Later, a string quartet from the music school played a collection of waltzes, and they danced.
She had refused point-blank to throw her bouquet; aside from her lack of enthusiasm, as she’d pointed out, there’d been no unmarried young lady of suitable age present to catch it. “Not unless you count Clarissa.”
As she’d made that comment in Ryder’s hearing, she’d immediately had his support, and consequently, there was to be no tossing of her bouquet.
“Thank God for that,” Godfrey had said when she’d mentioned it. “Given the recent spate of results—Sylvia catching Felicia’s bouquet, and you then catching Sylvia’s, and both of you ending up married within months—I would have felt forced to leave the room, just in case.”
She’d laughed and told him he wouldn’t escape forever, and cited herself as proof of that, which had only made Godfrey look even more wary.
Frederick spent his wedding breakfast never far from his bride—something he discovered was no hardship. She captured and held his attention in a way no other lady ever had; he tried to tell himself it was because she was now his wife, but knew it was simply because she was Stacie.
She’d caught his attention from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her and, now, had fixed it for all time.
While riding to Mount Street in the carriage beside her, he’d imagined that having to rein in his desire, stoked to fresh and eager heights by the knowledge that she was now his, would be his principal distraction over the hours of the extended luncheon; instead, his overriding impulse was to ensure nothing—but nothing—disturbed his new wife’s peace. He hovered close enough to ensure that no one said anything to upset her in any way and, especially, that no one referred to her likeness to her mother. Luckily, doubtless because everyone present was close family and had already made such comments often in the past, no one raised the specter of the late marchioness; had any done so, it might have tested his resolve not to react overly protectively—possessively protectively.
Indeed, managing to appease his instincts where Stacie was concerned without triggering her suspicions over why he was reacting in such a way loomed as his biggest hurdle going forward. He could only hope that her expectations of what constituted normal behavior in husbands had been gleaned primarily from observations of her married brothers’ reactions, and that she wouldn’t dwell on the emotion that gave rise to such actions.
Yet while they were surrounded by others, especially other males, he felt as if he were walking on eggshells. The sooner he could whisk her away to Brampton Hall, where they would be effectively alone, the better.
Until then, he had to grin and bear with the constant pricking and flaring of his instincts.
By the time she stopped beside him and, with a laughing smile, informed him she was about to go and change out of her delicate wedding gown into a dress more suitable for driving into Surrey, he was more than ready to depart.
Twenty minutes later, he handed her up into his curricle, joined her on the seat, and with her waving madly to the crowd clustered on the Raventhorne House steps, he flourished his whip and gave his bays the office, and finally, they were away.
As he tooled the carriage out of Mayfair, through Kensington, and out along the road to Guildford, he felt all tensions ease, then slide away.
He glanced at the lady beside him—his wife. His marchioness.
She’d settled on the seat and was looking about her with evident interest, apparently intent on noting the landmarks they passed.
He smiled and gave his attention to his horses.
Brampton Hall and their wedding night lay ahead, and that was one challenge he was more than ready to meet.
Twilight was falling by the time Frederick turned his horses between the stately gateposts that flanked the winding gravel drive that, Stacie assumed, would lead them to his home—the marquessate’s principal seat of Brampton Hall.
She sat straighter on the seat and looked around, surve
ying all she could see in the gathering dusk.
Frederick glanced her way. “The ornamental lake is behind the house—you can’t see it from here.”
“Is this area all lawns and trees?” She waved to both sides of the drive.
He nodded. “The formal gardens are clustered around the house—if anything, they extend more to the other side, the west.”
Everything she could see was well-tended, the lawns neatly clipped, the trees mature but trimmed.
She suddenly thought to ask, “Did you send word you were marrying today—that we would be coming to stay?”
He chuckled. “I did—they’re expecting us.”
“Oh, good.” She told herself that was better than them arriving without warning and throwing the household into utter chaos. Still, the notion of formally meeting a full household of staff as their new mistress was distinctly daunting.
Frederick reached across, closed his hand about one of hers, and squeezed reassuringly. “Most here have known me all my life. They’ll be relieved I’ve married someone like you—someone who will deal with them reasonably and whom they can respect—they’ll welcome you with open arms.” He paused, then added, “Figuratively speaking, at least.”
She smiled and turned her hand in his and gripped lightly, then released her hold so he could steer the horses around the next curve. How had he known that she was having a minor panic and specifically over that? Such moments made her increasingly grateful to Fate for having steered her his way.