Page 55 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Good," Ivo pronounced happily, as they broke apart, "Because you're stuck with me now."
The church door opened and the villagers began to stream out, headed by Mrs Mifford who was braying loudly to anyone who would listen that she had predicted the marriage from the off.
"I don't like to brag," she trilled, "But I'm something of a clairvoyant. I said, not a month ago, that I would soon have one daughter as mistress of Plumpton Hall and the other the mistress of Northcott Manor—and I was right."
"What do you see in my future?" Miss Morton queried, her eyes full of hope for a similarly fortuitous match.
"Oh, dear," Mrs Mifford frowned, as she gazed at Miss Morton thoughtfully, "I'm afraid not much, my girl. Still, your mother will be happy to have you close by as she ages. Emily! Where are you Emily? I have had a premonition that you are next."
Jane took a step back as he surveyed the scene of chaos before her. Miss Morton had fled, sobbing hysterically, while her mother was racing around the church yard in search of Emily. Mary and Northcott were headed their way, the former still grumbling loudly about her mother's favouritism to her patient husband, as Eudora trailed them, tapping her stolen cane as she walked.
"I am rather afraid that it is you who is stuck with me," Jane whispered to her husband, who seemed dazed by the disorder of it all.
"There's no one I would rather be stuck with than you," he answered back, with a mischievous grin.
And then he kissed her once more, to prove that he was indeed pleased to have married into such chaos.
