Patricia Rice (40 page)

“Cassandra’s mother requests a private wedding, Mother. She
will only have the two of us as guests. There is no need for you to accompany
us.” Wyatt returned his cup to the saucer and lowered his paper to stare down
his mother.

Cassandra scooped a spoonful of eggs from the platter on the
sideboard and let Wyatt argue with the dowager’s unusual request.

“But you have only just returned and now you must go
jaunting off again!” the dowager complained. “It is not like you, Wyatt. It is
nearly harvest. You must supervise the fields. You have neglected all your
other properties this summer. You cannot neglect Merrick too. It is just not
done.”

Despite being showered in lace and indulging in passionate
love play not more than an hour ago, Cass felt quite proper and sure of herself
as she sat down.

“But, my lady,” she said, “Wyatt has you and MacGregor to
keep sharp eyes on everything. The estate runs so very smoothly, it cannot need
more than an occasional word or two to keep it running steady. The biggest
problem will be my dowry.”

The dowager sniffed haughtily. “That is another subject I
find very odd. Why should the Marquess of Eddings leave his lands to his
daughter instead of his son? It is all very peculiar, to be sure, and I am not
at all certain that that dreadful American isn’t somehow behind it. How can
your mother marry a man who for all intents and purposes sent her son into
exile? It is a dreadful scandal.”

Cassandra and Wyatt exchanged glances. When Wyatt had ridden
to Sussex to inform Cassandra’s parents of their intention to marry, Cassandra’s
father had offered the former lands of the Marquess of Eddings as dowry. Wyatt
had been thunderstruck, but the explanation had been simple.

The estate was never entailed. When the house had burned and
the marquess found himself up the River Tick, he had offered the lands for
private sale. Wyandott’s British solicitors had written him of it. Surmising
that his former lover might be in a precarious situation, he had purchased the
lands, never knowing that one day he would discover a daughter who loved them.

But the fact that Cassandra was not the daughter of the
Marquess of Eddings had never been imparted to the dowager.

Wyatt picked up his paper and coffee and spoke from behind
the newssheet. “Wyandott sent a dissipated bankrupt out of the country to learn
better manners. Since he and Cassandra’s mother will be returning to New York
shortly, Duncan will have family with him, so it isn’t complete exile. If
anyone can straighten out Eddings, it will be this American. I hope so, for
Lady Eddings’ sake, but it is scarce any of our affair.”

“There is considerable work to be done before that property
can be profitable. I should think you would need stay here to see to it,” the
dowager argued.

Cassandra smiled at her plate of eggs. Wyatt had not seen
fit to inform his mother that their “marriage” was all a hum, and she was no
more Lady Merrick than the man in the moon. The special license in his pocket
would repair that quickly enough, as soon as they got away from Kent, where
they were so well known.

The matter of her pregnancy had not yet been presented.
Everyone thought they had been married at the beginning of August, in France, only
two months ago. Yet she was nearly four months gone with child and could not
hope to conceal it much longer.

Behind his newssheet, Wyatt winked at her. Then, lowering
the paper, he met his mother’s glare. “As a matter of fact, Mother, it will in
all likelihood be next spring before I see to Cassandra’s property. You and
MacGregor might discuss possibilities this winter if you like. Just remember,
he’s my steward, and you can’t discharge him without my permission.”

Lady Merrick glared in outrage at her only son. “Next
spring
? Whatever are you talking about?
What can occupy you the whole of the winter that you cannot see to it yourself?”

Setting aside his paper, Wyatt rose and proudly set his
hands on Cassandra’s shoulders. Her cheeks heated, and he stroked them gently. “I
am saying that Cassandra and I have never had our wedding journey, Mother. And
since we have just discovered that she is already with child, we have decided
to take it now, before she is burdened with the difficulties of motherhood. You
would not deny us a few months’ privacy, would you?”

“A child!” The dowager’s mouth gaped open, then closed. “I
had not thought I would ever…” Recovering, she sniffed. “Of course, I should
have expected this. You have been behaving like a besotted schoolboy for
months.”

