A Winter Wedding (29 page)

The shock of the blast caused the party to cover their heads as shattered glass and rubble were thrown everywhere. A few of the older men fell to the ground, and Penelope was steadied by Grant to keep her feet. She desperately looked around and grabbed Grant’s arm. “Where is Marchford?”

Marchford ran into the side door and barged into the kitchen. “I am the Duke of Marchford. You are in danger. Everyone, outside!”

He ran on down the hall as the kitchen staff fled, though from their shrieks, they may have been more afraid of him than anything. So be it. He ran down the hall, opening doors. The first three were empty servants’ quarters. The last was locked. He put his shoulder to it and broke open the door.

Strader stood up, a candle in hand. His look of surprise twisted into a sneer. “You’re too late. The fuses have been lit.”

Marchford put a fist to the man’s nose, sending him flying backward. He grabbed the fuse from the bottle of gunpowder, throwing it down. “You’re done.”

Strader shook his head, wiping the blood from his nose. “You think this is all? I have slow fuses everywhere. There’s nothing you can do aboutit now.”

“Where are they?” demanded Marchford, grabbing the man by his lapels.

“I will see you in hell!” screamed Strader, the veins of his neck bulging.

Marchford dropped him. He needed to ensure Penelope was out of the house. He ran from the room with Strader lunging after him, but Strader’s legs tangled in the fuses and he tripped, dropping his candle, lighting the fuse.

“Marchford! Marchford!” Strader screamed after him.

Marchford rushed to the door and only got a few steps before the concussive blast sent him flying. He rolled away and took cover behind a short stone wall as successive blasts tore through the house.

Penelope
. It was his only thought.
Please, Lord, let her be safe
. Nothing else mattered. He got up and staggered to the front, where Lord Felton was staring at his burning house in shock, surrounded by various members of Parliament and house staff in various stages of disbelief and distress.

“Where is Marchford?” cried Penelope, her back to him.

She was alive! His heart soared! “Penelope!” He turned her around and pulled her into his arms. He would not let go. He would never let go.

She said something unintelligible into his collar and her body shook even as she grasped him with a surprisingly strong grip. She also was not letting go.

The most levelheaded of them all was Grant, who started a bucket brigade to put out the fire in the shell of the house and keep the fire from spreading to the neighbors. People poured into the street to gawk and help put out the fire. The house was most likely a complete loss. The only casualty, it appeared, was Strader himself, whom nobody particularly mourned.

Marchford suddenly reached for his coat pocket. Was it still there? “Thank goodness,” he sighed.

“What is it?” asked Penelope, her eyes wide.

“The special license to marry you. I still have it.” James grinned and held up the tattered paper.

“Best use it now,” said Grant, joining the conversation.

“As soon as may be,” said James with a smile.

“Not soon. Now,” demanded Grant. “I know you both too well. Too much excitement. Too much trouble. Wed now before something else goes wrong.”

“If it were possible, I would marry you right now.” James gazed down upon Penelope. She was beautiful to him.

She grinned in return. “I would as well.”

“Good,” said Grant. “Come here.”

James held out an arm for Penelope and they followed Grant down the street, away from the disaster. Grant paused before one of the new gas streetlights as fresh snow began to fall, dancing in the light of the lamp.

“Are you hurt?” asked a man in a black coat standing under the lamp. “Does someone need me?”

“Yes, Reverend,” said Grant. “These two souls would like to be married.”

“Married?” cried the clergyman. “When I came to help, I thought I would care for the injuredand distraught.”

“They are certainly distraught, hopeless cases,” said Grant with a wide grin.

“I cannot possibly marry anyone. The banns must be read,” said the reverend.

James turned to Penelope. “This is not at all how I pictured any wedding I might have.”

“Nor I,” agreed Penelope. She closed her eyes and looked up, smiling as the snow fell on her face. “But I have entirely given up trying to be the master of my own fate.”

James’s heart began to beat a little faster. Was she actually going to agree to this mad plan? Was he? He smiled at the picture of Penelope, snowflakes catching in her hair and eyelashes. After all he had gone through, he did not want to risk losing one moment together. And Grant was right; he should marry her before she came to her senses.

