Page 20 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
But here she was. Exchanging smiles with the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and about to join her life to his forever.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” asked the vicar.
“I give myself,” Arial declared, and Peter’s grip firmed as his smile widened.
Miss Weatherall whispered loudly, “Is that even legal?” and Captain Forsythe shushed her.
The vicar looked a little disconcerted for a moment, and then nodded, and moved on to the next part of the ceremony.
She had attended weddings in the village near Greenmount, and was familiar with the ceremony, but it was different as a bride. The admonitions, the solemn declarations, the vows, that moment when Peter placed his ring on her finger—every word resonated with some deep and previously unsuspected romanticism in her soul.
From this day forth, she and Peter were bound together, the bond between them as deep as the links of blood, no longer individuals from two different families but a couple in a family of their own.In sickness or in health, for richer, for poorer, they repeated after the vicar.
Arial’s mind echoed the phrasing:in happiness or in misery, in love or in hate. She had seen both conditions in the families that lived near Greenmount. Marriage was for a lifetime. As she stood before the vicar, gazing at Peter with her hands in his, hope swelled. She had been prepared to accept a cold alliance,a marriage of convenience. With Peter, she could dream of so much more. Kindness, respect, even friendship. And perhaps children.
The vicar pronounced them husband and wife and called on them to sign the record of the marriage, then said, with a flourish, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lord and Lady Ransome.”
Peter tucked Arial’s hand in his arm and turned them both, so they faced their witnesses. Clara was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Miss Pettigrew smiled as if she was personally responsible for the wedding, and proud to have pulled it off. Rose and Viv were so happy they bounced. And Mr. Richards, who truly was responsible for the wedding, beamed broadly.
Behind the small group of chairs, Nancy, Cook, Barlowe, Sergeant Miller, and the other servants stood silently, every one of them with smiles on their faces and several with tears in their eyes.
Then Captain Forsythe broke the spell of stillness in the room by grabbing Peter’s free hand and shaking it. “Congratulations, Peter. I am so happy for you.”
The two girls hurried forward to speak to Peter, and Captain Forsythe turned to Arial. “I’ve always thought Peter was a lucky devil, Lady Ransome, and winning you for a bride proves it.”
Arial thanked him, though she was inclined to think the luck was on her side. She held out her arms to the girls and received an enthusiastic hug from Viv and a shy one from Rose. Then Clara took her turn, laughing and crying, and Miss Pettigrew with modest good wishes for the happy couple.
Barlowe must have chivvied his fellow servants from the room, for here they were returning bearing trays of food and drink.
*
“I wonder howbad she really is under the mask,” Miss Weatherall commented to John. Peter wondered if she truly thought she was whispering, or if she had pitched her voice to reach him, a few feet further away.
John, bless him, protested. “I wonder how that is any of our business, Belinda.”
Miss Weatherall opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent and pouted. “I was only making a comment, Lord John. There is no need to leap for my throat.”
Mrs. Weatherall made her own contribution to the conversation, abandoning the interrogation she had been attempting on poor Miss Tulloch. “We all know the poor viscount has not a feather to fly with.” She giggled. “Had, I suppose I should say. I daresay one must have the utmost respect for a gentleman who marries a gargoyle for money, when he does it for his mother and sisters.”
Miss Tulloch’s mouth dropped open. Peter glanced around to see Arial deep in conversation with his sisters and Miss Pettigrew on the other side of the room. If she had heard, she showed no sign.
He caught back the hard words on his lips. These women would repeat their remarks to anyone who would listen no matter what he did. Any comment he made would be repeated, embroidered to their own design.
John was not so cautious. In a fierce whisper, he said, “Your remarks are intolerable. We are Lord and Lady Ransome’s guests, and this is their wedding day. If you cannot keep from insulting them, then we had better leave.”
Mrs. Weatherall managed to both glare at him and drop her mouth open in shock, at the same time.
“Really, John,” Miss Weatherall retorted. “How can it be an insult if it is true? I only meant to point out what a hero yourfriend is, allowing himself to be sold to someone known to be horribly scarred.”
Again, Peter stopped to think, though he was possessed by a fierce urge to protect Arial from any implication she had purchased herself a husband. Would he make things better or worse? But he could not let the repeated insults pass.
“She looks almost acceptable with the mask on,” Miss Weatherall conceded. “How disappointed Lord Ransome will be when he sees her with it off!”
The rest of the room had fallen silent, and Miss Weatherall’s voice was piercing.
Before Peter could tell Miss Weatherall, she was no longer welcome, Arial spoke. “I imagine many a husband must be disappointed when they discover that their wife has been hiding ugliness behind a mask. Fortunately, Lord Ransome has already seen me as I am.” She smiled warmly at Peter and added, “I have always thought that ugliness of character, while easier to hide, at least temporarily, must be far more disappointing for a husband than a few physical scars. Far harder to live with, too.”
For a moment, as Peter returned the smile and spoke directly to Arial, the rest of the room faded away. “My wife has a beauty that will not fade with age. She is a woman of character: brave, kind, and good. She is beloved of her servants and already a friend to my sisters.”