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she cast a gaze on Cassandra’s
blush and Wyatt’s possessive grasp. Resignedly she set aside her napkin and
rose from the table. “Of course, Wyatt. I can see that you must be right.
Motherhood is a most strenuous and demanding occupation. You would do right to
enjoy yourselves now. I trust you will take a reliable physician with you? You
cannot be too careful with Cassandra’s health. She may be carrying the next
Earl of Merrick.”

“Let us not rush things, Mother,” Wyatt replied. “I plan to
be around for quite a long time. We shall look for a Viscount Swansea first,
shall we? But I’ll settle for a lady this first time. Females are very
refreshing, and I intend for my sons to have some around to teach them what’s
important.”

As his mother hastily departed, Cassandra sent Wyatt a
startled look, but he gave her a reassuring kiss.

More than one child. It astounded the mind. She would be but
twenty when this one was born. There would be time for several sons and
daughters. There was a whole lifetime ahead to share with Wyatt and his
children. It sounded too wonderful to be true. A real home, a real family, and
someone to love....

Wyatt caught her misty look and bent to press a kiss upon
her cheek. “We’re not married yet, sweet,” he whispered. “Does the thought of
young Mannerings make you wish to cry off?”

“No, that wasn’t at all what I thought of,” she murmured. “It
was how all those young Mannerings would get here that crossed my mind.”

Wyatt grinned. “Once the house is overrun with little
creatures, you’ll lose interest quickly enough. I’ll just make certain I take
my fill while I can. Lunch at the oak grove?”

They had not yet made love outside. It gave Cass something
to think about as she waded through the morning’s chores.

~*~

Sunlight filtered through the arched windows of the old
church, casting a rainbow of color across the dark hewn pews. Dust motes
floated in the beams, but there was none to notice, for the pews were bare of
inhabitants.

In the nave, four people stood before the vicar, more
elegant people than the ancient country church had known in many a year. The
two men were tall and well-built, their wide-shouldered frames elegantly
encased in tight-fitting frock coats, one of gray, the other of a rich navy.
Since this was not an evening affair, both had disdained knee breeches, but
their uncreased trousers fitted neatly to strong legs, revealing the expensive
tailoring. Gleaming white linen accented their throats and hands, and the
subtle gleam of a gold watch fob on one and the sparkle of a jeweled stud on
the other bespoke not only wealth but also aristocratic wealth. Neither man had
the need for ostentatious display.

Beside them, the women made a fascinating portrait in
contrasts. The younger, taller lady stood proudly beside the gentleman in blue,
her head held at a tilt that held more curiosity than arrogance. Dancing eyes
watched the vicar’s stiff stance with a gleam much akin to amusement before
they strayed to the dusty candelabra at the altar and the sparrow fluttering
near the vaulted oak ceiling.

Through the delicate web of fine lace covering her hair, a
glimmer of red-gold caught in a stray sunbeam. A gown of silk so fine that its
pale silver-blue changed color with every movement molded a figure of exquisite
proportions. Blue ribbons fluttered beneath her high breasts, and a tantalizing
wisp of gathered lace blew in a draft. The gentleman at her side had difficulty
keeping his attention on the vicar.

The lady beside the man in gray was more petite. She rested
frequently on the arm of her companion, but her features glowed serenely as she
glanced up to him. She wore a darker blue more suited to her pale coloring. A
rope of pearls at her throat caught the light and gleamed with a soft luster.
Her gloved hand occasionally brushed them, as if in pride and disbelief.

“Will you, Wyatt Avery Charles Swansea Mannering, Lord
Merrick, take this woman to wife, to have and to hold...”

The time-honored words drifted past them, as much a part of
the setting as the vicar and the windows and the pews. To the couple speaking
them, they were mere formalities. The real vows had already been said and
sealed with hearts, minds, and bodies. This ceremony only made public what they
had known privately for a long time. Whatever their differences, the couple was
meant to share their lives together. The groom smiled at his bride as he placed
the ring on her finger, and the smile she gave him in return illuminated the
altar as well. The vicar coughed nervously at the passion flaring in that
exchange of gazes.

