It was all over. All finished. His debt had been paid, her home secured. The shackle had clanged shut about his leg. The sun beamed its warm mockery down through a break in the clouds.
“What a lovely service,” Mrs. Pritchard said after he had handed her carefully into the carriage. She made a show of spreading her skirts about her, he noticed, and propped her cane against her seat so that when her niece climbed in after her she was obliged to take the seat opposite. “It was short, but the minister spoke with great feeling. You chose him well, Colonel.”
Aidan took his place beside his bride, who had moved as far along the seat toward the window as the space allowed. Her aunt beamed at them.
“What a handsome couple you make,” she said.
“Aunt Mari!” Miss Morris said with quiet reproach.
Aidan realized with an unpleasant jolt of awareness that his bride was no longer Miss Morris. She had just taken his name.
“You are probably both ready for a meal,” he said curtly. “I have given instructions for the carriage to return to the Pulteney. It is too late to start back for Ringwood today. I will show you both something of London this afternoon, if you wish.” It was not something he had planned, but it had suddenly struck him that it would appear boorish to abandon them at the Pulteney for a whole afternoon and evening when they were both strangers to town. There was, of course, the chance that he would be seen and recognized and he would prefer that not to happen, but it did not matter quite as much as it had this morning. Besides, no one seeing them—unless he had the misfortune to come face to face with a brother or sister—need know that the younger of his two companions was his wife.
“That would be delightful if it would be no trouble to you,” his bride said, sounding genuinely pleased. “I would love to see the Tower and St. James's Palace and Hyde Park or anywhere else you would recommend. Wouldn't you, Aunt Mari? We are in
London
.”
“The weather is ideal for sightseeing,” he said briskly.
“I must say I am quite worn out with all the excitement,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “And there is another long journey to be faced tomorrow. I really must rest quietly at the hotel this afternoon—and such a splendid room and such a comfortable bed are not be wasted. But that mustn't stop the two of you from going out.”
“Aunt Mari—” her niece began.
“After all,” her aunt said, smiling placidly, “you no longer need me as a chaperone, my love, do you? You will be with your husband.”
Was Mrs. Pritchard hoping to ignite some romance between them by choosing to leave them alone together for the whole of an afternoon? Aidan wondered. From the way in which his bride shrank farther into her corner of the carriage, he guessed that she was entertaining the same suspicion.
That was all he needed to complete his happiness today—a damned matchmaker! The woman, like an old, wrinkled little sparrow, was regarding him with assessing, twinkling eyes.
C
OLONEL
B
EDWYN RETURNED PUNCTUALLY AT HALF PAST
one to the Pulteney to take Eve driving about London. She was surprised to find that she was looking forward to the outing despite the fact that she had not been able to prevail upon her aunt to change her mind about accompanying them. But it was just as well, she thought as she followed her new husband from the hotel. He had hired a curricle to replace this morning's carriage. Aunt Mari would never have hoisted herself up to the high, narrow seat.
“I have never ridden in a curricle,” she admitted. “It seems alarmingly frail and high off the ground.”
“Are you afraid?” he asked, handing her up.
Actually she was not. She was exhilarated. They would be able to see a great deal from up here, and they would be open to the warm, summery air. She had changed into a light gray, high-waisted muslin dress, but she still wore the lavender-trimmed bonnet, and at the last moment before she left Aunt Mari had produced another length of the wide lavender ribbon and tied it beneath her bosom in place of the gray sash she usually wore with this particular dress.
“I suppose you are an accomplished whip,” she said.
He merely raised his eyebrows and came around the curricle to take his place beside her.
She did not understand why she felt so strangely lighthearted. She ought not when she remembered what had happened this morning and all that she had sacrificed. But Atlas-like, she felt as if an enormous load had been lifted off her shoulders. It was too late now to make a different choice. The deed was done. There was no point in regretting it or wishing it had not been necessary. In the meantime she was in London for the first and probably the only time in her life, the sun was shining, and she had a gentleman to escort her about and show her all the most famous sights. Life back at Ringwood was going to be a long and in many ways a lonely business. She was going to be facing terrible heartache there. But she might as well enjoy today. Secretly, although she had been horrified at the time, she was glad Aunt Mari had decided not to come with them.
