Marrying Christopher (33 page)

It was probable, he had explained, that she and Christopher would not be allowed to live together as husband and wife but that she would live in the main house, where she might attend to her duties as a lady’s maid, and he would be required to live with the field hands, or wherever it was the servants who worked out of doors resided.

Christopher had not taken this news well. “How am I supposed to protect Marsali if I am never with her?”

“You won’t be with her much,” Captain Gower said. “But you will at least see each other often— hopefully every day.”

The room was silent as each considered this.

“You must promise me,” Christopher had said to her at last, “that you will always be honest with me. If Thomas or anyone else has threatened you or hurt you— if you feel you are in danger in any way— you must let me know.”

“I will,” Marsali had promised, all the while thinking that she was already in danger— or her heart was. The day before, she had believed she and Mr. Thatcher would part in New York, and that had made her sorrowful. But to that point she had guarded her feelings well and not allowed them to go where they would. But now that had all changed. She had given in to the emotion she’d been fighting these past weeks. She had believed she and Christopher were to be together, and the idea of seeing him only briefly each day made her wish to weep. How would she ever endure such an arrangement? It would be a constant torture, having him so close, yet not being allowed to be with him.

“We will make this work.” Christopher had clasped her hand as they sat together in the window seat of the captain’s quarters. “And appreciate what time we have together all the more for it.”

“They are ready for you.” Lady Cosgrove stood in the doorway of her cabin, bringing Marsali back to the very happy present of her wedding day, which she intended to enjoy to the fullest.
No use worrying over what is to come
, she reminded herself but found the edict more difficult now that Christopher was involved.

She stepped into the hallway and found Mr. Murphy waiting for her. In addition to the usual cleaning of his nails and teeth, he appeared to have bathed and obtained a new suit of clothing that appeared suspiciously like one of Mr. Luke’s uniforms. It was stretched tightly across Murphy’s stomach, and the sleeves were cuffed on his shorter arms, but all in all he had cleaned up rather well.

“Mr. Murphy, how dashing you look this morning.”

“And you, miss. I like them gloves.”

Gloves?
She wore this gorgeous dress and a string of pearls at her throat, and all he could think to comment on was her gloves?
No matter.
“Why, thank you,” she said graciously. “They are Miss Cosgrove’s. She has kindly shared this ensemble with me.” Marsali swept her hand over the lush skirt, lest he had somehow failed to notice her gown.

“Well, now. Captain says I’m to escort you up to the deck. And then he says I’ll be relieved of watching out for you for the rest of our trip— whole day and a half of it we’ve left.”

Marsali bit back a laugh at his gruff tone. No doubt poor Mr. Murphy had been disgruntled throughout much of this voyage, having to keep an eye on her as he had. “I do appreciate your attentiveness at keeping me safe.”

“Hmph. Not safe enough, it appears. There’s a gentleman up top says he plans to marry you.” Mr. Murphy cracked a grin— the first Marsali had seen from him this entire voyage.

She laughed along with him and took his arm when he extended it to her. “Had I known you were in the market for a husband, I would have asked first,” he confided as they left the room.

“What a pity Mr. Thatcher beat you to it,” Marsali said, quite enjoying their exchange and this new side to her chaperone. Lydia and Lady Cosgrove trailed behind but then called for Marsali to wait before they reached the stairs to the upper deck.

“Stay here,” Lady Cosgrove instructed. “I shall call down to you when all is ready. Mr. Murphy, join me for a moment, please.”

They left, and Marsali waited, puzzled at what else needed to be readied—
the groom is here, isn’t he?

A moment later Mr. Tenney came down the stairs. Looking slightly embarrassed, he thrust what appeared to be a fistful of fragile, rapidly wilting plants as her.

“Your posy. It’s not much, but parsley and dill were the only things we’ve left growing. Everything else I’ve used up or has died.”

“Why, thank you,” Marsali said as enthusiastically as she could and hoped it was enough that she hadn’t hurt his feelings. The bundled stalks were so thin that they could not support the tops of the sprouting herbs unless she held them above the ribbon tied midstem.

“It doesn’t look like much, but dill is good luck on your wedding day,” Mr. Tenney informed her with an air of importance.

“Oh?” Marsali’s brows rose in question.

He nodded. “Give that back to me after the ceremony.” He pointed to the sad bouquet. “I’ll cut it up and put it in your soup tonight. It’ll help with, well— you know.”

She didn’t, actually, but could guess well enough from his sudden discomfort. “Thank you— that is most kind.” She made a mental note to eat very little soup tonight and to encourage Christopher to do the same. They had enough difficulties before them without an overabundance of dill— and its effects— added.

Mr. Tenney left her, and Mr. Murphy returned. “Ready?” he asked, offering his arm once more.

She took it, and they started up the stairs. They reached the upper deck, and Mr. Murphy paused just as the boatswain’s shrill whistle of attention sounded. Lady Cosgrove and Lydia and the crew assembled on deck; all rose from the benches they had been sitting on and turned to face her.

Marsali didn’t know where to look first— at the faces all smiling at her or at the cook’s assistants, struggling with the captain’s accordion in their attempt to create some sort of music for the occasion, or at the captain himself, standing next to the ship’s large brass bell, at the top of the aisle that had been formed by the benches brought up from the saloon.

She clutched the wilting herbs tightly as tears of happiness sprang to her eyes. The music sounded awful, and the breeze was already pulling her hair from its bun. The sky looked very much like it might rain. And it was entirely possible that this marriage would not be recognized once they reached Virginia, but her heart was full, and she had never felt so loved. They had done all this for her. Even Lady Cosgrove had shown that, deep down, she cared as well.

Mr. Murphy glanced at her. “Are you well?”

