Page 40 of Lyon of Scotland
Turning with him, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she faced the small gathering in the quiet church. She saw wonderful smiles and a few frowns there. Her heart tumbled with happiness when she saw those seated in the first pew. But dread tainted that joy when she caught a glimpse of the few witnesses seated in the far back row.
In the front pew, Georgina dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes while Oliver smiled. They sat with Sir Walter Scott—what an honor to have him here, Hannah thought. He had been so eager and generous, arranging the ceremony and even finding flowers. With them were Mr. Lockhart and Lord Linhope. Friends and family both, and all she needed.
In the back pew, Sir George Naylor sat, tall and wide and frowning. Beside him was Frederic Dove, scowling like a fiend. The woman beside him was draped in sooty black, as if she attended a funeral, not a wedding. Yet under the murky veil, the woman seemed to smile. Beside her was Charles Dove, lanky and lonely.
Seeing all this in a glance, Hannah felt time slow. Then Strathburn lifted her hand with its sparkling ring, and led her forward.
“They are here!” she whispered as she moved down the aisle beside him, her fingers clutching his arm, feeling steel and sleeve there.
“Smile, lass. Just like me.” He did so, and she lifted her head to echo it.
They stepped outside into October sunshine and a nippy breeze under a blue sky glazed with city smoke. Pausing on the cobbled walk, Strathburn turned with her to wait for the others to exit the church.
Hannah kept close to his side, sheltered from the breeze, shielded as they greeted the others. Seeing the delicate twinkle of the ring on her finger, she felt thrilled and stunned by what the morning had wrought—unexpected and welcome, it would soon change her life.
Sir George approached. “Lord Lyon! Strathburn, sir, I had no idea. And Miss Gordon, my dear, I did not realize you knew Lord Lyon so well. Congratulations!” He took her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I got your note, my lord,” Naylor told Strathburn. “Now I see you had other reasons to come down to London. You wanted to court this young lady.” He smiled.
“An important reason,” Strathburn admitted smoothly. “We have known each other for a while, and I am fortunate indeed that she allowed me to propose before I went back to Scotland. It was perfect timing, was it not, my dear?”
“Perfect.” She smiled, pressing close.
Frederic Dove approached then, though Mrs. Dove-Lyon hung back, black veiled and mysterious. Both were like dark shadows over her wedding day, Hannah thought. But as shecaught the woman’s glance, she saw a gracious nod, and tilted her head in silent response.
“So you intended to marry the girl all along?” Dove asked.
“I did,” said her groom. “We kept it secret.”
“Quite. And now I expect you will return to Scotland.” Dove glared at Hannah, a look she thought others missed. But Strathburn tensed, his arm stiffening under her hand as if he was just managing to hold back the urge to strike the man. She fluttered her fingers on his sleeve.
“We must hurry,” Strathburn replied. “If you will excuse us.”
“So kind of you to come,” Hannah murmured. Dove grunted.
“My dear.” Strathburn spun on his heel to guide her toward the carriage where Sir Walter and Linhope waited.
Hannah stopped. “Oh! I must say goodbye to Georgie and Oliver first!”
“Of course,” he said, as she whirled to run toward Georgina and embrace her.
“Congratulations! He is wonderful,” Georgina said. “I will pack the rest of your things and send them along. Take care! I will come to Scotland to visit you.” She kissed Hannah’s cheek. “You inspire me, Hannah.”
“How so?”
“You found work as an artist, work that benefits others. I want to do the same.”
“Come to Edinburgh and join Papa’s studio,” Hannah urged. “He would be happy to have you. Write to me at Papa’s address. I am not sure yet where I will be.” She glanced at Strathburn. “I do not even know where my husband lives,” she confided in a whisper.
“So many things to discover,” Georgina said with a giggle.
Next Hannah embraced Oliver, whispering that she hoped to attend his wedding someday too. Then she turned to Charles Dove, who stood alone.
“Charley, thank you for coming today.”
“I am happy for you. I am. But I had no idea about this until Sir George had a note from Lord Lyon this morning telling him about the wedding. We all rushed here to witness your marriage to Lord Lyon, of all men! You never said you knew him so well.”