“Reverend, I believe this is what you need.” He handed the special license to the reverend.

“Most unusual. Most unusual, indeed.” He shook his head, but then he paused and gazed around. “But I cannot think of a more beautiful place to be wed.”

Penelope threaded her fingers through his and he held her hand against the cold. “I love you.” It was all she needed to say. She was ragged, her head uncovered, her hair a wild mess, her face was dirty, and her gown was splattered with blood. Yet in the halo of light of the streetlamp and the glistening snow, she was his angel.

“I love you too,” he replied and meant every word.

“Dearly beloved…” began the reverend.

***

Penelope was not certain if she was in a dream. Had she just married James under a streetlamp on a London street? No. Yes. She held James’s hand. He was real; that was all she knew.

“Mr. Peters,” James called the butler as they arrived home.

“My word, Your Grace,” gasped the shocked butler. “Are you quite well?”

“Yes, never better,” said the duke. “Best day of my life. Please arrange for a bath, so we may freshen up and prepare for guests tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the butler, trying to recover from the shock of seeing Marchford and Penelope in such a grimy state. “Any particular occasion?”

“Twelfth Night tomorrow. Thought it a good day to have my wedding ball.” He winked at Penelope, and she smiled in return. “And you can be the first in the household to greet my new bride, Penelope Lockton, the Duchess of Marchford.”

Penelope smiled so broadly she thought her face might crack.

The butler stammered again and smiled himself, most uncharacteristically. “Yes, yes, quite. I wish you both every happiness!”

“Thank you, Peters,” said James. “Let my mother and grandmother know, and tell them my mother may decorate as she wishes and my grandmother may invite whomever she pleases.”

“That is certain to please and displease them both,” laughed Penelope.

“As long as you are my bride, I care not.”

“But what of the unpleasant gossip regarding our marriage?” asked Penelope, a cloud coming over her eyes.

“Gossip?” asked James. “The Comtesse de Marseille was revealed to be a traitor, Lord Felton’s house was blown up, and most shocking of all, my grandmother and mother were seen making pleasant conversation. My dear lady, there is so much other more interesting gossip right now, I could have married the fishmonger’s daughter, or even the fishmonger himself, and nobody would raise an eyebrow.”

“I will fight off any and all tradesmen who might wish to take you from me,” asserted Penelope with a grin.

“I thank you.” James closed his eyes for a moment and opened them slowly. “I fear we must both be in need of sleep.”

Penelope nodded. Now that the excitement was over, she was aware how her whole body ached. “I know this is not very wifely,” she said as they walked up the stairs together, “but I desperately need sleep and a good wash.”

“Yes, rest. I shall see you in the morning.” James stopped under one of the mistletoe traps and kissed her on the forehead.

Back in her room, Penelope was attended by several excited maids, who had just heard the news they were now waiting on a duchess. They helped her remove the bloodstained gown, which she relinquished to them to be burned. The garment had served its purpose well. She did not need it anymore.

The maids provided hot water to wash, and Penelope did as best she could to remove the dirt and grime.

“May I express my best wishes for your future together,” said Abigail. “And if I may suggest, there is a bath down the hall. Maybe you would like to relax in the hot water.”

“Oh yes.” Penelope wrapped in a dressing gown and padded down the hall in her bare feet. She opened the door of the room with the large tub. It was mostly dark but for one candle. The smell of rose water and lavender soothed her senses.

She stepped inside and dropped the wrapper to the floor, walking to the tub. Suddenly, James emerged from under the water.

“Penelope!”

“James!”

“What are you doing here?” they both asked together.

“I fear my maid has taken things into her own hands,” said Penelope, turning to find her wrapper. Husband or no, her cheeks burned at being caught naked by James.

“Come back!” James reached out and grabbed her hand. “My duchess, please join me.” His eyes twinkled in the candlelight.

She glanced down. He was naked. She looked away, only to have her eyes drawn down again. He was very, very naked.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, trailing one finger down her stomach, traveling below her belly button and beyond.