“Never more so.” Marsali took her first step up the makeshift aisle, which was lined with what appeared to be extra sails swathed and tied along the lengths of the rows of benches. Christopher appeared on the other side of the bell, standing straight and tall and looking almost princely in his suit with the brilliant blues of the ocean behind him. Everything and everyone else faded away as their eyes met.

Her heart pounded and felt as Lydia had described— as if it might swell and burst, or
she
might burst from sheer happiness.

Can this be real?
If she could have come up with the perfect dream, this would be it. Christopher was her knight in shining armor; he really was going to save her. And, even better, she was in love with him.

Christopher’s experience with brides and weddings had been limited to his sisters and their double ceremony the past February. He had recalled that they were each especially beautiful that day, happy to be marrying the men they loved, and wearing the ivory gowns Grandfather had given them. He remembered that the grooms had shown little sign of nerves, save for Samuel, who had at first been unaware that he and Helen were to be married that day as well.

The ceremony had seemed to go on forever. And afterward each of his sisters had exchanged a kiss with their husbands— right there in the church— which had about sent Grace’s new mother-in-law into an apoplexy. Personally, Christopher had thought it rather gutsy of his sisters, particularly Helen. Though all that kissing nonsense was not for him.

Or so he had believed.

He’d had second thoughts about that recently— a complete change of heart, to be accurate. He’d thought of little else the past two nights, other than when and where he would first kiss Marsali. It would not be at their wedding, that much was certain. He’d known for a fact that each of his sisters had been kissed prior to being married and that the occasion had been one of great importance to them. It had been a private affair for each— or so they’d believed, though he had secretly witnessed Helen and Samuel’s first kiss from an upstairs window of the house.

But I have no gazebo, and it is unlikely we will find a moment alone at sunset.
Christopher realized that he should have taken advantage of the moments alone with Marsali in the captain’s quarters two nights ago, but the timing hadn’t felt right to him. Their courtship had been almost nonexistent. Their wedding had to be rushed. Even the terms of their marriage were not to be the usual, and he would, in all likelihood, have little time with her in the weeks and months to come. Therefore it had become imperative to him that their first kiss— perhaps their only kiss for quite some time— should be special. Memorable.

We must make a memory to sustain us through what lies ahead. To help solidify what we have well begun.

He had no doubt that regardless of what they faced, he would remember.
She is the miracle of this voyage— of my life,
he thought as Marsali began her walk down the aisle toward him.

He’d professed to detesting fancy gowns, but his opinion regarding that now also changed— instantly— when he saw her floating toward him, a vision in grey satin and lace and pearls. There could never have been a more beautiful bride, anywhere, anytime, throughout history. He had no idea how he had come to be so fortunate as to be the one marrying her but knew only that he felt in awe of his good circumstance. Not only was his wife-to-be extraordinarily beautiful, but beneath that beauty was a delightful, strong, and spirited woman. They suited each other amazingly well.

He loved her, and it terrified him. He had worried over and loved his sisters, but this was infinitely worse— and better. It seemed impossible that something so earth-shattering could have happened so quickly— to him, of all people— but there was no other way to describe the feelings overwhelming him. He would have fallen to his knees in front of her and asked for her hand before all these people if that’s what it had taken to convince her to take this chance. He would work for Thomas for her; he would wait for her; he would do whatever it was that needed to be done.

He wanted to protect her, to make her happy.

As happy as she has made me.

Marsali’s eyes never left his throughout the entire walk across the deck to the “altar”— the ship’s bell. Every step brought her closer, but neither fast enough nor close enough for his satisfaction. He wanted to touch her again, to hold her hand, to hold her close. To talk with her and hear her laughter, to learn of her hurts and heal them. He wanted hours and days and weeks in which to discover more about this woman he was pledging his life to.

But at the most they had another day at sea and perhaps one more in New York.

When Marsali had nearly reached them, Captain Gower grimaced toward the struggling musician
at the back of the crowd and drew his hand quickly across his neck. He winced as the screeching notes slowed to a painful halt. Everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the accordion was set aside. Christopher bit back laughter and could see that Marsali was struggling to contain hers as well.

We will remember this day, without doubt
,
he thought as he felt the first raindrop on the back of his hand and glanced at the darkening sky. Hopefully they would be able to recall it for more reasons than the amusement provided thus far.

“Who gives this woman in marriage?” Captain Gower asked with authority as Marsali stopped before him.

“I do,” Mr. Murphy said loudly.

“Is there anyone here who objects to a union between them— between this woman and
that
man?” Captain Gower inclined his head toward Christopher.

Miss Cosgrove sniffled, and there were a few coughs covering up sniggers of laughter, but there were no objections. Mr. Luke, Christopher noted, was nowhere to be seen and had likely been assigned duties that kept him elsewhere during this time.

Mr. Murphy held Marsali’s hand out toward Christopher.

He stepped forward and took it, pausing long enough to bow and lift her gloved fingers to his lips before leading her to stand with him in front of the captain.

“The congregation may be seated.” Captain Gower opened a large Bible, held it in front of him in both arms, cleared his throat, and began reading from a paper resting between the pages. “Marriage is ordained of God. The scriptures tell us that the twain shall be one. In Psalms we read…”

Another drop landed on his nose, and Christopher scooted closer to Marsali so that their shoulders were touching, as if that might somehow protect her from the impending rain. He wondered if the captain had planned to read from the Bible or if Lady Cosgrove had put him up to it. Christopher guessed it was the latter, as she had been the force behind everything from the attempted music to the arrangement of the benches and sails on deck. She’d even spoken with him last night about a wedding ring for Marsali, giving him the idea that she might have offered one of hers for the occasion had he not already had the one Grandfather had given him.