Grandmama was afraid the fuss of a large wedding would be beyond the duke’s strength. More important, Ralph suspected, was her fear that he would die before the wedding could be solemnized and thus force its postponement just at a time when the need for Ralph’s marrying would be more urgent than ever.
Ralph had purchased the license and suggested today as the wedding day merely because he wanted to get it over with before he could think of excuses for procrastinating. But his grandfather’s episode yesterday had convinced him it was the best course.
And Miss Muirhead? What were her thoughts and feelings?
If this were a normal wedding, he would be in the chapel now, anxiously awaiting her arrival, and she would approach him from the door on her father’s arm while admiring family and friends looked on. Some people even believed it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. But they were walking to the chapel together. At least, he was walking with his grandfather on his arm while she provided the like service for his grandmother.
She was looking neat and composed. She was dressed with understated elegance in a dress that flattered her slender figure. Her bonnet—yes, she was wearing one today—was pretty though simple of design. Her bright hair was elaborately curled at her neck.
It was impossible to know what she thought or how she felt. And he was not really curious to know. He had spoken the truth to her yesterday when he had pledged always to treat her with respect. He would, of course, inevitably get to know her better during the course of their marriage, but he had no desire to know her. He would take her at her word and believe that she wished for no emotional tie with him. He wanted none with her.
His grandfather did not make any conversation. Ralph suspected he needed all his breath and all his energy just to walk the short distance from the house to the chapel. Ralph would nonetheless have welcomed some kind of chitchat. He was remembering two other weddings he had attended this year, though it was still only May, and two he had attended last year—each of them for one of his fellow Survivors. Only Ben and Vincent had missed Hugo’s last year and Ben had also missed Vincent’s. Only Vincent had missed Ben’s in faraway Wales this past January. All of them had been at Flavian’s wedding at Middlebury Park just a few weeks ago. Ralph was to be the first of them to marry without even one of the others in attendance. It caused him a surprising pang of regret and loneliness.
But at least he had his grandparents here. Miss Muirhead had no one. He would not pursue that thought, however. She wished to be married. And she had agreed upon today. He was not going to allow the barrenness of this wedding to place yet another burden of guilt on his shoulders.
They reached the open doors of the chapel, and Ralph was aware of candlelight flickering within. The vicar was here, then, and ready for them.
And suddenly he wished . . .
For what? His mind would never take him to the conclusion of these unexpected yearnings. He could never see what it was he longed for. But such moments always left him with a faint ache of near despair.
They changed partners, and the duke led Her Grace inside to the padded front pew. Ralph looked at his bride, and she looked back, her eyes calm and unreadable. He knew a twinge of something that might have been panic before inclining his head and offering his arm, formally, as he would to a dancing partner, a stranger, at a ball. She set her gloved fingers half on his hand, half on his wrist, and he led her inside to be married.
There was no music. There was no long nave to be processed along slowly while the solemnity of the coming nuptials built into pleasurable anticipation. And the marriage service itself, stripped of all its pomp, was brief and dispassionate. He had remembered to buy a ring—he had had to guess her size. He spoke his vows and she spoke hers. He slid the ring onto her finger. He had guessed well enough, though perhaps the ring was one size too large. And then the vicar was pronouncing them man and wife and leading them into the tiny cupboard of a vestry to sign the register while his grandparents came along more slowly behind to sign as witnesses.
Stone buildings were always cold inside, especially when they had been built among trees and very little sunlight ever penetrated their small windows. And especially when it was a cloudy day in May. But surely the chapel was colder than other stone buildings of its kind, though he had not noticed it before. He felt chilled through to the very heart.
His grandparents were clearly delighted. In the congested confines of the vestry, while the vicar effaced himself and squeezed out through the door, his grandfather boomed out his congratulations, pumped Ralph’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder, and then folded Miss Muirhead—the Countess of Berwick—in a bear hug and planted a smacking kiss on one of her cheeks. His grandmother framed his face with both hands and, when he bent his head downward, kissed him on the lips and beamed happily. She hugged his bride tightly and complained crossly that Bunker had not had the good sense to put more than one small handkerchief into her reticule. The duke produced one from his coat pocket that looked more like the sail of a small boat and handed it to her.
Miss Muirhead—the Countess of Berwick—his wife, was smiling and biting her lower lip and looking suspiciously bright-eyed and . . . Well, by God she was beautiful. There was no denying it. There were two spots of warm color in her cheeks.
They walked back to the house as they had come, the duke wheezing slightly on Ralph’s arm, the duchess chirping cheerfully as she walked ahead with . . . his wife. Ralph wondered how long it would take him to get used to thinking of her as such. She was his wife. What would he call her? It was a foolish thought, one he had not considered until now. What would she call him? He had never heard his grandparents call each other by their given names, though he knew they were exceedingly fond of each other. Perhaps in the privacy of their own apartments . . .