When the final words were said, Wyatt had to satisfy himself
with a brief promise of a kiss before turning to shake the hands of Cassandra’s
parents directly behind them. There were hugs and kisses all around, and then
the older couple stepped before the altar. Cassandra and Wyatt exchanged
conspiratorial glances, and after standing witness to this second ceremony,
they fled from the altar and up into the crumbling organ loft.

A thunderous wheeze startled the occupants of the nave as
they bent over the church register to sign their names. They glanced nervously
to the pipes filling the whole of the loft balcony.

Since the death of the last village musician in the middle
of the last century, the small parish had not been blessed with anyone talented
enough to bring sound from the ancient instrument. When another wheeze followed
the first, the company raised questioning eyebrows, but this wheeze was more
whisper than thunder. The vicar hurriedly made out the wedding papers to the
rattle and hiss of the pipes.

Above, Merrick issued a mild curse as Cassandra leaned
anxiously over his shoulder. They had chosen this church not only for its
privacy but also for this magnificent organ. The temptation to make the kind of
joyful noise that would have the heavens singing had been too much for either
of them to resist. Only now, it seemed as if the only noise they would make was
the kind to drive mice from the pipes.

“One more time, Wyatt. Try it one more time. I know it will
work,” Cassandra whispered coaxingly. From habit, her fingers slid into the
back of his hair above the crisp linen of his cravat, deriving hope as well as
pleasure from this touch.

Wyatt glanced up to her face, and catching her hand, brought
it to his lips for a kiss where his ring now rested on her finger. “If I could
but add the dash of enchantment to the organ that you bring to my life, it
would sing forever, my sweet.”

Heart spilling over with love and eyes brimming with
moisture, Cassandra dared not let the tears spill, for fear she would never
stop weeping in happiness. She kissed Wyatt’s ear, then ran her fingers over
the scale of notes he was attempting to persuade from the instrument. “There, I
bestow my magic upon yon machine. Make it sing, Sir Wyatt.”

Wyatt pumped once more, then applied his skillful fingers to
the keyboard.

As the final papers were signed below, the first
recognizable notes escaped the ancient instrument. The vicar nearly dropped the
book he was holding, and the look of disbelief on his face would have given
credence to the legend of ghosts in the upper loft. More notes followed the
first, and as the vicar handed the newly wedded couple their marriage lines,
the notes became a joyous melody echoing approval throughout the nave.

In accompaniment to the organ, an angel’s voice began on the
refrain. The couple below nearly forgot to thank the vicar as the music lifted
and soared and filled the holy chapel with stirring sound. With tears of joy,
the vicar dropped to his knees and bowed his head. The glorious music poured
down from above, startling even the sparrows into silence.

Moisture bathed the cheeks of the bride as her new husband
kissed her gently, and hand in hand they walked down the aisle to the door. A
better wedding gift could not have been purchased with all the wealth in the
world, and they halted at the doorway to hear the song’s end.

The resounding organ rattled ancient tiles and shook
centuries-old dust from the rafters, but the sweet song of a magical
nightingale wrapped in and around the mellow notes, bringing tears to the eyes
and raising goose bumps on the flesh that lingered well after the last note
died.

The new Mr. and Mrs. Wyandott waited for the musical Lord
and Lady Merrick to join them, and together the two couples walked out into the
brilliant autumn sunshine.

It had been planned as a private ceremony, with none but
themselves in attendance. Yet as they stepped onto the church steps, a shower
of wheat chaff dusted their hats and hair and covered their shoulders before
blowing into the breeze, and laughter marked their entrance into the world as
couples.

Wyatt and Cassandra looked up to find Lotta and Jacob
perched in the bell tower, dumping the first of the season’s harvest from
burlap bags. Laughing, the earl and his bride clasped hands and ran for the
waiting carriage, leaving the bemused older couple standing on the church
steps, waving farewell.