Page 25 of The Duke's Improper Bride
Meet me at the church at ten. A carriage will be waiting at the bottom of the hill. –I
Such simple words for a life-changing event.
Please marry me.
The man begged her to accept; she had never been so desired in her life.
Tonight she, Nora Jane MacAllen, was getting married.
“Miss?” Anne asked once more. “We really must go to meet the carriage.”
“Yes, Anne.” She shook away her happy thoughts and stalked like a thief into the night.
The carriage ride seemed as if it took years to arrive to the church. But walking down the aisle toward a smiling groom felt like mere seconds. Mrs. White brought a small bouquet of roses and thistle for Nora to carry. The woman placed the bouquet in her hands, then closed them, as Nora stood paralyzed at the top of the aisle.
The church was nothing more than a small parish, just a few rows of pews, now lit with candles. It felt like a great vista to Nora, who could not remove her eyes from the man that stood before her, the man she would pledge her life to that very evening. He looked nothing like the painter she encountered during her morning hike. This man looked like a man one would find in a London ballroom. His black wool suit was tailored to every meticulous inch of his tall body. His shirt was pure white and starched. His normally unkempt hair looked as if it had been cut and was worn swept to the side. Any sign of a beard was shaven and his skin reflected a healthy pallor. She had always found Isaac to be handsome, more so than Stuart, but looking as he did now, smiling at her as if she were his very reason for living, she found him transcendent.
Then she found herself standing in front of him, so nervous she felt as if she would crumble at the knees and lay in a heap at his feet.
The priest joined their hands and, as if he understood, Isaac ran his thumb in comforting circles over her palm.
She knew he would make her happy and she would have a good life with him, no matter where life may take them. She barely knew the man touching her now, but she suspected that they began to know each other that day when he first painted her. When he committed her wandering form to canvas, he captured her very soul with his eyes. When they kissed, well, it was nothing like the horrible awkward affair with Stuart. She wished her kisses with Isaac would never end. She felt…
“I, Isaac, now take you, Nora, to be my wife.”
Total elation.
“In the presence of God and before these witnesses,” he said, sending a wink in Mrs. White’s direction behind Nora’s shoulder. Nora let out a small, nervous giggle until he winked at her next and she her heart skipped a beat. “I promise to be a loving, faithful and loyal husband to you, for as long as we both shall live.”
For as long as we both shall live.
The priest took out a ribbon to handfast the pair.
Nora held up her hand to the priest. “Anne, the ribbon please.”
Anne carried the ribbon forward. It was the very ribbon Nora carefully and elaborately embroidered for two years, knowing in her heart that she would be married one day, despite her mother’s constant fussing and putdowns. She covered every inch of that piece of linen with calculated stitches in every color.
“My wedding p-present to you,” she whispered to Isaac as he studied her handiwork.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
Happiness swelled in her chest as his smile spread, a sincere smile, one that was kind. One that made Nora feel as though she had found someone who finally understood.
As though with another blink, Nora was married. Suddenly wrapped up in a carriage, the destination unknown. Her groom had sworn himself to secrecy but reassured her there would be a bed on their wedding night.
A promise that made her blush as much as it made her want to kiss her husband again until they both starved for air.
“Are you happy?” Isaac asked, stroking the top of her head. She rested against his chest for some time, letting this newfound bliss wash over her. The carriage rocked back and forth over the road, and Nora listened to the soft beat of his heart.
Nora Jane MacAllen was married. She was a wife, and she had found a husband. Someone who had shown her kindness, if not love. He had said those words, and they had the same effect as if the sun came to wrap her in light and warmth. But there was much more to love than falling quickly. And Nora had never known it for herself.
“Yes,” she said simply, gazing up at her husband. She kissed his chin and ran her fingers through his black hair.
“Nora Jane Barnes, the Duchess of Ashbornham,” he said with a smile. His voice was husky, as if drunk in love with her.
But that didn’t explain why hearing duchess sent her body into a panic. She smiled stiffly, then sat up, adjusting the blankets.
“Are you sure you’re happy?”
