The Surgeon's Miracle (15 page)

‘Poor Cousin Charlotte. She’ll be heartbroken.’

‘She will—you’re unkind to her, Andrew,’ his mother chided gently.

‘She’s fixated. She needs to get over herself. How many is that?’

‘Fourteen.’

Libby nodded. ‘That sounds OK—oh my neighbours. He’s been really good to me and she’s lovely. Oh, and there’s a cousin, Edward,’ she added, looking up at Andrew. ‘I met him at the funeral. I don’t know if he’ll be able to come. He may not be well enough.’

‘We’ll ask him,’ Andrew said gently.

‘That’s seventeen. I’m sure there will be a few more, but we’ll keep it under twenty,’ Jane promised. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll find out when the church is free—fifteen clear days, isn’t it? Or three Sundays? Does it have to be a Saturday?’

‘Any day suits me, I don’t mind,’ Andrew said. ‘I’ll book it off as soon as we’ve agreed a date with the church.’

‘I’ll phone Louise now and find out the technicalities,’ Tony said, getting to his feet. ‘Andrew? Could we have a word?’

They left the room, and Jane looked up from her list and smiled. ‘I’m so glad it’s you. I really wondered if he’d ever settle down. I had no idea about the fertility issue. I wonder what made him check it?’

Libby had no intention of discussing that with his mother, but it was a rhetorical question, the woman who’d given birth to him and raised him much more concerned with the impact it had had on his life.

‘You know, I always felt there was something wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, he’s always been so strong on family, so loyal and dutiful, and I know he grumbles about this old place, but he loves
it, really, and I know it’ll be in safe hands when we’re gone.’ She met Libby’s eyes.

‘You do realise, I take it, that you’ll be Lady Ashenden when that happens?’ she said gently, and Libby felt her mouth open.

‘Oh, good grief, I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought,’ she said, panic washing over her. ‘I can’t possibly—’

‘Can’t possibly what? Love my son and raise your children here in this lovely, draughty old house? Of course you can, my dear. It’s a wonderful place for children, just a great big adventure playground. And, anyway, we have no intention of handing over the reins for years, so relax and enjoy yourself and worry about it when we get carted off in a box.’

‘Who’s getting carted off in a box?’ Tony asked, coming back in with Andrew, and Jane laughed.

‘Nobody, yet. So what did Louise say?’

‘We can be married here in the chapel so long as there’s a registrar attending, because we don’t have our own register, and we’ll need a notice of marriage, so provided we do that first thing tomorrow, we can be married here two weeks on Friday.’

By which time, she thought, her heart pounding, she would know the answer. Even though it wouldn’t change anything, she wanted Andrew to know what he was taking on—the fact, not the possibility. Suddenly, perhaps because she’d been reminded of Edward and his abrupt exit from her life, that had assumed a greater importance.

‘Two weeks on Friday sounds fine.’

‘Right. Libby, you may have your own ideas, but—I’d be so pleased if you’d let me do your flowers.’

Flowers? She hadn’t even thought about flowers, but it suddenly came home to her in a rush that she was getting
married, to a man she loved with all her heart, and his family were welcoming her with open arms.

‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ she said, her eyes filling, and as she and Jane stood up and hugged, Will walked into the room with Sally, and they grinned.

‘I take it you aren’t being disinherited, then, bro’? Never mind,’ Will said, and they all laughed, but Andrew’s arm slid round her and hugged her close, and she knew that whatever happened, whatever fate had in store for them, it would be all right, because they’d have each other…

He eventually got her away from the family and back to his house.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘Don’t cook, I only want a bit of toast.’

‘OK. There’s something I want to say to you first, though, and I know it’s a bit cock-eyed and back to front, but…’ He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly ridiculously uncertain, and, taking her hand, he knelt down in front of her on one knee and stared up into her bemused, strained, beautiful eyes.

‘I want you to forget everything except us,’ he began. ‘Because this is about us, and about nothing and no one else. I love you, Libby. It started when you were dancing with Will and I was so jealous of him, and it hit me like a truck in Paris. I’ve tried to rationalise it, tried to talk myself out of it, and I can’t. I love you, really love you, and it’s a love that won’t go away, won’t fade, won’t weary. I want to watch you grow old, I want to see you with grey hair and wrinkles, still smiling at me over breakfast, still loving me back the way you do now.

‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I
need you. You’re my other half, and I know I said I was never going to marry, but I can’t imagine how much it would have hurt me to let you go, or how I would have done it.

‘I know I’m crabby sometimes, and I’ll probably get a lot worse as I get older, and it means you’ll end up living in a heap of dry rot some day, but I swear I will do everything I can to make you and our children happy, and to care for you, if you’ll do me the honour of being my wife. Will you, Libby? Will you marry me?’

