Cheryl Bolen - Marriage of Inconvenience

No man had ever held her hand like this before. Those long, warm fingers of his possessed a gentle strength. He lifted her hand to his lips, and her breath came quicker. When he lowered his mouth to her hand, she suddenly knew what it must feel like to rise in one of those balloons over Hyde Park.

He then did a most peculiar (but totally poignant) thing. He placed her hand over his heart and covered it with his own. “Will you, my dearest Rebecca, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Intense emotions washed over her, sweeping her up in a roaring tide. Lord Aynsley was not the cold, aging peer she had anticipated. He was possessed of great tenderness.

As she went to accept his offer, she was horrified to find her voice hoarse and shaky and—worst of all—tears spilling from her eyes. She could not remember the last time she had cried. She thought perhaps it had been back in Virginia when her father died.

His brows lowered, and Lord Aynsley drew back to regard her with worry. “Have I offended you, my dear lady?”

She managed to shake her head. Sniff, sniff. “I’m never such a pea goose.”

Mirth flashed in his eyes. “Could it be that the bookish, pragmatic Miss Rebecca Peabody is a sentimentalist?”

“You need not worry on that score, my lord.” She swiped at her moist cheeks and squared her shoulders. “I assure you I can be practical, firm and not given to emotional displays.”

“Does that mean you will accept the challenge of being my wife, of being mother to my children?”

The tears gushed. She was mortified. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded.

He stepped closer, placed firm hands on her shoulders and spoke in a soft voice. “You’ve made me very happy.”

“You may wish to retract your offer when you learn some things about me.”

“Such as?”

“I disapprove of the English system of aristocracy.”

He nodded. “As is your right.”

“On that principle, I should not like to be addressed as a lady.”

“Now see here, Rebecca. You cannot waltz into Britain and try to single-handedly change a system that’s been in place a thousand years!”

“I’m not foolish enough to believe I can change the system. I merely refuse to be addressed as Lady Aynsley. And...I shouldn’t feel right referring to your children as Lady This and Lord That.”

He stiffened, glaring at her. “I flatter myself over my willingness to embrace progressive ideas, but I’m also proud to carry on the Aynsley title that’s been in existence since the days of the Conqueror. I would have to insist my wife honor our family.”

“By being addressed as a lady?” There was mockery in her voice.

“There could not be another woman in the three kingdoms who wouldn’t be proud to be a countess.”

“Then marry one of them!” She started for the door.

His extended arm barred her progress. “Surely we could come up with a compromise.”

She gave him a quizzing look and did not speak for a moment, then her voice softened. “I suppose that is what a real marriage entails: give and take?”

He nodded gravely. “And mutual respect.”

“But I do respect you. I just find it ridiculous that some completely useless men garner respect because of something a long-dead ancestor did.”

“While I understand your feelings, I should have to insist that you be known as Lady Aynsley in Society.”

Her slow nod was barely perceptible. “In our home—that is, if you still want to wed me—could we dispense with the titles? Then I wouldn’t feel like such a hypocrite.”

His eyes twinkled. “See, my dear, you are already learning about marital compromise. I should like us to use first names. It fosters intimacy.”

She drew a deep breath. “Speaking of intimacy...”

“We will not share a bedchamber until such time when you become agreeable to such a prospect.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “You’re sure you still want to marry me?”

“I’m sure.”

The firelight was obscured when his head lowered to hers. Her heartbeat thundered. He was going to kiss her! Before she could mentally process what was happening, his lips softly settled over hers. She had thought he would merely drop a kiss, then lift his head, but it seemed Lord Aynsley wished to prolong this intimacy.

She eased away from him.

Lord Aynsley smiled that rascally smile of his. “One day, my sweet, you will enjoy being kissed. Of that I am certain.”

* * *

It was Rebecca’s wedding day. She was to marry a man she scarcely knew. She would travel to a strange new home and would seldom see the sister from whom she had rarely parted. She should be petrified, but strangely, she was not. Of course, she would miss Maggie dreadfully. And the children. But she was eager to meet the children who would become her own. The very prospect brought a smile to her lips.

The Warwick carriage slowed in front of St. George’s, and Maggie stroked her arm. “It’s not too late, pet, to turn back.”

Rebecca smiled brightly upon her sister. “I’ve told you countless times. I very much wish to wed Lord Aynsley.”

“But it’s not right to marry a man you’re not in love with.”

“I may not be in love with him now, but I assure you I could never find a more suitable mate. He and I discussed this and decided that once we know each other better we quite possibly could fall in love.”

Rebecca really did not believe that. Falling in love was for pretty little maids who cut their teeth on Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, not for unromantic bluestockings like herself.

“Should you not have gotten to know one another before deciding to get married?” Maggie asked as the coachman put down the step.

“Lord Aynsley possesses all the qualities I could ever desire in a husband,” Rebecca said dismissively.

The coach door swung open, and Rebecca moved to get up.

Maggie seized her arm. “You are sure?”

“I’m sure.” If only she felt as sure as she sounded.

Even as she walked down the nave of the church, she trembled. Was she doing the right thing? She certainly did not seem to be marrying for the right reasons. Here, in the house of the Lord, she felt a fraud. The Lord knew she was not in love with Lord Aynsley.

Her eyes met his. And it was as if her nervousness evaporated. His kindliness was so utterly reassuring. As she continued down the church’s nave, she felt the Lord’s presence.

This union would be sanctified by God and His church.

She came to stand beside Lord Aynsley, then met the bishop’s somber gaze as he began to pray aloud. This was only the fourth wedding she had ever attended, and—understandably—none of the others had ever so profoundly affected her. This was the first time she had come to understand the religious significance of the sacrament of matrimony, the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.

The bishop continued on with the service, uttering words she’d heard before but never thought would apply to her, the spinster Rebecca Peabody.

A few minutes later, the bishop instructed Aynsley to take Rebecca’s right hand and asked Rebecca to repeat after him: “I, Rebecca, take thee, John, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

She almost felt relieved once she’d uttered the words. Their marriage was sanctified.

* * *

When he’d watched his frightened bride move down the church’s nave, too nervous to even look at him, he’d experienced a rush of tender feelings. He wanted nothing so much as to reassure her. When her gaze finally met his, he knew the deep connection between them was as irreversible as the tide.