“Shall we go to St. Paul's first?” the colonel suggested. “It is my favorite church in London.”
“Everything is new to me,” she said. “I am in your hands.”
He looked closely at her before giving the horses the signal to start. “Lavender suits you,” he surprised her by saying.
He really was expert with the ribbons, she noted with some admiration as they drove through the streets of London, even though both the vehicle and the horses were unfamiliar to him. It was hardly surprising, of course. He was a cavalry officer. He was also very large and solid. She could not prevent herself from swaying against him on occasion even though she kept a grip on the rail beside her. He smelled of leather and musk.
She was not surprised that St. Paul's Catherdral was his favorite. The sight of it fairly robbed her of breath as they approached it. It was massive and beautiful. She had never seen anything to compare with the magnificence of the great dome.
“I cannot believe I am actually seeing such a famous building with my own eyes,” she said. “I have always dreamed of visiting London.”
“Do you like the pillared portico?” he asked, pointing at it with his whip. “I thought you might wish to build something similar onto the front of Ringwood Manor—without the flanking towers, perhaps. They might look a little pretentious on a manor that size.”
She turned her head toward him, startled. His expression was as solemn as ever. But she could not be mistaken in his intent, surely. The man
did
have a sense of humor. She laughed.
“But I could not steal Cecil's idea,” she said. “It would be unkind. Maybe I will build a dome instead.”
He glanced at her sidelong, not even the suggestion of a smile softening his harsh features. Had she made a mistake? No, she did not believe so.
“Shall we go inside?” he suggested. He pointed upward. “It is possible to climb up to the highest gallery to inspect the dome from close to, both inside and out. But I must warn you that if memory serves me right there are five hundred and thirty-four steps, only the first two hundred and fifty or so of which are easy to climb.”
“Oh, do let us go up by all means,” she said gaily. “There must be a splendid view from up there.”
There was, though for several minutes after they stepped out onto the outer gallery, which circled the base of the dome, she was in no condition to enjoy it. She was severely winded and not a little alarmed by the difficulty and darkness of most of the climb. But she had refused to stop halfway up, as every instinct had screamed at her to do, and beg him to take her back down. She dared not think about the descent, always more frightening than going up.
“Oh, goodness me!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “We must be able to see for miles.”
“For a minute,” he said, “I was not sure you were going to survive.”
As they moved slowly about the gallery, he proceeded to point out various landmarks to her, standing close beside her as he did so that she could look along his arm to where his finger pointed. The famous River Thames was below. He identified the various bridges that spanned it. All the boats and ships on its surface, representing the busy commerce of a nation, looked like so many toys. He indicated the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, several other churches, their elegant spires almost dwarfed by the height of St. Paul's dome, and numerous other buildings of note. Beyond it all, on both sides of the river, she could see open countryside. The wind, no stronger than a breeze on the ground, whipped at them from the direction of the river. He lifted his free arm to hold his hat more firmly on his head.
“I have never felt more exhilarated in my life,” she said and realized that she spoke the simple truth. This tall, powerful man beside her was her husband of a few hours. This was their wedding day. For a few moments she allowed herself to wonder how she would be feeling now if it were a real marriage, if they had wed each other for any of the more usual reasons. Again she felt that frisson of physical awareness.
“Have you not?” He looked at her in some surprise. “Has your life been so very quiet, then?”
“Really quite uneventful,” she admitted ruefully. “I have always dreamed of coming to London, of seeing other faraway places, other people.” She had hardly realized it until this moment. “Men are very fortunate. They have far more freedom than we do.”
“Do we?” He looked long and hard at her before turning his head without comment to stare outward again.
