flickered in his eyes. ‘Welcome to the family. I do beg your pardon if anything I have said this morning offended you and I beg forgiveness for the errors I have made in bringing up my son, which I feel are about to be visited on your head.’
She gave the assured blink she used for the audience before she sang. ‘Then when my husband does not do quite as I expect, I will keep my words kind to him and my ire will be directed in your direction.’
He turned halfway from her. His voice was soft. ‘Do as you must.’ Then he turned back to her. ‘Isabel, I will be prepared for your visits.’
Laughter sounded as a door on the lower floor opened. A scattershot of noises sounded.
Sophia and the Viscount looked around as if a gunshot had landed nearby and no one knew which direction it came from.
Sophia’s words were a whisper and she looked to the ceiling. ‘Thank you.’
The Viscount turned to the wall and sighed, then said, ‘What did I do?’
Isabel could not think which face to use and she settled on the one she used at the governess school after she sang and everyone praised her.
William appeared at the doorway, with two men behind him, one with a book under his arm. William hadn’t shaved. Isabel couldn’t concentrate on the greetings around her, but examined William. He only looked her way a half-second or less. Blazing determination flashed in his eyes. The same stare he’d had when he’d pounced on Wren.
Then the cleric made some jest about reading the right portion of the prayer book. William glared and the other man’s eyes darted downwards, but his smile beamed. She wondered if the Book of Common Prayer had a section for words said at funerals because that would be the only jest she could think of to use.
The wedding would not fool anyone present that it was a love match. She in her patched clothes and him appearing as if he’d just rolled from a bed.
She glanced to the door. A quick dart and she could be down the stairs. She opened her mouth, thinking to conjure up another aunt. She could rush away to retrieve her aunt to attend the wedding, but then she shook the thoughts away. William had saved her and he wished to protect his sisters.
The cleric spoke to William, patting him on the back. William swayed and she could have sworn the older man gripped the back of his coat to hold him steady.
Now she knew why men often had a friend at the side when they spoke their vows.
‘Let us begin.’ The cleric moved, directing the other man to stand by William.
‘Miss,’ the cleric said, taking the Book of Common Prayer from under his arm and looking to the vacant spot beside William.
She bit her lip and looked at the empty place at William’s side. She would be standing there a long time.
She moved into place, but not quite. Another person could have stood between them. Stepping sideways, he put his hand around her waist. For a moment his fingers rested at her side. Then a tug and she had no choice but to follow his clasp. She squeaked and her feet caught up with her body.
They were close. Very close. And he was strong. Her hip tingled where it brushed against his side. The tingles spread around her body. This could work.
The minister opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again, looking at William and not at the book. Then he shook his head.
‘We shall proceed.’ William spoke. It wasn’t a question. He dropped his hand away from Isabel, and cleared his voice.
Internally, Isabel stumbled, but nothing changed in front of her face so she didn’t think she’d really moved. She leaned closer to him, her bare arm against the sleeve of his coat, and she took in an easing breath.
The Book of Common Prayer opened and the world outside the windows stopped. Isabel became a wife and she couldn’t hear the words but his arm rested against hers, comforting.
In the last dress and pair of shoes she would have ever chosen, she wed William, and even though he looked as if he’d fallen from a horse and smelled of an alehouse, he’d charged a man with a knife to save her and he’d married a stranger to protect his sisters. She stole a glance at him. Behind the ragged façade, she was certain some part of him wished for the marriage. He’d pulled her to his side and she’d felt it.
* * *
William listened to each word, committing them to memory. Blast. He had not expected them to sound in his head as if blared from a trumpet. Nor had he expected them to sound so real and sincere.
Words. They were just words. But they weren’t like any he’d ever heard before. He was listening to a decree of the rest of his life. Vows of spiritual portent, spoken from a prayer book, with family around, to bond. Marriage had not been invented by a sane man. The vicar was right after all. The process was necessary for the sake of the children and the record-keeping of whom they belonged to. One didn’t want to pass a title too far from the lineage.
She stood beside him, chin high, eyes forward, pale and...kissable lips.
He’d never kissed her, though it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d held her in the carriage. If not for her misfortune, he would have kept the coachman driving circles in the town all night. He never seen a woman so just right as her. Tall enough for him. Short enough for him. Curved and straight enough. Just right.
All things considered, Isabel was a fortunate choice. His thoughts raced among the other ladies of his acquaintance. What if he had rescued one of them? She would be standing beside him now.
He imagined someone else at his side and felt a shudder. He had certainly missed cannon fire on that regard. At least fortune had chosen Miss—Isabel. He had forgotten her name again, but it would not be a concern now. She was Isabel Balfour now—which didn’t quite seem to fit her. Yet speaking the vows with someone other than her would have been—unfathomable. In relief, he huffed a sigh—just at the moment the vicar pronounced them man and wife together.
His sister hissed.
The vicar tutted and William shut his eyes. That was something that could not be explained away.
Then the vicar prayed over them. And prayed. And prayed. The ceremony ended and the air dripped with the heat of the day.
William glanced at Isabel. No songbird’s feathers had ever drooped more. A stab into his midsection. Guilt. Remorse. Anger at the ironic situation. All flashed into him.
She looked at him and when her eyes met his, the wilt disappeared. In his whole life no woman’s eyes had ever pinched in such a way when she gazed at his face.
Pleasantries sounded and everyone disappeared from the room, except William, his wife and his father.
The Viscount’s eyes rested on Isabel. ‘I wish you both all the best. And I am pleased to have you as a daughter.’ He took her left hand and pulled it to his gaze, looking at her wedding band. His eyes darted to William’s long enough to spear him and back to her simple gold band, then to her face. ‘Isabel, if I can ever be of any assistance to you in any way, please do not hesitate to contact me. I will accept your criticism freely and direct it in the proper direction.’
He looked at his
