Mary Balogh - Slightly Wicked

“You told me yourself that marriage was for wealth and position only, that all your true pleasure would be taken outside of marriage.”

“Good Lord, did I say that?” But he had, he knew. He could remember saying it or something similar.

Even at the time he had not meant it but had merely meant to shock her. “Did you not know that Bedwyns are not allowed to carry on extracurricular activities outside their marriage beds? There is some rule in the family archives, I believe. Anyone who transgresses is banished to outer darkness for the rest of eternity.”

If anything her pace became faster.

“Once I am married, Judith,” he said, realizing that she was not in the mood to be teased, “my wife will be entitled to my undivided devotion, in and out of the marriage bed. That would be true even if for some reason I were ever persuaded to marry a woman not of my own choosing—as I almost was during the past few weeks. You are the bride of my choosing, the love of my heart, for all the rest of my life.”

He heard his own words almost as if there were a spectator in him uninvolved in his emotions, in his fear that there was going to be no way of persuading her. The spectator was very aware that he would have found the extravagance of his own words excruciatingly embarrassing even just a few weeks ago. . . . the bride of my choosing, the love of my heart , . .

Her head was down. She was crying, he realized. He did not comment on the fact or say any more. He merely kept pace with her. They were almost at the summit of this particular hill.

“You cannot marry me,” she said eventually. “We are soon going to be quite ruined. That was no happily ever after at Bran’s rooms yesterday. He is still dreadfully in debt. He is either going to end up in debtors’ prison, or he is going to beggar Papa—or both. You cannot ally yourself with such a family.”

She stopped suddenly. There was nowhere else to go except down the other side of the hill to a sort of no-man’s-land before the next hill began.

“Your brother is no longer in debt,” he told her, “and I am hopeful that he never will be again.”

She looked at him, her eyes widening.

“The Duke of Bewcastle did not...” She did not complete the thought.

“No, Judith,” he said. “Not Wulf.”

“You?” One of her hands crept up to her throat. “You have paid his debts? How are we ever going to repay you!”

He took her hand in his and drew it away from her throat. “Judith,” he said, “it is a family matter.

Branwell Law is going to be a part of my family, I fervently hope. There is no question of repayment. I will always do all in my power to keep you from harm or misery.” He tried to smile and was not at all sure he had succeeded. “Even if that means removing myself from your life and never seeing you again.”

“Rannulf,” she said, “you paid his debts? For my sake? But Papa will never allow it.”

It had not been easy. The Reverend Jeremiah Law was a severe, proud man who did not unbend easily into affability. He was also an upright and honest man who loved his children, even Judith, whose spirit he had so unwittingly crushed over the years.

“Your father has accepted the fact that it is quite unexceptionable for his future son-in-law to give some assistance to his son,” he said. “I am up here with his permission, Judith.”

Her eyes widened again.

“Your future brother-in-law helped too,” he said. “He used his influence and has found your brother a junior post with the East India Company. With hard work he will be able to improve his position considerably. The sky, one might say, is the limit for him.”

“The Duke of Bewcastle? Oh.” She bit her lip. “Why has he done so much for us when he must despise us heartily?”

“I am here with his blessing too, Judith,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.

“Oh,” she said again.

“You seem to be in a minority of one in considering a marriage with me ineligible,” he said.

“Rannulf.” Tears welled into her eyes again, making them look greener than ever.

The spectator in him looked on appalled as he risked murder to one leg of his pantaloons by dropping to one knee on the grass in front of her, possessing himself of her other hand too as he did so.

“Judith,” he said, looking up into her startled, arrested face, “will you do me the great honor of marrying me? I ask for one reason and one reason only. Because I adore you, my love, and can imagine no greater happiness than to spend the rest of my life making you happy and sharing companionship and love and passion with you. Will you marry me?”

He had never in his life felt so helpless or so anxious. He gripped her hands, fixed his gaze on the grass, and tried to ignore the fact that the course of all the rest of his life hung on the answer she would give him.

It seemed to him that it took forever for her to answer. When she drew her hands free of his, he thought his heart had surely slipped all the way to the soles of his boots. And then he felt her hands very light against the top of his head and then gently twining in his hair. He was aware of her leaning over him, and then she kissed his head between her hands.

“Rannulf,” she said softly. “Oh, Rannulf, my dearest love.”

He was on his feet then and catching her about the waist and lifting her off her feet and twirling her twice about while she threw back her head and laughed.

“Look what you have done,” she said, still laughing, when he set her down.

Her hair on one side had come tumbling down, and the braid was fast unraveling. She lifted her arms, took down the other side too, and stuffed the hairpins in her pocket. She shook her head, but he closed the small distance between them.

“Allow me,” he said.

He combed his fingers through her hair, untangling the last of the braiding until her hair was loose and falling in shining ripples about her shoulders and down her back. He gazed into her bright, happy eyes, smiled at her, and kissed her. She wound her arms about his neck and leaned into him while he wrapped his own about her waist and drew her to him as if they could have melded into one right there on the hilltop.

They smiled at each other when he finally lifted his head, words unnecessary, unwilling to let each other go. And then he stood back, holding her hands out to the sides with his own, and looked at her—his prize, his own, his love.

