One corner of his mouth lifted. “Do not stem it on my account. Unleash it at your leisure, so everyone gathered will understand just how ecstatic we both are. If you blow your nose very,veryloudly and throw in a few guttural sobs, they might write about us in the history books as the most blissful couple to ever join themselves in holy matrimony.”
Unbelievably, he had decided to be amusing. She had not expected it, not on such a solemn occasion. And though he was not quite smiling, he did not look nearly as ominous as he had a moment ago.
She smirked, unable to help it. “I cannot do it alone. You must wail and weep and scream, too.”
“If you begin, I shall endeavor to accompany you,” he said. A challenge that made the shiver in her chest thrum more wildly.
There was mischief in him that his exterior hid far too well, his words spoken so plainly that it was never obvious if he was jesting or not. She did not know whether to fear that or investigate it thoroughly.
She was so curious about the man standing at her side that she almost missed the part where she was supposed to speak, and as she recited the reverend’s words, she found that she was so distracted that there was no room for doubting what she was about to do.
As if sensing that, Albion covered her hand with his, and as his fingers curved around, she realized he was squeezing gently. A gesture of reassurance, so brief that she could not determine if she had imagined it or not.
In the blink of an eye, the ceremony was over, the reverend declaring them man and wife before the somewhat unimpressed congregation. Albion’s mother sniffed and sobbed while the Spinsters’ Club looked at Matilda with misty eyes, wearing hopeful, anxious smiles. James was grinning like he had just been anointed King of England, and his mother, Matilda’s aunt, sat smugly beside her son as if a very lengthy and complex plan had finally come to fruition.
“Our carriage is waiting,” Albion said, covering her hand again as he ushered her up the aisle and out of the church doors.
“I suppose James will make an intolerably self-congratulatory speech,” Matilda mumbled, drawing in a breath as the golden sunlight caressed her face and a warm breeze kissed her cheeks. “I do not know if I can bear sitting through a wedding breakfast though I understand that it is expected.”
Albion frowned down at her. “We’re journeying directly to Whitecliff Manor. There won’t be a wedding breakfast, not with us present.”
“What?”
“You weren’t told?”
“Obviously not.” She glanced back over her shoulder where she caught James’s eye through the open church doors. He smirked and raised his hand in a wave. “That wretched snake. I ought to kick him so hard in his unmentionables that he cries as loudly as your mother.”
Albion choked, blinking quickly. “I can wait if you would like to do so?”
“Not today,” she replied, after a moment. “He will be expecting it today. I shall do it when he thinks I have forgotten to despise him. But… why are we not staying? I have not yet said farewell to my friends.”
Albion swept a hand through his dark hair. “It’s a long journey, and my friend is departing for the Continent tomorrow. As I don’t know when I’ll see him again, it is imperative that I say farewell before he leaves. It’s a tradition of sorts.”
Matilda wanted to argue, wanted to call him selfish for putting his friend above her own, but then she remembered what he meant by “departing for the Continent” and held her tongue. His friend, whoever he was, was returning to the battlefields, and as such, Albion mightneversee him again.
“Allow me five minutes,” she said.
Albion shrugged, proceeding on to the carriage. “Have ten. My mother isn’t yet out, and she’s coming with us.”
“She is?” Matilda’s heart sank further.
Albion nodded. “She will keep to herself in the eastern wing for the duration of our honeymoon.”
He had misunderstood her meaning, that she was loath to be around a second person who evidently did not like her, but she did not correct him.
“Very well. I shall steel myself accordingly,” she mumbled, just as her friends emerged into the bright sunshine.
* * *
The carriage ride to Whitecliff Manor was funereal, everyone silent and solemn. Constance would not so much as glance in Matilda’s direction, and Matilda was uncharacteristically unwilling to fill the quiet, while Albion struggled to come up with a way to bridge the unnerving divide between his mother and his wife.
My wife…He feared it would take him longer to get used to that term than it had for him to become accustomed to “Your Grace.”
In the end, he chose to embrace the silence, spending much of the journey asleep… or pretending to be. He half-wished they had held the wedding close to Whitecliff instead of close to Matilda’s home, so they might have avoided the long,longjourney in utter awkwardness, but James had insisted otherwise.
By nightfall, sweaty and uncomfortable, the carriage finally wended its way down the driveway to Whitecliff Manor. Albion stared out of the window, wondering if the sight of the gates and the grounds would ever fill him with happiness instead of dread.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Matilda was also peering out of the window. Maybe, she was wondering the same thing.
