People had noticed now. There was a murmur behind them, and the vicar was stumbling a little over the familiar words.
He stepped past her, ignoring the shocked expression of the vicar and the exclamations of their guests. “Valentine?” she hissed, and followed. He reached a large vase of flowers on a plinth and leaned forward, his face almost hidden in the flowers. With a trembling hand he lifted one of the roses free, causing several others to be disarranged and tumble about his feet.
“I say, Kent, old chap,” Jasper said nervously, glancing around. “You are about to get married.”
“Valentine, don’t you think you should—” George began.
“Valentine?” Marissa put her hand on his arm.
But Valentine had turned to her and his face was ablaze. He took her hand and placed something in it. She looked down, confused, and saw that it was a rose. A rose the color of a Jerusalem sunrise, pink and gold and orange.
It took only a heartbeat for her to realize what this must be, what this must mean. Her eyes lifted in wonder to his.
“The Crusader’s Rose,” he said triumphantly. “I have found the Crusader’s Rose.”
The church erupted. Jasper was there, his hands shaking as he took the rose reverentially in his own hands, and then Lady Bethany was peering over their shoulders. It took some time for everyone to settle down. Eventually, Marissa was able to ask a question.
“But where has it come from?”
The vicar thought all the roses had come from gardens in the village and nearby area. Through a process of elimination they discovered this particular rose had come from Mrs. Horton’s garden, at the edge of the village.
As soon as he heard that, Valentine took Marissa’s hand in his, and they set off out of the church and along the village street, the congregation trailing after them. Marissa picked up her skirts, petals falling from her bouquet, while Valentine hurried along at her side. She didn’t consider refusing to go or asking him to postpone his search. The Crusader’s Rose had become as important to her as him, and it seemed right and proper that it should be found on this day.
Their day.
Mrs. Horton hadn’t come to watch the wedding. She was old and unable to walk very far, and—the vicar said—it was decided by her relatives to let her rest at home. But she was in her garden when they reached her cottage, using a cane to stay upright, as she busied herself tying back an unruly clematis.
She looked up, mouth ajar, as Lord Kent and his bride arrived at her gate and proceeded into her garden, followed by a crowd of guests.
“Mrs. Horton,” Valentine said, taking her hand. “Forgive our intrusion.”
“It isn’t an intrusion, my lord,” she replied. “I wasn’t expecting you, is all.”
Her sangfroid elicited a ripple of laughter.
“This rose,” he said, and he held up the Crusader’s Rose. “Is it yours, Mrs. Horton?”
She nodded. “Aye, it is. Over here, my lord. You can see it’s a fine strong bush. Likes a warm place, though. But if it’s happy it flowers on and on.”
Valentine stood staring at the rose bush, every inch of it covered in bright blooms. Marissa blinked back tears, knowing what he must be feeling, and managed a smile for the puzzled Mrs. Horton.
“Was this rose always in your garden?” she said.
“Goodness me, no, Your Ladyship! I was walking out by the manor one day—I was younger then, of course—and I spied it growing in a hedgerow. It was struggling there, but I liked the flowers, so I took a cutting and grew it myself. I hope you don’t mind. It didn’t belong to no one; it was just growing wild in the hedgerow.”
“Mind?” Valentine said. “Mrs. Horton, you are a wonderful, wonderful woman!”
She blushed bright red.
Unable to contain himself, Valentine grabbed hold of Marissa and swung her around, her wedding dress belling out.
It was decided to continue the wedding ceremony in Mrs. Horton’s garden, and it was there before the Crusader’s Rose that Valentine and Marissa made their vows and were declared husband and wife, while everyone watched on.
“So romantic,” murmured Marissa’s friends from Miss Debenham’s, as they wished her well. “You have found the perfect husband, even if he isn’t the one you began with…”
“As long as he’s the one I end with,” Marissa said.
She looked up and caught Valentine’s gaze, and knew that as nice as it was to have her friends here with her, she was looking forward to being alone with her new husband. Tomorrow they would set off on their honeymoon, just the two of them, and she couldn’t wait.