She stared down at him, her eyes filling until his dear, beloved face was just a blur, and then she knelt down in front of him and went into his arms.

‘Oh, Andrew—of course I’ll marry you! I can’t think of anything I want or need more than to be with you for ever. Of course I’ll marry you. I’d be honoured.’

He hugged her, then released her gently and put his hand into his pocket, pulling out a ring.

A beautiful ring, three diamonds in a row in a simple, antique setting, which he slid onto her finger. ‘It was my great-grandmother’s ring,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t know if it would even fit you, but it can be altered if necessary.’

But it wasn’t. It fitted perfectly, sparkling through her tears, and bringing fresh ones that welled up and spilled over. ‘Oh, Andrew, it’s beautiful!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, thank you!’

‘You’ll have to give it back one day,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘when our son’s getting married.’

And then she remembered, remembered that if they had a son, he might not ever live to marry, and her tears fell again, mingling with his as they held each other tight and hung on.

‘I can’t zip my dress up—honestly, I can’t believe how much my bust has grown!’

‘Let me—there. You look fabulous,’ Amy said, standing back and grinning broadly. ‘Fantastic. You’ll knock his socks off. Doesn’t she look great?’

Libby’s mother nodded, then her eyes filled with tears and she hugged her daughter gently. ‘You look absolutely beautiful, darling. Gorgeous. He’s a lucky man.’

Oh, lord, I hope so, she thought.

There was still no news. The clinic was open, she could ring Huw Parry, but she didn’t want to, not now, not so close to the wedding.

The results were taking for ever, and she’d been so sure they would have been back in time, but they weren’t, and in an hour’s time she was marrying Andrew with the uncertainty still hanging over them.

‘Is that your mobile? I’ll fetch it.’

Her heart crashed against her ribs, and she took the phone from Amy as she ran back upstairs with it, staring at the number in consternation.

It was Huw.

‘Who’s ringing you?’

‘God knows.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. ‘Libby.’ He flipped it open. ‘Hi, darling, what’s up? Libby? Libby, for God’s sake, talk to me.’

‘I’ve got the results,’ she said, and then started to cry again, incoherent.

He shut the phone and stared at Will. ‘She’s got the results. I’m going over there.’

‘Not on your own, you’re not. I’ll drive you.’

For once he was glad that Will had no fear and that there was no traffic on the road—and apparently no police. They pulled up outside her house and he was out of the car before it stopped, running up her path and pounding on the door.

‘Libby! Let me in!’

The door opened and she fell into his arms, her face awash with tears. ‘Oh, Andrew!’ she wailed, and sobbed into his shirt front.

‘What?’ he demanded, freeing himself and holding her at arm’s length, desperately trying to work out what she was saying, but she was laughing and crying so hard he couldn’t understand a word.

‘I’m not a carrier,’ she managed finally, but by then he’d worked it out from the laughter and the smiles of the women grouped around behind her, and Will slapping him on the back, and the huge ball of pain that had been lodged in his chest for the last few weeks dissolved, leaving nothing but a searing joy so great it threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Oh, my love,’ he said brokenly. Dragging her into his arms, they wrapped her hard against his heart and held her while he wept.

‘Um, you’re not supposed to see your wife on your wedding day until the ceremony,’ Will pointed out, shoving a handkerchief in his hand when he eventually let her go. ‘It’s unlucky.’

‘No way,’ he said, shaking his head and smiling, but he backed away. ‘I’ll see you at the church. Um—your make-up might need a little attention.’

‘And you need a clean shirt,’ she pointed out, laughing a little unsteadily, then Amy pulled her back inside, pushed him out and closed the door.

They were married at twelve, in the little chapel at Ashenden, in a simple, joyful ceremony attended by their closest family and friends, and one year later, they were back there for the christening of their son.

They called him Edward, in memory of the cousin
who had lost his fight against DMD just three weeks before, and William, for his uncle.

Amy and Will and Chris Turner were his godparents, and during the ceremony Sally rocked and shushed their baby Lucie—Lucie, whose birth had shocked Will into common sense, at last, and made him sell his horse and stop taking foolish risks.

It was a beautiful day, and afterwards they took a picnic down to the folly and drank champagne to celebrate.

There was so much to celebrate, so much to be thankful for, and as they strolled back to the house that would eventually be their home, their baby sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms, Libby’s heart was filled with joy.

‘Happy?’ Andrew asked, smiling down at her, and she smiled back, her love flowing over.

‘Happy,’ she murmured. ‘Very, very happy.’