Was that enough?
Simon walked to a granite pillar that towered to the barrel ceiling fifty feet overhead. A double row of the pink granite columns held aloft the ceiling, decorated with recessed painted squares. Each square was edged in gilt, as if to remind one of the golden afterlife that presumably awaited. Off to the side, he could see into a St. Mary’s chapel with a statue of a pubescent Virgin Mary gazing serenely down at her toes. It was a pretty church, lacking only a pretty bride.
“He’s pacing again,” de Raaf said in a tone he probably thought was quiet.
“He’s nervous,” Pye replied.
“I am not nervous,” Simon said through gritted teeth. He reached to stroke his ring before remembering it was gone. He turned to saunter back and caught Pye and de Raaf exchanging a significant glance. Wonderful. Now he was considered a case for Bedlam by his friends.
A screech came from the front of the church as someone opened the big oak doors.
Simon wheeled. Lucy entered, escorted by her father. She wore a rose-colored gown, pulled back in front to reveal the pale green underskirt. The color made her complexion glow, gave her dusky eyes, brows, and hair a perfect setting, like a rose surrounded by dark leaves. She smiled at him and looked . . . beautiful.
Simply beautiful.
He felt like rushing to her and capturing her arm. Instead, he straightened and moved to stand by de Raaf. He watched her approach, patiently waiting. Soon. Soon, she would be his. He would have no need to fear her loss, her desertion. Lucy laid her hand on the crook of his arm. He refrained from clamping down on it with his other hand. The captain scowled at him and slowly released his daughter’s arm. The old man wasn’t happy about this. When he asked for her hand, Simon had known that had Lucy been younger or less loved, he would have been out on his ear in an instant. As it was, his angel had prevailed even against her father’s clear disapproval. Simon smiled at the older man and gave in to his urge to grasp her hand on his arm. She was his now.
The captain didn’t miss the gesture. His ruddy face darkened.
Simon leaned his head close to hers. “You came.”
Her face was grave. “Of course.”
“I wasn’t sure you would after the other morning.”
“Weren’t you?” She watched him with unfathomable eyes.
“No.”
“I promised.”
“Yes.” He searched her face but couldn’t read any more there. “Thank you.”
“Are we ready?” The vicar smiled vaguely.
Simon straightened and nodded.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began.
Simon concentrated on the words that would bind Lucy to him. Perhaps now his fear of losing her would finally die and be laid to rest. No matter what she found out about him, no matter what ghastly mistakes, what grave sins he committed in the future, his angel would have to remain with him.
She was his, now and forever.
“I SHALL SEND UP A MAID TO ASSIST YOU, my lady,” Newton intoned from behind Lucy that evening.
She blinked and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. Ah, thank you.”
The butler closed the door softly behind him. Lucy returned to gawking at the room. Her room. And she’d thought the bedrooms in Rosalind’s town house grand. The walls were covered in rose damask, a warm and soothing color that gave the bedroom the intimate feel of an embrace. Underfoot, the patterned carpet was so thick her heels sank into it. Above, the ceiling was painted with cupids or angels—hard to tell in the dim light of evening—and was edged in gilt. Of course.
And centered between two long windows was a bed.
But to call this piece of furniture a bed was like calling St. Paul’s Cathedral a church. This was the gaudiest, the largest, the most sumptuous bed Lucy had ever seen in her life. The mattress was easily three feet off the ground, and on one side were steps, presumably to mount the thing. A massive poster rose from each corner, carved, gilded, and draped with swathes of burgundy velvet. Gold ropes drew back the burgundy drapes to reveal pink gauze underdrapes. The actual bed linens were ecru and made of satin. Lucy hesitantly touched them with one finger.
Someone tapped at the door.
Lucy whirled and stared. Would Simon knock? “Come.”
A mobcap peeked around the door. “Mr. Newton sent us, my lady. To help you undress?”
“Thank you.” Lucy nodded and watched the little woman trot into the room, trailed by a younger girl.
The older maid immediately began rummaging through the wardrobe. “You’ll want the lace chemise, I think, don’t you, my lady? On your wedding night?”
“Oh. Yes.” Lucy felt a flutter in her stomach.
The maid brought the chemise over and began unhooking the back of Lucy’s dress. “They’re all talking about the wedding breakfast this morning, my lady, down in the kitchen. How elegant it was. Even that Henry, my lord’s valet, was impressed.”
“Yes, it was very nice.” Lucy tried to relax. Even after a fortnight in London, she still wasn’t used to being served quite so intimately. She hadn’t had help with her clothes since she was five. Rosalind had assigned one of her maids to look after her, but it seemed that now that Lucy was Simon’s wife, she required two.
“Lord Iddesleigh has such a wonderful sense of style.” The older maid grunted and bent to undo the last hooks. “And then they say he took you ladies on a tour of the capital after the wedding breakfast. Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” Lucy stepped out of her gown. She’d been with Simon for most of the day, but they’d never been alone. Perhaps now that they were finally married and the ceremonies over with, they could spend more time together, learn to know one another.
The maid quickly gathered the material and handed it to the younger maid. “Now mind you check that over good. Wouldn’t want a stain to set.”
“Yes’m,” the girl squeaked. She looked no more than fourteen and was obviously in awe of the older woman, although she towered over her.