There was a noticeable breeze on the hilltop. It sent her dress fluttering behind her and flattened it against her at the front. It lifted her hair in a red-gold cloud behind her back. Just a few weeks ago, he knew, she would have been deeply embarrassed to be seen thus in all her vivid, voluptuous glory. But today she gazed back at him, her head tipped proudly back, a soft smile on her lips, her cheeks flushed.

She was all beautiful, breathtaking goddess and woman, and now at last she had accepted herself as she was.

“May I assume that your answer is yes?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said, laughing. “Did I not say so? Oh, yes , Rannulf.”

They both laughed then and he scooped her up in his arms again and twirled her about and about until they were both dizzy.

Judith’s small dressing room was so crowded with people that Tillie could scarcely bend her elbows to place her bonnet carefully on her head so as not to disturb the soft, shiny curls of her coiffure.

“You look beautiful , Jude,” Pamela said, tears shining in her eyes. “I always did say you were the loveliest of us all.”

“Lord Rannulf is going to be ecstatic ,” Hilary said, clasping her hands to her bosom.

“Judith,” Cassandra said, gazing at her. But she had always been Judith’s closest friend. Words failed her. “Oh, Judith.”

Their mother did more than gaze. She reached up for the lace over the brim of the bonnet, pulled it down, and arranged it over her daughter’s face.

“It seems I have waited forever to see one of my daughters happily married,” she said. “Promise me you will be happy, Judith.” Although her manner was brisk, it was very obvious that she was on the verge of tears.

“I promise, Mama,” Judith said.

Her grandmother, dressed in bright fuchsia and decked out in surely every jewel from the velvet bag, glittered and clinked as she clasped and unclasped her hands and beamed at her favorite granddaughter.

She had complained of no ailments today. Nor had she eaten any breakfast beyond her usual morning cup of chocolate. She was too excited, she had said.

“Judith, my love,” she said now, “I wish. .. oh, how I wish your grandpapa were here to share my pride and joy. But he is not and so I will have to be doubly proud and doubly joyful.”

And then there was a tap on the door and yet another body squeezed inside.

“Oh, I say!” Branwell exclaimed. “You look as fine as fivepence, Jude. Uncle George sent me to announce that the carriages are ready outside the door to take everyone to church except Jude and Papa.”

There was a swell of sound and many tearful final greetings and words of wisdom before the room emptied, leaving Judith alone with Tillie.

She was in a new room—a larger one than before—at Harewood Grange. It was her wedding day.

There had been much discussion about the most suitable place for the wedding. Papa had wanted it at home in Beaconsfield, and Rannulf had been quite willing to oblige. But there were a few problems.

Where would all his family members stay? Would it be too far for the two grandmothers to come, especially Lady Beamish, who was in ill health? London was suggested and rejected as equally far for the elderly ladies to travel. Leicestershire was perhaps the best possibility since both Judith and Rannulf had relatives there with large enough homes to accommodate the two families. And yet at first it had seemed an impossibility. How could Judith and her family invite themselves to Harewood Grange after recent events?

The problem had been solved with the arrival at the rectory of a very civil letter from Sir George Effingham, who had just been informed of the betrothal by his mother-in-law. His brother-in-law was very welcome to bring his family to Harewood, he had written, if the nuptials were to be held close by. In the same letter he mentioned the fact that his son had recently sailed for America and that his wife and daughter were making a protracted visit at the parental home of Mr. Peter Webster, Julianne’s intended husband.

Rannulf had been at Grandmaison for the past month while the banns were being read. His brothers and sisters had been there for most of that time too, brought there by the news of Lady Beamish’s failing health as well as by the wedding. Judith herself had not arrived until yesterday and had had only one brief meeting with Rannulf, who had ridden over from Grandmaison after dinner with Lord Alleyne. All her family had been present, and he had stayed for only half an hour.

But at last—oh, at last, six weeks after the wonder of his appearance on the hill above the rectory—it was their wedding day.

“You look as pretty as any picture, miss,” Tillie said.

“Thank you.” Judith turned to look in the pier glass, which had been hidden behind the press of bodies until a minute ago. She had decided upon simplicity though Papa had insisted that no expense be spared.

Her ivory silk dress was moderately low at the bosom and fashionably high-waisted, its short sleeves and hemline scalloped and trimmed with gold embroidery. Its chief distinguishing feature was that it hugged the contours of her upper body quite unashamedly before falling in soft folds about her hips and long legs.

Her bonnet, like her long gloves, matched the dress exactly in color, though its one curling plume was gold. So were her slippers. About her neck she wore a delicate double chain of gold, a wedding gift Rannulf had brought with him last evening.

Yes, Judith thought, she looked as she had wanted to look. But the butterflies that had danced in her stomach from the moment she arose early until all the excitement of dressing had begun were back in full force. She had not fully believed in the reality of this day until now. And even now...

“Your papa will be waiting for you, miss,” Tillie said.

“Yes.” Judith turned resolutely from the mirror and stepped out of the dressing room, whose door a smiling, curtsying Tillie was holding open for her.