The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

Fabian’s shoulders relaxed. The collective sigh from those squashed into the pews mirrored his own sense of relief.

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur as Fabian struggled to address the odd feeling of contentment filling his chest. They held hands, and he wasn’t sure whose fingers trembled. They pledged their troth, knelt in prayer.

“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder,” the reverend said before proceeding to announce them, “man and wife together.”

Together.

He’d been alone for so damn long, perhaps that was what unnerved him.

Soon they were outside, swamped by well-wishers cheering and shouting congratulations. The women stepped forward, grabbed a handful of petals from Nancy’s basket and threw them in the air.

Lillian clutched Fabian’s arm, and a sudden urge to protect her took hold.

Damnation. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The celebratory cries proved infectious. A chuckle burst from Lillian’s lips, the sound sweet, light-hearted, and then they were both smiling and laughing, both lost in a moment of pure bliss.

“Let me be the first to call you Lady Ravenscroft.” Mackenzie came before them and bowed his head. “Mrs Bell has prepared a feast to mark the occasion. It won’t be as grand as a wedding breakfast you’d have in London, mind, but it will be the best meal ever to grace our table.”

Fabian turned to her. “When he says it won’t be grand, he means we’ll be dining with the men. Although if you prefer privacy, I can arrange for us to dine in the drawing room or my chamber.” His mind chose that moment to imagine a feast of a different sort. One where her lips tasted of wild berries, and her skin tasted of milk and honey.

Lillian scanned the crowd and smiled. “No, I should like to hear their kind words and watch them drink a toast in our honour.”

Clearly, the lady had never witnessed the bawdy antics of drunken sailors. When the ale flowed freely, things invariably became boisterous. “I cannot promise they’ll mind their manners. These men do not live by the same rules of etiquette and decorum.”

“Have no fear.” Mackenzie puffed his chest. “I’ll banish them to the dungeons for a night if they dare speak out of turn. I shall see to it personally.”

“There are dungeons?” Lillian sounded surprised.

“Yes, though we’ve not had cause to use them — yet,” Fabian teased. “I shall give you a tour of the castle this evening as long as you promise not to chain me up and leave me to rot.”

“No doubt I would return in the morning to find you had escaped. If there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re resourceful.”

The compliment touched him. It had taken years to come to terms with losing Prescott Hall. Quick wit and ingenuity had set him on the right path again.

Mackenzie cleared his throat. “I should head back. Mrs Bell threatened to spoil my ale unless I agreed to play footman.”

Mackenzie climbed onto the seat next to Mr Brown, and the women clambered into the back of the cart. The men began their march towards the castle, eager to sample Mackenzie’s prized ale before he drained the barrel.

“As my wife, you’re expected to ride back with me.” Fabian sensed her uncertainty. “Thunder is a little temperamental, but I recall you always favoured a spirited animal. Is that not another reason you agreed to marry me?”

“You called your horse Thunder?” She offered him a smirk.

“The name conveys strength and power does it not? Is a man’s horse not an extension of his character?”

Lillian’s eyes lit up. “Indeed, you’re a man of many contradictions, much like your horse." When Fabian frowned, she added, “Thunder looks rather timid with flowers tucked into his bridle.”

Fabian swung around. Someone had pushed roses around the browband and headpiece, so it looked as though the beast wore a crown of flowers. “Blast Mackenzie. This is his doing.”

Lillian pursed her lips. “I think he feels guilty for plying me with laudanum and stealing me away from home. He’s doing everything he can to make me feel welcome, and to make this a special day.”

The comment showed Fabian to be hopelessly inadequate. There wasn’t a man alive with a heart as huge as Mackenzie’s. What hope had he of making a good impression? Why did he even want to? “Be prepared for more surprises. Heaven knows what he’s done to the great hall. Had I given him more time I’m sure he would have sewn petals into shoes and carved leaves into the wooden tables.”

Lillian chuckled.

He liked it when her eyes shone with amusement. It reminded him of the carefree days of their youth. Noting the pink petal caught in her hair, he reached up to pluck it out. His fingers slipped into the silky strands, and he couldn’t resist stroking her temple and cupping her cheek.

Lillian’s eyelids fluttered, and she tilted her head a fraction as if leaning into his touch. But then she straightened and stepped back.