Page 82 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
It was the day of the wedding; a warm, sunny day in late September, and the sunshine was pouring through the window, bathing Lavinia in a pool of light. She was wearing an ivory-colored dress, with a silk shawl around her shoulders, and a new pair of white slippers.
On her head was a tiara which matched the broach Archie had given her, the one belonging to Gwendolene. Daisy had tied her hair up into a bun and helped her powder her face and see to her makeup. The time of the wedding was fast approaching, and the clock on the mantelpiece had just struck ten.
“Thank you. I don’t know why, but I feel terribly nervous,” Lavinia said, and Archie’s mother smiled.
“I don’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t feel nervous, or a man for that matter. A little nervousness is to be expected, Lavinia. I’m sure Archie’s feeling the same way, too,” Horatia said.
Lavinia smiled, glancing at the dowager, who was standing next to Lavinia’s mother in the doorway of the bedroom. Theyboth had tears in their eyes, and now Lavinia’s mother stepped forward, holding out a small box in her hand.
“There’s one final thing here for you, Lavinia. It wasn’t ever meant to be yours. It was meant for your sister. I know I don’t mention Theodora very often, but it doesn’t mean I don’t think of her. These earrings were meant for her. You had your necklace when you were eighteen, do you remember? Your father gave you it,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
To her shame, she had been forced to pawn the necklace in between jobs, and when she had gone to buy it back, it was gone. Her mother had been angry, but after the death of her father, Lavinia had had no choice.
Now, she took the box, opening it to reveal a pair of exquisite earrings… emeralds, set in gold. A shiver ran through Lavinia as she looked at them, knowing they should have been Theodora’s, just as the broach should have been Gwendolene’s.
“They’re beautiful, mother,” she said, taking one from the box and attaching it, then the next.
The emeralds caught the sun, sparkling as Lavinia admired them.
“Perfect,” Horatia said, and now the three of them made their way downstairs, where an open carriage was waiting outside to take them to the church.
“It always feels so strange, doesn’t it? Being forced to marry in the Church of England, thank goodness we’ve got the priest coming later to do it properly,” Horatia said, glancing at the crucifix hanging in the hallway, a reminder of where their religious affiliations lay.
But Lavinia did not mind. She wanted only to be married—nothing else mattered—and now they climbed into the waiting carriage, the sides of which had been festooned with flowers from the garden. It was a short drive to Saint Wilfrid’s, following the course of the east drive, and across the bridge where Lavinia’s ordeal with Wilhelmina had occurred.
She had been confined to Bedlam, a hospital for those unsound of mind, and had confessed her guilt, whilst maintaining Archie still loved her. Lavinia had felt almost sorry for her, even as she shuddered at the thought of what had almost happened on the riverbank below as they passed across the bridge.
“What a happy day this is,” Horatia said, as they approached the church, where a small crowd had gathered outside to greet them. The rector, a tall man in a billowing white surplice, emerged through the open door.
“How good to welcome you, My Lady,” he said, as Horatia climbed down from the open carriage.
“Thank you, Reverend Harper. I’m glad to say we meet under happier circumstances than when we buried dear Gwendolene,” Horatia said, and the rector nodded.
“Yes, indeed. May God have her in his care,” he said, and Horatia crossed herself.
The rector sniffed, but he made no further comment, and as the bells of the church rang out, he led Lavinia up the path to the door. To her surprise, she found her grandfather waiting there, smiling as they approached. She had not expected him to attend, but it seemed his presence had been intended as a surprise, and he held out his arm to her. He would be the man who would give her away.
“I know it’s not the same as having your father here, Lavinia. I’m a poor substitute. But I’m proud of you. I worried perhaps… well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve proved yourself a lady, and marrying the Baron Sarum… well, you’ve certainly made an excellent match,” he said, but Lavinia shook her head.
“I’d have married Archie if he didn’t have a penny to his name, Grandfather. I’m just happy to be here now,” she said, and her grandfather nodded.
“As am I, Lavinia,” he replied.
The organ now thundered into life, and the rector beckoned them into the church.
“Don’t worry, you won’t disappear in a puff of smoke,” he said, and they all laughed.
The church was full, though as to who most of the guests were, Lavinia did not know. But to her delight, she saw Penelope among them, sitting with a man she could only assume to be Michael Warrington, and as she and her grandfather made their way arm in arm down the aisle, Lavinia smiled at them.
“A friend of yours?” her grandfather asked.
“I think she’ll become one, yes,” Lavinia replied.
Archie was standing on the chancel steps, and as he turned, his eyes grew wide, a smile lighting up his face.
“You look… beautiful, Lavinia,” he said, and Lavinia blushed.
“And you look very handsome yourself,” she replied, for Archie was dressed in a new frock coat—blue and trimmed with red velvet.
