“In thy face I see
The map of honor, truth, and loyalty.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry VI, Part 2
If anyone had questioned his bravery in the moments before Gillian entered the drawing room of her parents’ town house, Colin could not have found offense or been tempted to issue a challenge to defend his honor. He would have had no reason. He couldn’t argue fact, and the fact was that although he had never fancied himself a coward, every instinct for self-preservation he’d ever possessed was urging him to make a break for the front door.
Colin’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could almost smell his own fear and feel the color leeching from his face as he fought to come up with some graceful way to make his exit. For the first time in his life, Colin thought he might faint or run screaming out the door in sheer terror.
Griff must have sensed it as well, for he placed his hand on Colin’s arm and murmured beneath his breath, “Steady on, Colin. The panic will pass.”
Colin disagreed. The panic was rising. And his rising panic declared that he was a lifelong Free Fellow, and a Free Fellow didn’t stand before a clergyman and promise to love, honor, and cherish a woman he barely knew. Except Griff. But the situation had been different when Griff’s father ordered his son to marry.
Colin glanced over at his friend. How in Hades had Griff survived it?
“Breathe deeply,” Griff advised, reading his mind once again. “And keep breathing. It will be over before you know it.”
Would it? Colin knew he’d only been standing before the rector and the assembled guests for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. And he didn’t know how much longer he could continue to stand on legs that wobbled from the strain of standing still or that threatened to give way at any moment. Colin shifted his weight from one leg to the other and back again. He’d felt less fear facing down assassins. Leaning toward Griff, Colin whispered, “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Griff whispered back. “Look.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Here’s your bride.”
Colin followed Griff’s lead and turned toward the doorway as Gillian entered the room on her father’s arm.
His panic died a quick death at the sight of her, replaced by a much more powerful emotion. “Bon Dieu, but she’s breathtaking!”
“She is that,” Griff agreed. “Almost as breathtaking as my Alyssa.”
That was Griff’s opinion. As far as Colin was concerned, no woman had ever been or could ever be as breathtakingly beautiful as Gillian Davies was at that moment. He couldn’t see her face clearly through the lace of her bridal veil, but he gave what he hoped was a warm and welcoming smile instead of the wolfish grin he was fighting hard to control. And though her veil obscured it, Colin thought she returned his smile with a rather shy smile of her own.
He drew another deep breath and slowly expelled it, surprised to find that he was suddenly calm and completely certain that exchanging vows with Gillian was what he’d been born to do. Who would have guessed that that tantalizingly soft fragrance of lemons and musk would fill him with as much resolute determination to have her as his wife as the image of her in her wedding dress?
And what a wedding dress it was! Colin shook his head as if to clear it. The silk layers clung to her figure, molding to her body in all the right places. The dress skimmed over her trim waist and hips, brushing her thighs as she moved, and the bodice beneath the squared neckline created a delicate cradle for the gentle swell of bosom visible through her veil. His mouth went dry as she moved forward, and Colin fought to follow Griff’s advice and breathe.
If he had had to choose a color for her to wear, Colin would have chosen a bright robin’s egg blue to accentuate the color of her eyes. He’d never much cared for the pale confections of muslin, ribbons, and lace currently in vogue. He appreciated the daring styles, but the insipid colors did nothing for most of the blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young ladies of his acquaintance. And he expected something brighter and bolder from his bride. Something to match her personality. But Gillian had just changed his mind about fashion. He would never have guessed a dress of pale, almost translucent pink the color of delicate rose petals would become her ivory complexion. But it did.
The sight of her in that dress stole the air from his lungs, and the lump in his throat threatened to keep him from repeating the vows that would bind him to her for all eternity and grant him permission to see what lay beneath the tantalizing panels of delicate rose-colored silk and lace.
Colin waited until Gillian’s father moved away before he stepped closer.
The rector lifted his prayer book and nodded toward Colin. “If you will, Lord Grantham, take hold of your bride’s left hand.”
Gillian handed her nosegay of flowers from the garden to the Duchess of Avon, who was acting as her matron of honor, as Colin reached for her hand. She hadn’t carried any flowers at her first wedding, and she hadn’t had anyone to attend her. The blacksmith had provided the required two witnesses. She smiled at the duchess and received a warm smile in return. Gillian still couldn’t quite believe that England’s newest hero and his wife had not only graced them with their presence at her wedding to Viscount Grantham but had offered to stand up for them. And what was even more surprising was that the Duke and Duchess of Avon were genuinely honored to do it.
Gillian cast a sideways glance at her groom. If one could judge a man by the company he kept, Colin McElreath was an exceptional man, highly regarded by his august friends. And he was about to become her husband.
The clergyman cleared his throat and began the service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony...” He looked at Gillian and then turned to look at Colin. “I require and charge you both as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.”
A half hour ago, Colin would have willingly listed any number of impediments to matrimony; now all he wanted was to seal the deal and, in the vernacular of his father, let the chips fall where they may.
He narrowed his focus until all he could see was Gilli
an’s gloved hand in his. All he could hear was the steady beat of his heart, the rector’s words, and Gillian’s soft breathing. All he could smell was the scent of the orange blossoms wound around the circlet of her veil mingling with the lemon fragrance she wore.
“Colin McElreath, twenty-seventh Viscount Grantham, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? 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?”
“I will,” Colin replied in a voice that resonated with willingness to take his vows to heart and to honor them.