Page 67 of Dropping the Ball

“Yes,” Dunstan answered. “After the presentation Cedric made of Lady Muriel, it seems as though Uncle Gerald has taken to doing this as theatrically as possible.”

“Oh, I see,” Bernadette said, again trying not to laugh.

“Come forward,” Uncle Gerald called out, setting down his book and tea and gesturing for Alden and Bernadette to approach.

“Here we go,” Alden said, as if bracing himself to run out into a cold rain.

He took Bernadette’s arm and escorted her, with far more seriousness than was needed, the remaining length of the great hall, until the two of them stood before Uncle Gerald in his chair. The crackling fire off to one side and Mrs. Weatherby standing by, her black uniform neat and crisp, only added to the feeling that knights must have had long ago, when they’d accomplished some sort of grand deed and been rewarded by their sovereign.

“What have we here?” Uncle Gerald asked, raking Bernadette with a somber gaze.

Alden had decided long before they’d arrived at Godwin Castle that the best way to win his uncle’s approval, even though the wedding had been hasty, was to play into the old man’s theatrics.

“Uncle Gerald,” he greeted the man with a deep nod. “It is with great honor and affection, as well as with deepest contrition for not issuing an invitation to our admittedly hasty wedding, that I should like to introduce you to my wife, Lady Bernadette Godwin, née Attleborough, of East Anglia.”

“My lord,” Bernadette said, dropping into one of the most formal and graceful curtsies Alden had ever seen and bowing her head to the Godwin patriarch. “It is a pleasure beyond compare to meet you at last. Your nephew has reported so many delightful and amazing things about you, that I feel as though I can only benefit from making your acquaintance.”

Alden didn’t know whether to grin or roll his eyes.

On second thought, he most definitely wanted to grin. Uncle Gerald’s mask of importance dropped for a moment, and he smiled with excitement at Bernadette before he could stop himself.

He did so while Bernadette still had her head bowed, however, and by the time she straightened and looked at him again, Uncle Gerald had schooled his face back into its mask of patriarchal stoniness.

“So,” he said, stroking his chin as he narrowed his eyes at Bernadette. “This is your answer to my dictate to marry or avoid the curse? To rush off with the first maiden who would have you?”

Alden’s grin faltered. He wasn’t certain he liked the sort of teasing his uncle seemed determined to direct at his bride.

But Bernadette matched the comment without missing a beat with, “Oh, my lord, I am far from his first.”

Part of Alden wished his uncle had been sipping his tea at that moment so that he could have watched the old man spit it out at that comment. Instead, all he did was stammer at the cheeky statement, then burst into laughter.

“I like her,” he said, slapping the arm of his chair. “She’s just as wild and ferocious as Cedric’s Muriel, I’d wager. Where have you lads found these ladies?”

“Lady Muriel has been a good friend of mine for years,” Bernadette said. “We attended Oxford University together.”

“Ah ha!” Uncle Gerald exclaimed, as though he’d uncovered some great secret. “You Oxford Society ladies always have been little minxes.”

Alden cleared his throat, worried that his uncle would go too far if he was not reined in. Even Dunstan was fighting not to laugh, which was saying something.

Fortunately, Uncle Gerald seemed ready to proceed with the formalities.

“Mrs. Weatherby,” he said in a loud voice, even though the castle’s housekeeper was only a few feet behind him. “Bring me the scroll!”

Mrs. Weatherby nodded solemnly, then walked with a straight back and a great deal of ceremony across to the side, to Uncle Gerald’s writing desk. She pulled open the top drawer, withdrew a scroll, then marched it ceremoniously back across the great hall.

Alden had been present for the striking of Cedric’s name from the scroll several months before. At that time, Mrs. Weatherby had simply set the scroll on Uncle Gerald’s table and unrolled it. This time, however, she dropped to one knee beside Uncle Gerald’s chair, bowing her head and holding up the scroll, as though it were the sword Excalibur and she was the Lady of the Lake, presenting it to Arthur.

It was all Alden could do not to burst into peals of laughter. No wonder Uncle Gerald had taken to spending so much time at Godwin Castle of late. Mrs. Weatherby was efficient and organized, but she was a tad younger than one would imagine a housekeeper to be, and clearly, she had a sense of humor.

Come to think of it, that was, perhaps, why Dunstan had been spending so much time with their uncle of late as well.

“Show me your proof of marriage,” Uncle Gerald said ceremoniously, as Mrs. Weatherby continued to kneel and present the scroll.

Alden felt so sorry for the woman kneeling that he didn’t pause to argue over the ridiculousness of the ceremony. He turned to Bernadette–who had the certificate in her reticule and who was trying desperately not to laugh. Bernadette withdrew the folded paper and handed it to Alden.

Alden unfolded the paper, cleared his throat, and handed it across to his uncle. “I believe you will find everything is in order,” he said gravely, as if completing a business transaction.

Uncle Gerald took the scroll, glanced down his nose through his reading glasses at it, and hummed. “Yes,” he said. Then again, “Yes. I believe this is all in order. Lord and Lady Godwin.”He looked up over his glasses at Bernadette, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction. Then he said, “Mrs. Weatherby, present the scroll!”

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