Page 43 of The Earl's Practical Marriage

‘For better or worse...’

I am not going to regret this marriage and neither will he.

‘For richer for poorer...’

Beside her she felt Giles stiffen and wondered for a fleeting, uneasy moment if the settlements had been very unequal, then forgot in a wave of emotion as the ring slid on to her finger.

Laurel had not been certain who would witness the ceremony. A dour verger, perhaps, or the sexton—who would also be, ominously, the gravedigger. But no sooner had the words ‘I now pronounce you man and wife’ been uttered than several figures came forward, eager, it seemed, to sign the register.

There

was the verger, cheerful, bald and skinny in his dusty black cassock and there was the flower seller, who must have left the boy in charge of the stand while she came in to watch the wedding.

Goodness knows what a pickle he is making of bouquets, Laurel thought.

Hard on her heels were a pair of respectable elderly ladies who must have come into the church to say their morning prayers and who were telling the verger how very excited they were to have been present at such a romantic wedding and finally there was the sexton, his cassock apparently hastily donned, for his old boots were showing beneath it and it was hitched up at the side to reveal his working breeches.

‘Only two witnesses are required,’ the vicar began.

‘Oh, I think we must have all of them, don’t you, my dear?’ Giles took her hand and squeezed it. ‘After all, it is not every day that the heir to a marquessate is married to his childhood sweetheart, is it?’ he added, giving their audience exactly the thrill he had intended.

At which point the two sentimental ladies began to weep and the flower seller came forward and added a silver ribbon to the rosebud in Giles’s buttonhole and the sexton produced a large red-and-white-spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with great vigour.

The verger unscrewed the large brass knob on the end of the long verge he carried as his badge of office, revealing that it was actually a beaker. He tipped up the staff and filled the vessel with a dark brown liquid. ‘Best French brandy to drink the health of the happy couple,’ he announced.

‘Not in church, Brooks!’ The vicar shepherded them all into the vestry. ‘How many times must I tell you, Willie?’ But he took his own sip when the beaker was passed to him and the two ladies mopped their tears and made a confused and rambling toast and the hollow stave produced enough brandy for the happy couple to drink as well, once they had signed the register and the others were jostling to take their turns with the scratchy steel pen.

‘I think I am a trifle tipsy,’ Laurel whispered, holding firmly to Giles’s arm. ‘I am not used to spirits at the best of times and I hardly ate any breakfast.’

‘Shocking,’ Giles murmured. ‘And we are going to have to reel back through the streets because I did not order the carriage to collect us either. I can see that we are going to be a notorious couple, lowering the tone of the neighbourhood.’ He shook hands with the vicar, threw the two elderly ladies into confusion by kissing them both on the cheek, tipped the verger and the sexton and assured the flower seller that he would make a point of directing his staff to buy flowers from her on a regular basis.

They all trooped outside where Giles gave the small boy a half-crown which was greeted by whoops of delight. Jermyn Street was busier now and people gathered round to stare at the bridal party. ‘This is going to be the talk of Mayfair,’ Giles said. He raised his hat politely to a group of giggling housemaids, then bowed to a haughty matron who raised a lorgnette as her barouche drove past.

‘Who is that?’

‘No idea, don’t recognise her, but then I hardly know a soul in London—or in England, come to that. I must join some clubs, look up some of the officers I knew in the Peninsula. We will get calls enough once the announcement is in the paper, and I told Downing to send it off as soon as we left this morning.’

Giles turned to walk along Jermyn Street. Laurel saw that they were still trailing some of the spectators and faces appeared at the windows of shops as they passed. Perhaps brides on foot carrying bouquets were not a common sight in Mayfair. ‘We could have sold tickets. I am sure Astley’s Amphitheatre would be glad to have such an audience for a performance.’

‘Do you mind?’ Giles tucked her hand snuggly against his side. ‘Perhaps I was wrong and we should have had the wedding privately at the house.’

‘No. This was lovely. I feel very much married.’

‘Not so very much yet. I have not kissed my bride. I hope you will forgive me that, but I feel we were giving enough of a show as it was.’

‘Giles, where are we going? This is in quite the opposite direction to the Square—look, we are at St James’s Street already.’

‘I have a surprise for you.’ Giles tossed a coin to the crossing sweeper and guided Laurel in his wake through the busy traffic of Piccadilly and into the street immediately opposite. ‘And now we are here. Grillon’s Hotel for one night. Possibly the shortest honeymoon on record.’

‘An hotel? I have never stayed in one.’ But even in the depth of the country she had read about Grillon’s on the society pages of the newspapers. All the best people stayed at Grillon’s and now she, Lady Laurel Knighton—no, Lady Revesby—was joining their ranks. She tried not to stare about her at the polished wood, the wide carpeted sweep of the lobby, the small groups of people passing in and out of the doors, all of them far too well bred and sophisticated to be gazing about as she longed to do.

They were escorted upstairs by a tailcoated man who was apparently the manager. ‘We have no luggage,’ Laurel whispered.

‘All taken care of,’ Giles said as they reached a panelled door.

The manager opened it wide to reveal a sitting room. ‘My lord, my lady. If there is anything you require, please ring.’

‘Thank you,’ Giles said, in clear dismissal. The man bowed himself off and Giles bent, put one arm behind her knees and swept her off her feet and up against his chest. ‘I realise this is not my own threshold and I will have to repeat the exercise when we go home, but it feels right to do it now.’

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