Three
Helena pattered up the rain-puddled path to the village church on her father’s arm, favoring her stiff ankle. The kirk’s weathered stones blended into the landscape’s gray-green palette of rolling hills, rain-heavy clouds, mossy gravestones and muddy grass. It was probably damp and drafty inside, but the moment Helena crossed the threshold, she didn’t mind the cold swirling her ankles. The kirk felt like something, all right—warm and comfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.
It felt hopeful, something Helena hadn’t experienced in a long while.
Was this from God? Did it mean this church was full of His love? Could some of it extend to her?
Someone must have noticed them arrive, because the murmured conversations of the guests quieted. A nervous thrill twined with the quickening she’d experienced in her body, but she was ready, especially now that she’d felt such comfort. She took a deep breath, filling her nostrils with the smells of every church she’d ever entered: stale air, musty pages, candle smoke and beeswax.
She squeezed Papa’s arm as they paused at the threshold to the aisle. She hoped he’d look down at her. Smile and squeeze her fingers. Tell her she made a beautiful bride.
Instead he looked ahead. “Come along, then.”
The aisle was as lacking in length as the pews were in guests. A tiny female in dull clothing—the children’s nursemaid—lurked in at the rear. Toward the front, a few others dressed in finer attire stared at her with unashamed curiosity. The familiar faces of Gemma and Tavin smiled at her from the left side of the aisle while their wards, Petey and Eddie, wriggled and tugged at their miniature neck cloths.
Lord Ardoch’s children stood in the front pew on the right. The boys wore matching brown coats and impish expressions. Margaret, wearing sprigged muslin, a straw bonnet and a scowl, lifted little Louisa in her arms.
And beside the bespectacled, round-faced young clergyman at the end of the aisle, donned in a formal black coat, Lord Ardoch waited, hands at his sides, face impassive.
The sensation of peace she’d experienced at the threshold drained away.
Helena compressed her lips. I do not know if I can address You like this, God, but You must know how sorry I am. Marrying will make everything right, won’t it? Will You forgive me, once I do this? Will You even love me?
When they reached the end of the aisle, Papa released her arm. She clutched her prayer book so hard her knuckles ached.
Glancing down at her flowery book, Lord Ardoch’s eyes warmed to a deeper green and a soft smile lifted his lips. He must be pleased she’d attached his gift of blooms.
He was handsome, the sort of gentleman she might have noticed before she met Frederick Coles. But as Lord Ardoch was a lord of Parliament, the lowest rank in the Peerage of Scotland, her parents would have dismissed him as a potential husband.
In the end, however, rank hadn’t mattered to her that much. Certainly not with Frederick.
Stop thinking of him. She forced her lips to lift into a slight smile. Now freeze.
She trembled. Perhaps in freezing her smile, she’d iced the rest of her, too.
The clergyman spoke of covenant, looking over his spectacles at them as if to impress on them the gravity of such a thing. But she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t understand. Her pledge was no small thing. It was forever.
A few more words, punctuated by one of the children’s snuffles and someone’s long sigh. Then Lord Ardoch faced her and took her right hand. Steady, she ordered her twitchy fingers.
“I, John Angus, do take thee, Helena Caroline, to be my married wife, and do, in the presence of God, and before this congregation, promise and covenant to be a loving and faithful husband unto thee, until God shall separate us by death.”
As he spoke the vows, did he think of his Catriona, the wife he chose? He was marrying Helena out of convenience, after all.
Then his gaze met hers, its message sure. He would provide for her and shelter her. He would be a good husband in that way. Perhaps not loving, but good.
It was more than she deserved. A jerky swallow pained her throat as she took his right hand. Not too firmly. Nor too affectionate, or too scared, or however else he might interpret her clasp. She fixed her gaze on the precise knot of his neck cloth.
“I, Helena Caroline, do take thee, John Angus, to be my married husband, and do, in the presence of God, and before this congregation—”
She glanced at Papa. His mouth was downturned, like a child’s drawing of a rounded mountain.
“Before this congregation, promise and covenant?” The clergyman bore an indulgent smile. She must not have been his first overset bride.
“—before this congregation promise and covenant to be a loving and faithful wife unto thee, until God shall separate us by death.”
There. She’d done it. Maybe God would absolve her now.
Her fingers squeezed Lord Ardoch’s.
His brows rose.
Oh, dear. She meant nothing more in her gesture than relief. Assurance of their partnership. But perhaps he hadn’t understood. Prickles of heat barbed her neck and cheeks. Her hands pulled back, but he held on, his grip far firmer than hers had been.
She couldn’t lift her gaze from the buttons of his silver waistcoat while the clergyman spoke about the fruits of marriage. There would be none of that. The warmth of her blush washed away, from the crown of her head down, leaving her cold again.
After more prayers, Lord Ardoch slid a cold, polished ring with a deep red stone on the fourth finger of her left hand.
And then the one other thing. Their first—and last—kiss.
With one hand, he cupped her shoulder, and with the other, he lifted her chin. It was a light touch, enough to hold her steady. But more than enough to send her insides quaking.
He bent his head. His well-formed lips brushed the corner of her mouth, fleeting and gentle. Then he lowered his hands and released her.
She had received warmer kisses on her hands from courtiers back in London. Still, the tingle of his touch lingered. She resisted the urge to touch her mouth.
One final blessing by the clergyman, and it was done. She was married. Her problems were solved, neat and tidy. Her parents would be relieved. God approved, too. From this day forward, everything would be smooth as the cream icing on her wedding cake.
A shriek, shrill and jarring as a parakeet squawk, echoed off the stones. Startled, Helena dropped her prayer book.
Lord Ardoch spun toward his youngest child. “Louisa—”
Louisa’s red-slippered feet kicked Margaret, who dropped her cousin with a gasp of exaggerated outrage. Louisa fell to her hands and knees, screeching.
“Is she ill?” Helena rushed forward.
“No.” Lord Ardoch scooped Louisa into his arms.
