They were a small party within the chapel listening to the cautionary words of the vicar while he intoned the stern Anglican marriage service. A sudden footfall and odd sound behind them had everyone rustling. The members of their small wedding party turned in their seats.
A loud voice rolled from the rear of the chapel. “I order you to stop this wedding.” Her uncle, Wolford. Sophie could not believe his audacity. She jerked as if to turn and confront him, but Arnaud gripped her arm, forcing her to face forward.
Howick motioned to the vicar to continue and rose from his seat in the front pew next to Mrs. Withers. He strode back to the cause of the commotion, there was a shout, a shuffling of feet, and then a door slammed.
Arnaud smiled next to her, gripped her arm more tightly, and, miraculously, it was time for their last “I will’s” before escaping back outside into the warmth of the sun.
Lady Howick and Mrs. Withers dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs while Lydia could not seem to rip her regard away from Captain Neville.
Sophie’s happiness darkened for a moment. She feared her friend Lydia was in love with a man she could never have. Sophie had been in that state of heart and knew it to be a grim, hopeless place. Beside her, her new husband leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Do not worry about Lydia and Neville. Things will work out.”
They all climbed back into the Howick carriage and returned to Edwardes Square in Kensington.
Sophie tried to blot the memory of her uncle’s last attempt to interfere with her wedding, but couldn’t. She leaned forward finally toward Lord Howick and gave him a questioning look.
“What did Wolford want?”
“He wanted to make sure you never fulfilled the requirements of your grandmother’s will.”
“Why did he think he would succeed? And in Jupiter’s name, why does he need my paltry inheritance?”
Arnaud absently patted her knee and gazed out the carriage window as if lost in thought. The business with her uncle was hers alone. As long as she was safe, she knew Arnaud would not interfere. He would let her take care of her own affairs. Her husband trusted her to make the right decisions. She squeezed his arm through his stiff uniform sleeve. He smiled. He understood. Words were not necessary.
Howick cleared his throat. “I told Wolford I know why he needs your inheritance, and that I would tell everyone of consequence in London if he does not leave the two of you in peace.”
“I even sent him word that I didn’t need Grandmama’s money. He could have everything, and good riddance.” She thought for a long moment, and what Howick had said earlier finally registered in her mind. “You know why? How long have you known?” Arnaud leaned forward, the expression on his face intent.
“Sergeant Randall’s spies discovered he is deeply in debt everywhere.”
Sophie’s mouth flew open. “How can that be?”
“Apparently, he sank all of his money into the Poysia scam that Scotsman pulled off. There were supposed to be thousands of acres of land in South America with hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of resources. When the miners and settlers Wolford backed arrived with equipment and supplies, there was no land, nothing but impenetrable jungle.”
Arnaud whistled. “Wolford was taken in by a lack-wit scheme like that?”
“Yes. He went all in and lost everything. He was desperate for his mother’s funds she’d set aside for Sophie.”
“But Grandmama couldn’t have left me that much.” Sophie looked from Lord Howick to his mother.
Lady Howick spoke first. “Your grandmother wrote many novels under an assumed name that sold very well, both here and on the continent in translations. She left you a considerable fortune.”
Lord Howick shook his head, disgust on his face. “Even if Wolford sent you away, he still would not have been able to take the funds. Your grandmother and her solicitor made sure of that. He would have had to show proof of your natural death in order to collect the inheritance.”
Sophie shuddered. Arnaud drew her close and squeezed her hand. She could still feel the warmth on her finger where during the service in the chapel he’d placed a gold band inset with rubies. The ring seemed very old, burnished with years of being well worn. He’d retrieved the simple band from a pocket in his uniform jacket during the brief ceremony at the chapel and placed it on her finger. She couldn’t help wondering about the identity of the woman who’d last worn the ancient band.
Arnaud unlocked the gate to the park in the square facing Sophie’s townhouse and helped her through the narrow opening, holding up one side of her fragile silk dress.
He glanced down and marveled that the buttons on his jacket hadn’t snapped off across his chest. What his heart was full of could barely be contained. There was so much he wanted to tell Sophie, but did not know where to begin. He guided her to a stone bench surrounded by greenery, took off his jacket and spread it on the seat.
She sat carefully, gathering the precious hemmed fabric into her lap, away from the rough bench. Arnaud settled in next to her. After a few moments of silence, he leaned in and kissed the soft skin beneath Sophie’s ear. When she turned to claim his mouth in a deep kiss, the gold-embroidered fabric fell in whispers to the ground.
She giggled and gave him a half-hearted slap on the fingers. “We are going to be insomuch trouble when Mrs. Withers sees what we’ve done to this dress.”
“Which means I should get on with this speech so that we can return to the house and get you out of the dress.” He stood and bent down on one knee.
Sophie giggled again. “If you keep getting down on your knees, it’s going to be really hard to conduct a marriage for all the years to come.”
He leaned forward and put a finger to her lips. “We need to talk about what will happen when I go back to sea.”
