fifteen minutes before eleven o’clock, Jocelyn’s carriage halted at the entrance of the York Hospital. Waiting there was Crandall, a bulging case of papers in one hand and a vague, elderly cleric at his side. The lawyer looked gloomy. Jocelyn considered pointing out that he should be glad that she was keeping her inheritance and her need for his services, but decided that would be vulgar.
As Hugh Morgan helped her from her carriage, she said softly, “You know about my father’s will?”
He nodded. She was unsurprised; servants always knew everything that happened in a household. “I’m about to marry. Please … wish me well.”
His jaw dropped for an instant. Rallying, he said, “Always, my lady.”
Crandall joined them, ending the private conversation. With Morgan carrying the flowers and a ribbon-decorated basket, they entered the hospital in a silent procession. No one challenged them or asked their business. Jocelyn had the eerie feeling that she could ride a horse into the building and no one would give her a second glance.
Major Lancaster and Captain Dalton were engaged in a game of chess when Jocelyn arrived with her entourage. She was absurdly pleased to see that her intended husband was not only alive, but Richard had helped him sit up against the pillows so that he looked less frail. She smiled at the men. “Good morning, David. Richard.”
Her bridegroom smiled back. “This is the best of mornings, Jocelyn. You look very lovely today.”
Hearing the warmth in the major’s voice, Crandall unbent enough to smile, his sense of propriety appeased. He introduced himself, then said, “Major Lancaster, if you will sign these, please.”
David studied the papers carefully before signing. Ignoring the business aspects of the wedding, Jocelyn arranged the flowers on the bedside table in the glass vase she’d brought. Unfortunately, the brilliant summer blossoms made the rest of the room look even more drab. On impulse, she arranged some of the flowers into a small bouquet and tied it with a ribbon stolen from the basket.
After taking her own turn at scanning and signing papers, Jocelyn moved to the side of the bed and gave David her hand. His grasp was warm and strong on her cold fingers. She glanced down into his eyes and was caught by the tranquillity she saw there. Major Lancaster was not a man who either wanted or needed pity.
She smiled tremulously, wishing she could match his calm. “Shall we begin?”
The details of the ceremony were never clear to her after. She remembered fragments: “Do you, David Edward, take this woman …”
“I do.” Though not strong, his voice was firm and sure.
“Do you, Jocelyn Eleanor …”
“I do.” Her response was almost inaudible, even to her.
The vicar’s next sentences were a blur, until the words “Till death us do part,” jumped out at her. It was wrong, wrong, that death should be hovering over what was usually a joyous occasion.
She was drawn back to the present when David took her hand and carefully slid on the gold ring that Richard provided. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
There was humor in his eyes, as if the two of them were sharing a private joke. Perhaps they were.
In a voice much larger than his diminutive frame, the vicar intoned the last, rolling words of the ceremony, “I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
David tugged at her hand, and she leaned over to kiss him. His lips were surprisingly warm under hers.
Fighting tears, she lifted her head. Softly he said, “Thank you, my dear girl.”
“Thank you, husband,” she whispered.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that she would never forget their brief acquaintance, but the moment was shattered by a low, intense voice from the doorway. “What is the meaning of this?”
Jocelyn jumped as if she had been caught in the act of theft. A scowling young woman stood in the doorway, her fists clenched by her sides. While everyone in the room watched in stunned silence, the newcomer marched to the bed. Her gaze moved from David to Jocelyn, who saw that the angry eyes were brightly green.
With dry amusement, Jocelyn realized that her new sister-in-law had arrived and was not pleased by what she’d found. Sally Lancaster was a short wiry creature, almost relentlessly plain, her dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her drab gray dress was unfashionably high at the neck, and she wore a practiced look of disapproval. The fine green eyes were her only claim to beauty, and at the moment they sparked with fury.
Jocelyn inclined her head. “You must be Miss Lancaster. I am Lady Jocelyn Kendal. Or rather, Lady Jocelyn Lancaster. As you have no doubt guessed, your brother and I have just married.”
The woman said incredulously, “David?”
He reached out his other hand to her. “Sally, it’s all right. I’ll explain later.”
As she took her brother’s hand and glanced down at him, her face softened. She no longer looked like an avenging angel, just a tired woman little older than Jocelyn herself, her eyes bleak with despair.
Jocelyn turned to her footman. “Morgan, the champagne, please.”
Opening the basket, he produced a bottle and glasses. Pouring and handing around champagne dissipated the tension in the room. Even Sally accepted a glass, though she still looked like a rocket ready to explode.
Jocelyn realized that a toast was in order, but under the circumstances it would be grotesque for anyone to wish the couple health and happiness. In his capacity as best man, Captain Dalton saved the moment. He raised his glass to the newlyweds, looking quite at ease despite the need to balance on his crutches. “To David and Jocelyn. As soon as I saw you together, I knew you were intended for each other.”
Only Jocelyn and David understood the irony of the remark.
After the guests drank, David raised his glass in another toast, saying in a faint, clear voice, “To friends, both present and absent.”
Everyone could drink to that, and the atmosphere took on a tinge of conviviality. Jocelyn kept a wary eye on Sally Lancaster, and was not surprised when the governess said with false sweetness, “Lady Jocelyn, may I speak with you outside for a moment?”
Jocelyn followed her out of the room with resignation. She’d have to deal with her prickly sister-in-law sooner or later, and better that she make the explanations than David. He was obviously tiring rapidly and had hardly touched his champagne.
In the hallway, Sally closed the door before asking sharply, “Would you kindly explain what that was all about? Is it a new fashion for wealthy society ladies to marry dying soldiers, as one would choose a new hat? Will you be telling your friends what an amusing game you have found?”
Jocelyn gasped. If her sister-in-law believed the marriage was the result of some bored, selfish whim, it certainly explained the woman’s hostility. Jocelyn thought of the major’s warmth and understanding touch, and felt angry that Sally dared accuse her of marrying for such a callous reason.
Her