She caught her breath. Despite being exhausted, parts of her body were coming alive. She held on to his other hand and climbed into the tub, resting her back on his stomach. Warm water gushed around her, easing all the places of soreness and tension.

James grabbed a pitcher and poured warm water over her head, down her back. It felt so good she had to stifle a groan. He took some soap and began to work it through her hair, massaging as he went.

A satisfied sigh escaped her lips. Her body went limp as relaxation flowed through her. She had never known the simple act of washing hair could be so sensual, so utterly all-encompassing.

He poured water over her head again, washing away not only the soap, but also all the pain and anxiety of the past few days. She leaned back on him, her eyes closed. Never had she felt so relaxed, so happy, so safe.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I hope you shall not grow tired of hearing it, for I feel I shall need to constantly remind you.”

“I also may need to remind you of my love for you,” murmured Penelope.

“Hopeless cases, the both of us,” said James. His hands began an exploration of her body, and she floated in the water, allowing him to touch, massage, caress any part of her he so desired.

When he reached that secret place that made her catch her breath, she opened herself to him, knowing she was safe, protected, adored. Soon the tension built up so that she wanted, craved,
needed
more.

She turned around, straddling him in the tub, and he guided her to join him, completing her in a way she had not known possible. He was her other half, her mate, her love forever. She held on to his shoulders as he increased the pace, water slopping out over the side of the tub.

She chased after a building sensation within her, circling in her core, twisting up tension, until suddenly something within her exploded, filling her with an unspeakable joy.

James cried out and they both collapsed into each other, floating down into the warm water. Penelope doubted she could raise her head off his chest even to prevent from being drowned.

“I love you, my duchess.”

***

The next day, Penelope stood next to James as they greeted the guests to their wedding celebration. Bella had expanded on the decorations, turning the entire house into a Christmas feast for the eyes. Never had Marchford House kept Twelfth Night with more merriment.

Antonia also did not disappoint. Despite the last-minute invitation, the ballroom was packed with friends and well-wishers, including Penelope’s sisters and their husbands, all notable members of the
ton
, and many members of Parliament. It was glorious. Penelope was the last of her sisters to marry, and to a duke no less!

Penelope held James’s hand, and the rest of the party seemed to slip away. She was married to the man she loved—to the only man she had ever loved. She had not thought it possible, but apparently nothing is impossible for God.

James’s warm, misty-green eyes met hers. He was impeccably dressed, though she now had a preference to seeing him with less clothing. Still, he was a striking figure, and he was all hers.
I
love
you
. He did not need to say the words. It was there in his eyes. Suddenly bagpipes started up a deafening but joyous song.

“Ten pipers piping?” asked Penelope with a laugh.

“Yes. I am remiss, I missed a few,” said James. “Still looking for a pear tree, but I expect a partridge will be on the menu tonight. As for dancing ladies and leaping lords, we will see what we can do at the dance.”

“Oh no!” Penelope’s joy diminished with a sudden realization. “You have given me all these presents and I have given you nothing. And it’s Twelfth Night!”

James wrapped his arms around her. “You have given me the best present of all. You have given me yourself. And a very memorable Christmastide! There is nothing more I could ask for and nothing more I could want.”

Everyone gathered around them, wishing them well. Antonia and Bella arrived, arm in arm of all things, with Lord Langley straggling behind them with a bemused smile.

“I am still stunned to see you both in each other’s good graces,” said James.

“We found something we agree on,” said Bella.

“We approve of your choice of bride,” said Antonia, giving Pen a warm embrace.

Penelope was flooded with a warm swell of joy. It was no small thing to win over two such imposing ladies. And Antonia was not the hugging type.

“However, I find the decor something appalling,” continued Antonia.

“And the number of persons in attendance is hardly what I consider the small, intimate affair as we agreed upon,” countered Bella.

“That’s better. Everything is making more sense to me now,” said James.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I shall be leaving soon, but I want you to know how proud I am of you. I love you with my whole heart.”