Page 87 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
‘I love you more than my own life, Rose. I should never have told you to go. Marry me.’
She turned to run for the door. On a hook on the back of it was that sad-looking little straw bonnet with blue ribbons. She turned back to face him.
She frowned. The hat meant something. It had to. ‘For a duke, you are a hopeless romantic.’
‘It would seem so.’ He went down on one knee and took both her hands in his, kissing each one in turn. He looked up at her with a spark of mischief in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. A great deal of love. ‘I love you, Rose. You seeme. I need you to remind me who I am. I cannot do this without you. Will you marry me? Please?’
Longing filled her chest. It was so tight it hurt. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. ‘How can I? I’m not even a lady.’
‘You are the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing lady in the world to me and that is all that counts. Isn’t that what you said only moments ago?’
‘But this is different. I can’t—’
‘You can. You can do anything you want. Rose. Darling, dearest Rose. Can’t you see? You are what I needed. Without you, I was lost.’
Blinking away the mist, she looked down into his lovely face, saw the love and slowly sank to her knees before him, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping on his shoulder. ‘Oh, Jake,’ she said through her sobs.
‘Is that a yes?’ he asked, half-joking, half-serious.
‘Yes.’
He swept her up in his arms and carried to the nearest armchair where she curled up on his lap the way she always did. He proceeded to kiss away her tears, until they were both breathless.
‘Darling Rose,’ he murmured against her lips, ‘I love you so damned much.’
‘I love you to bits, Jake,’ she said tipping her chin to look into his face. ‘I always will.
Chapter Thirteen
The Church of St George was packed to the gunnels. After all, it wasn’t every day a duke got married to a lady’s companion and former scullery maid at the most debauched club in London. Though no one but Frederick had recognised her, Rose had insisted his family be told the full truth before they got married.
Jake had been worried they might not accept her.
To his surprise, Grandmother had taken it all in stride. Indeed, she had taken quite a bit of pride in her matchmaking efforts and said she always knew Jake would come to his senses and marry the gel.
Bless the old dear.
Jake couldn’t have been more proud to walk down the aisle towards the waiting vicar with his bride on his arm. Lucy trailed behind them, ready to hold Rose’s posy when it was time to say their vows. The pews rising up on either side of them were festooned with flowers, roses of course at this late season, and crowded with well-wishers, as well as others who simply came to gawk. The galleries above were also teaming with people. In the very back row he’d spotted a couple of the girls from Vitium et Virtus. Rose’s friends. He’d laid on a carriage for them, but he wasn’t sure they would come. He was delighted that they had. Rose had so few people to call her own.
‘I told you we should have had a quiet wedding at home,’ Rose whispered as they approached the altar with its magnificent Venetian window letting the light flow over the awe-inspiring altar piece showing the Last Supper. Her hand trembled beneath his. While any of his friends would have been more than happy to escort her down the aisle, he’d been terrified she might turn tail and run at the last moment and he knew she wouldn’t with him at her side.
He smiled at her encouragingly. ‘I wanted everyone to see what a lucky man I am.’
She blushed.
The urge to kiss her welled up inside him. He glanced around. There was one person he didn’t see. He’d tried everything in his power to get her to come, but she wouldn’t promise. Didn’t want to intrude. She had also wept copiously.
Then, as they approached the altar, he saw her sitting on the left side of the Church directly opposite from Grandmama and hemmed in between Fred and Georgiana. Today she was smiling mistily. Georgiana apparently had her in hand and shook her head at him.
She was probably right. Better to wait until after the wedding.
Oliver, serving as best man, stood waiting for them. Fred left Georgiana to join them at the steps to the altar, his task to give Rose away in place of a father.
The service went by in a blur. All he could do was watch the woman who had agreed to become his Duchess in wonder and awe. Her courage nigh unmanned him, for he had been daunted by the idea of becoming a duke and he had at least known something about it.
The vicar joined their hands and the feel of her skin through the lacy glove was icy cold. Perhaps she was not feeling quite so brave after all. He slipped the ring over her finger as they had practised and they repeated their vows.
He’d made the vicar promise not to drag it out. He didn’t want Rose suffering unduly, for the scrutiny of the crowds was like a hail of arrows. Yet he didn’t want anyone thinking there was something havey-cavey about their marriage, either. And finally the vicar stopped droning on and they were married. They were ushered towards the vestry to sign the register.