This was a day she would always, always remember, she knew. Since it was all so irrevocable now, she was glad there had been more to it than just that awkward little ceremony this morning. She touched her wedding ring surreptitiously through her glove, though she did not really need to do so. She could
feel
it there on her finger, the symbol of the fact that she was bound for life to this man though she would not see him again after tomorrow. She wondered how long it would be before she could no longer remember clearly what he looked like. She turned her head to look at him now as if it were somehow important to remember, to memorize the harsh, angular face, the prominent nose, the rather thin lips, the dark hair and eyes.
He was looking back at her with narrowed gaze, as if he were doing the same thing as she. “Are you ready to tackle the steps again?” he asked.
She laughed uneasily. “I think I'll spend the rest of the day up here. Maybe the rest of the week. Perhaps the rest of my life.”
“As bad as that, is it?” he said. “Hold my hand. I'll not let you fall. Word of honor.” He held out his left hand and raised his right.
Even though she was wearing gloves, there seemed something very intimate about holding his hand—clinging to it actually—for such a long time. But until they were close to the bottom she would not for the life of her have relinquished his support. He was a very solid man to lean upon, she thought. Solid and dependable. For a long time she had prided herself upon her ability to stand alone, to depend upon no one but herself. Almost everyone who was closest to her now depended upon her.
He took her next to Westminster Abbey, which she did not like quite as well as St. Paul's, though she found the sense of history there almost overwhelming.
“Can you believe,” she asked, standing in the middle of the nave and looking about her in some awe, “that every monarch since William the Conqueror has been crowned here?”
“Except for Edward V,” he said. “And most of them are buried here too. I took ghoulish pleasure in that fact the first time I came here as a boy.”
“Did you come to London often?” she asked.
“Not really.” He led the way onward toward the altar. “Our parents always preferred to keep us at Lindsey Hall. We liked it better there too. We were a wild lot. Still are, I suppose.”
“Are you older or younger than your brothers and sisters?” she asked. She knew almost nothing about him, she realized. Yet he was her
husband
.
“I am second to Bewcastle,” he explained. “Then there are Rannulf, Freyja, Alleyne, and Morgan. Our mother was a voracious reader, especially of history. She chose our rather outlandish names.”
“Are you a close family?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I have not even been home for three years,” he said. “I quarreled with Bewcastle on that occasion and left sooner than I had intended. But that was nothing new.”
His manner was not encouraging and he offered no further information. Eve returned her attention to the abbey. How odd, she thought, to be married to a stranger. And to a man who would remain forever a stranger.
He drove her past St. James's Palace and past Carlton House, where the Prince of Wales lived. He drove her through Hyde Park, which was far vaster than she had expected, far more like a piece of the countryside than a park in the middle of the largest city in the world. He kept to the quieter paths, avoiding the crowd of vehicles and horses she could see occasionally in the distance.
“We can go to the Tower of London if you wish,” he said when they reached Hyde Park Corner. “There is a menagerie there that you may enjoy seeing since you seem to be fond of animals. Or we can go for ices.”
“I am not sure I would like to see animals caged up,” she said. “I would want to set them all free.”
“The citizens of London would be thrilled at the prospect of encountering a lion or tiger around every corner,” he said. “Your heart is bleeding again.”
She laughed. “Ices?” she said, just realizing the other option he had offered. “I have heard about them but never thought to taste one.
May
we?”
And so he took her to Gunter's, where she enjoyed the indescribable luxury of eating her very first ice.
“Does London live up to your expectations?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I wish I had a week here.” She flushed and bit her lip when she realized how like an eager, naive child she must sound. “I am also longing to be home again, of course.”
She had feared that they would spend the afternoon in near silence, awkward, even morose with each other. It had not been like that after all. He was not a talkative man or an obviously amiable one. But he had a gentleman's manners and did his part, as she did, in making sure that conversation flowed between them.