Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(67)

Tasia smiled and picked up the mass of flowers, regarding it speculatively. “There's no time for that. We'll have to assume it's the correct number.”

“Thank God,” Alicia said in a heartfelt tone.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Tasia wanted to laugh at the sight of Samson waiting patiently by the door of the estate chapel. The dog's leash had been affixed to one of the back pews to ensure his noninterference in the wedding ceremony. His ears flapped and twitched as he watched the small gathering in the front of the chapel. Affected by the reverent atmosphere, he behaved with unusual dignity, only lapsing occasionally to paw and snort at the wreath of white flowers Emma had fastened around his collar.

The aloof faces of carved saints looked down from the walls. The chapel was small and slightly musty, candlelight warming the smooth stone and dark wood with its yellow glow. Tasia had a feeling of detachment as she stood next to Luke, with Emma at her right and the Ashbournes on his left. She repeated the vows in a voice that didn't seem to be her own.

How simple and astonishingly intimate this was, compared to the grand two-hour ceremony she would have had to endure in St. Petersburg. If she had married Mikhail Angelovsky, there would have been at least a thousand guests, and an Orthodox bishop to perform the rites. She would have been swathed in white brocade, silver fur, and a silver crown that complemented Mikhail's gold one. There would have been a procession around the altar, and the Angelovskys would have insisted that Mikhail carry the ancient Russian symbol of husbandly authority, a silver whip. And she would have been forced to kneel and kiss the hem of his ceremonial robe, in the ultimate gesture of subservience. Instead she had left it all behind, in a trail of blood and deception. Now she was in a foreign country, exchanging marriage vows with a stranger.

Luke held her hand firmly and spoke the words that would bind her to him until death. She looked into his clear blue eyes, her detachment vanishing. The last threads to the past were severed as she took another's name as her own and felt his ring slide onto her finger. Tasia knew an instant of panic just before he bent and fitted his mouth over hers. It was not a gentle kiss, but a brief, hard one. You're mine now, was his unspoken message. Now and forever…and nothing will part us.

The servants' hall rang with cheers as Lord and Lady Stokehurst appeared in the doorway. Luke had given the servants the next day off and supplied enough wine and food for an all-night celebration. People had come up from the village to play instruments and take part in the gathering. A crowd rushed around the newlyweds, offering congratulation. Tasia was touched by their warmth.

“Bless you, my lady!” the maids cried. “Bless you an' the master both!”

“There never was a prettier bride,” Mrs. Plunkett exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

“The happiest day in Southgate Hall,” Mrs. Knaggs said emphatically.

Mr. Orrie Shipton, the town mayor, raised a toast. His chubby face flushed with selfimportance as he lifted a glass of wine high in the air. “To the marchioness of Stokehurst—may her gentle kindness grace this home for many years to come—and may she fill Southgate Hall with many children!”

To the delight of the gathering, Luke laughed and bent to kiss his blushing bride. No one could hear what he murmured in her ear, but the words caused her cheeks to flame even brighter.

After a few minutes Tasia left in the company of Mrs. Knaggs and Lady Ashbourne, while Luke lingered and accepted the hearty congratulations coming from every direction. Charles stayed at his side, beaming as if he were personally responsible for the entire situation.

“I knew you would do the right thing,” Charles said sotto voce, seizing Luke's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “I knew you weren't the rutting scoundrel Alicia claimed you were. I defended you on every point. When Alicia called you a lecherous, interfering swine who was stuffed on your own conceit, I said she was putting it much too harshly. And when she said you were overbearing and heartless, I told her it simply wasn't true. And when she began to rant about your swelled head and your selfishness—”

“Thank you, Charles,” Luke interrupted dryly. “It's nice to know I was so well-defended.”

“By God, this is a happy day, Stokehurst!” Charles exclaimed, and gestured to the merry gathering. “Who could have predicted this would happen when I introduced Tasia to you? Who would have thought Emma would take such a liking to her, or that you would come to love her? I must congratulate myself on—”

“I never told you I loved her,” Luke said, staring at him quizzically.

“Afraid it's obvious, old man. Knowing how you feel about marriage, I was certain you wouldn't propose unless you loved her. And I haven't seen you so lighthearted since our days at Eton.” Charles chortled into his cup of wine. “But I won't envy you, Stokehurst, when London society gets its first glimpse of her. You'll have to work hard to keep other men away from your wife. I can't decide whether you'll have more problems with the young bucks or the old rakes. Tasia has the kind of feminine mystery that most Englishwomen lack, and that combination of black hair and white skin—”

“I know,” Luke said shortly, frowning in annoyance. Charles was right. Tasia's youth, beauty, and delicious trace of foreignness would make her a fantasy creature in many mens' eyes. Luke wasn't used to feeling jealous, and he didn't like it. For an instant he remembered how it had been with Mary, how comfortable and easy everything was. There had been no heart pangs with her, no jealousy, nothing but the familiarity of old friends.