest woman.”
The noise from the celebration ebbed as he lowered his chin and kissed her. “There will be far more kissing in our cabin this eve.”
“Must we wait?”
“The captain has a feast planned with the officers, otherwise, I’d make our excuses.”
“Oh, yes.” She removed her veil. “He needs this back for the table.”
