“Or hear it?” Christopher quipped.
Sarah winked at him, and he felt strangely warm all over. “Precisely.” She linked arms with Margaret. “My dear soon-to-be-sister, would you be willing to be my attendant?”
Margaret stared down at her boots. “I should like that very much, Sarah.”
A footman opened the carriage door, and Christopher had no difficulty recognizing the tall, redheaded young man from a few days before as he alighted.
Mr. Randolph gave Christopher a cold nod of acknowledgment and assisted his mother out of the carriage. At least this time he’d not given Christopher the social cut. The young man held a bouquet of flowers. Were they for Sarah? Should Christopher have brought a nosegay for her?
Lady Venetia was elegantly dressed in a dark-blue pelisse and matching bonnet. Her bright-red curls, a shade lighter than her son’s, framed her face. She stepped forward and hugged her niece.
Christopher heard the older woman speak in a loud whisper to Sarah. “Well, at least your Mr. Moulton is handsome. Not quite as handsome as the Marquess of Ingress, but he is quite a bit younger, which is to be preferred for the siring of children. And you should not wish to be a widow for a long time. How lonely that would be! And your fellow is broader in the shoulders, I think. Do you not think so?”
He did not hear Sarah’s reply to this long speech. She obviously knew how to whisper much quieter than her aunt.
“Mr. Moulton, I believe we have met before in London.”
Christopher turned to see a tall, spare man with a shock of graying black hair poking out from underneath his beaver hat.He was dressed as fashionably as his son, but there was a relaxed air about him. He bowed to Christopher, and Christopher returned the gesture.
“Yes, Sir Oscar. You invested in my canal near Clapham.”
“And a tidy dividend it earned me, sir. I look forward to getting to know you on a more personal basis. Lady Sarah is precious to me, like a daughter. I would ask that you be gentle and patient with her. Despite her rank, life has not been kind to my niece.”
All Christopher could do was nod. He supposed this uncomfortable interview was what it felt like to ask for a father’s permission to marry his daughter. “I will do my best, sir. I know how fortunate I am to soon be her husband.”
Sir Oscar patted him on the shoulder. Christopher flinched. He was not used to being touched by a stranger.
“You don’t know how fortunate you are yet, but you will. I am sure of it. Sarah is a rare jewel,” Sir Oscar said and then turned to the others. “Well, Mr. Robinson, shall we go inside the church and proceed with the marriage?”
The vicar and the Randolphs walked into the church through the large wooden door. Sarah entered the church with Margaret, their arms still linked. Taking a fortifying breath, Christopher followed them inside. Mr. Robinson stood in the front, with Sir Oscar and Lady Venetia seated on the front row on the right side—the bride’s side. There was no one on the groom’s. Sarah escorted Margaret to the front of the church and showed her where to stand as her attendant. Christopher was the last member of the group to walk down the aisle, which was usually the role of the bride.
Sarah cleared her throat, and the Honorable Ralph handed her the beautiful bouquet of flowers and then sat down beside his parents. She cleared her throat even louder a second time and tipped her head toward Christopher. Her look was stern, and she seemed to be communicating with her cousin without words.
Sheepishly, the Honorable Ralph’s face turned red, and he got back to his feet, bowing his head to Christopher. “Mr. Moulton, might I stand as your attendant? My cousin Sarah is my oldest and dearest friend in the world. I should very much like to be a part of her wedding.”
The man’s words were clipped but not cutting. Christopher assumed it had cost the young buck of the first water a great deal to ask anything of a canal man. A cit from London.
“I would be pleased, Mr. Randolph.”
“Ralph,” Sarah hissed, giving her cousin another stern glare.
Her tall, skinny cousin’s face turned even darker, until it was the same bright red of his hair. “I would be honored, Mr. Moulton, if you called me Ralph. We are to be family.”
Out of habit, he held out his hand. “Christopher.”
They awkwardly shook each other’s hands before Ralph stood behind Christopher in the position of best man. Christopher stood across from his bride, and she gave him a beaming smile. He was not particularly pleased to have the fashionable young buck stand as his best man, but he could not help but return her smile with a small one of his own. There was something magnetic about Sarah.
Mr. Robinson began the ceremony, and Christopher’s nerves continued to be on edge. When the vicar said, “If any man knows of any impediment as to why these two may not be joined in marriage, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,” Christopher looked over his shoulder at Ralph—who still looked angry, but he did not speak a word.
The vicar continued with the marriage ceremony, and when he asked Lady Sarah if she would take this man to be her lawful husband, she said, “I will” in a strong, clear voice.
She did not hesitate for even a moment, but Christopher realized he had been holding his breath. He still couldn’t quite believe that the accomplished and beautiful lady standing infront of him was his bride. He’d worried that she would change her mind even now. That she would realize how far below her he was on the social scale. Glancing up at the stained-glass window, he saw the Virgin Mary holding her babe. He wondered, if he and Sarah were blessed with children, which society would accept them? The elite of thetonor the merchant class? Would either?
Chapter 7
“Wilt thou have this womanto be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?” the vicar repeated in his pleasant baritone voice. “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” Mr. Robinson was a very welcome replacement for the elderly and often crotchety Mr. Stephens, the previous vicar. The young man was pleasant without pushing. His sermons were thought-provoking but not so theological that his audience did not understand them.
Sarah looked at Christopher expectantly. He only needed to speak two little words and their bargain would be complete, but he did not utter a syllable. His focus was on the stained-glass window above the vicar. With her free hand, Sarah smoothed out a tiny wrinkle in her skirt. She felt lightheaded, and there was a tightness in her chest.