Page 116 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Relax,” Oliver said. “Take a pew.”
Take a pew, indeed, Race thought irritably. How could he calmly sit when his every nerve was crackling? It was ridiculous, he told himself. Clarissa wouldn’t let him down. She’d promised herself to him. She’dgivenherself to him. She wasn’t the sort to break faith. He trusted her with his life.
Which was true, and all very well, butwhere was she?
He continued pacing.
There was a stir at the doorway of the church and he whirled around, but it was only Lady Scattergood, who’dbeen brought right to the church door in her ornate sedan chair. He watched her carefully alight.
She was heavily veiled and wore a large colorful turban. Why the veil? He had no idea. She was an eccentric old bird. Another heavily veiled female guided her to a pew at the front. A servant, no doubt, who led the old lady as if she were blind. Ah, that would be it—Lady Scattergood would have her eyes closed. Blocking out the rest of the world until she was safely inside. Clarissa would be pleased the old lady had made the effort to come.
If she ever came herself.
The two veiled ladies were followed by Clarissa’s chaperone, dressed as usual in a rainbow—or an explosion of tropical parrots—and wearing a large feathered and beflowered hat. She also wore an elegant silver-haired gentleman on each arm.
His cousin Maggie entered, waggled her fingers at Race and blew a kiss to her husband. She was followed by that nosy young female who lived on Bellaire Gardens, accompanying a larger, more imposing version of herself; clearly her mother. Lord, how many frills and ruffles could be fitted on one dress? Two dresses.
More and more people entered the church—a surprising crowd, really. He caught himself up on the thought. Clarissa had touched so many people with her sweet nature and kindness.
There were people he recognized from Lady Davenham’s literary society, including Lady Davenham herself, accompanied by merry old Sir Oswald Merridew, who sent him a wink. And there was the woman with the granddaughter who caterwauled—he hoped she wasn’t going to sing.
An elderly woman dressed in blue entered, leaning on the arm of Clarissa’s maidservant, Betty. That would be Clarissa’s old nurse. Leo had arranged for her to be brought up to London especially for the wedding, as a surprise.Clarissa had no idea she would be here. The old lady beamed at him, and he nodded back. A sweet-faced old girl.
Lord and Lady Tarrant arrived with their three little girls all dressed in their best. The baby would be at home with his nurse, of course, but why was the smallest girl scowling? Oh, of course; she hadn’t been allowed to bring her precious cat into the church.
Lord and Lady Tarrant were accompanied by that fellow who’d helped him expose Clayborn—Thornton, that was it—and his stylish wife.
Half a dozen fashionable ladies filed in, Lady Snape and Lady Windthrop among them. They gave him sour,Hell hath no furylooks. A handful of modish, slightly dissolute-looking gentlemen accompanied them, several clearly the worse for drink.
None of them had been invited, of course, but then anyone could enter a church. They certainly hadn’t come to wish him and Clarissa happy: bets had been laid that he wouldn’t make it to the altar.
So much for that. Here he was, standing proud, waiting for his bride.
His side of the church was filled also, mainly relatives and fellows he’d been to school or university with.
A tall, darkly handsome gentleman slipped into a pew on the bride’s side. Vibart! What the devil was he doing here? The villain had had the cheek to court Clarissa—and lost, thank goodness. If the man had a shred of decency he would have taken himself back to whatever hole he crawled from, blast him. Instead he’d had the audacity to come to her wedding. And sit on the bride’s side.
Race glared at the elegant rakehell. Vibart caught his glance, smiled and gave the sort of bow that was both insolent and provocative.
Race turned his back on the congregation and looked at his watch again.
“She’ll be here,” Oliver murmured. “Stop fretting.”
Of course she would. Race had no doubt of it. Onlywhen?
The organ stopped in midtune. An imposing chord sounded. At last! He turned to face the entrance of the church. And there she was, his love, his life, wrapped in some gorgeous confection of satin and lace. But he had no eyes for her dress; it was the gorgeous woman inside it that mattered.
As their eyes met, she smiled, a smile that stole his breath away. So beautiful and loving. His bride.
Race tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn’t particularly cared where the wedding would take place. He’d never been much of a churchgoer, but now, in this hushed atmosphere, with the sun splashing rainbows through the stained glass windows, with the scent of flowers and beeswax and brass polish all around him, and the most precious being in all the world walking down the aisle toward him, he understood that the church was the right place, the only place for a blessing to be bestowed upon him: a blessing called Clarissa.
On Leo’s arm, with Izzy following close behind her, Clarissa forced herself to walk slowly down the aisle. There he was, standing in front of the altar, waiting for her, tall and elegant and beloved. He was looking pale and very serious, but oh, the expression in his eyes—if she wasn’t careful she’d start crying, and she was determined not to do that.
She glanced at the people seated in the church. She hadn’t expected so many to attend. Fashionable London people often skipped the church ceremony, preferring to attend the wedding breakfast instead. But here they all were, so many friends and well-wishers.
Such a short time ago, she and Izzy had arrived in London, not knowing a soul. And now…
Her eyes were blurring. She blinked furiously. She would not be married all teary and red-eyed.
