Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 136
“Very well, I have a notion,” she ventured. “Why don’t you come to the ball at the Grand Albion this week?” She nodded over her shoulder toward the opulent hotel that stood behind them, on the north end of Moonlight Square, its stately façade visible through the trees.
The Grand Albion had a gentlemen’s club on the first floor—where Fountainhurst would have a membership, since he lived on Moonlight Square. The elegant assembly rooms upstairs, however, were the site of an exclusive weekly subscription ball, second only to Almack’s itself.
Every Thursday night throughout the Season, it welcomed the crème de la crème of Society.
“It’s tomorrow night at eight, same as always. Can you make it?”
Lucas winced. “I am truly sorry, but I cannot, my lady. Not this week. There is other business that brought me to Town, and I’m afraid it demands my urgent attention. But I could come next week! And, in the meantime, um, I have an idea of my own for an outing we might take together, i-if you like.”
“Yes?” she asked, encouraged by his participation.
“I should like to take you on a picnic,” he said. “Won’t that be nice? Weather permitting, of course.”
If this involves bugs, I’ll kill myself. But he needed encouragement, clearly. So she smiled and gave him a guarded nod. “That sounds very pleasant. When shall we go?”
“Could it possibly be Monday or Tuesday of next week?”
“Either day would be acceptable, yes, Your Grace. Thank you for thinking of it.”
“Monday, then.” He gazed at her for a moment, then they walked on.
Though silence had returned, it was different this time, not uncomfortable like before. Some relief had eased the tension of earlier, with these plans made.
Portia was happy that her future husband now seemed prepared to put forth at least a little effort in their dealings with each other.
A marriage was not a solo performance, after all, but a duet, and learning how to harmonize together would take ongoing effort.
While true love might be beyond her reach, whatever happened, she did not want to end up like her parents, strangers living cordially under the same roof, with nothing in common but their three now-grown children. They teamed up in amicable nonchalance when duty required, but other than that, the two mostly went their own ways.
Silversmoke’s description of his parents’ epic love whispered in her heart as she strolled along with Lucas. “’Twas a sort of miracle to behold,” he had said.
“Are you all right?” Lucas murmured, apparently hearing the wistful sigh that escaped her.
“Oh—yes. It’s nothing.”
As they arrived at the south end of the park, Portia glanced over at St. Andrew’s church, where their wedding would be held, and was suddenly inspired.
She seized hold of Lucas’s arm. “Come with me! Now that I have you here, I want to go over a few things concerning the ceremony.”
He spluttered as she began pulling him toward the church. “But—”
“Come, this won’t take long, I promise. I’ve worked out almost every detail by now, but I need decisions from you on a few final matters. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”
Lord, she had been trying to get answers out of him on certain wedding matters for weeks. Now that she finally had him in her grasp, the bridegroom was not getting away until he’d answered her questions.
She shepherded him out of the park and across the street toward the simple, white-steepled church. It sat opposite the Grand Albion down the long rectangle of the garden park. Built of brick overlaid with Portland stone, it had a couple of white pillars holding up a modest portico. A shallow set of stairs led up to the heavy oaken doors.
Despite the simplicity of the church, St. Andrew’s was considered one of the most fashionable places to get married in London, second only to St. George’s in Hanover Square.
When they reached it, Portia hurried Lucas up the steps, lifting the hem of her walking dress a bit with one hand; with the other, she still held on to her errant bridegroom, half expecting him to balk. Instead, he got the door for her, curiously scanning her face.
Then they went inside.
CHAPTER 7
Big Decisions
It had been a long time since Luke had set foot in a church. He and God were not on the best of terms.
He would not go so far as to say he did not believe the deity existed. But from what he’d seen of life, the Almighty either wasn’t listening or was too fed up with fallen man to care anymore. No, Luke ascribed to the respectable, old view that the divine clockmaker had designed nature to run on its own with exquisite precision, while He himself had wandered off to greener pastures, leaving humans to their fates.
That was why, to Luke, human beings must take matters into their own hands, exactly as he’d done with his own life. Men could not play God, but they could at least try to serve as one another’s guardian angels now and then.
Still, religion had its place in maintaining order in society, he knew, so he did not argue against it, did not wish to see it torn down the way the Radicals did these days, that mad lot. He wondered what Portia’s opinion of it all was as he followed her in. He’d have to ask her the next time their conversation lagged.
No doubt he’d get another chance soon, he thought wryly as he stepped over the threshold, into the dim, quiet vestibule at the back of the church.
Then they went through a second set of doors, into the sanctuary itself.
His soon-to-be bride marched ahead of him into the nave, all business.
Luke trailed obediently after her, glancing around at the place.
A long, red-carpeted aisle stretched ahead to the altar, flanked by rows of dark wooden pews. Stout white pillars at regular intervals held up the barrel-vaulted ceiling. They were Corinthian columns, and the flowery ornamentation around the tops had been gilded.
He could imagine how they must twinkle in the candlelight of the large, multi-tiered chandeliers that hung over the center of the aisle. For now, of course, the candles were unlit.
Sunlight streamed in through the high arched windows set behind the symmetrical galleries overlooking the nave.
A reverent hush filled the empty church, broken only by the creaking of the heavy door closing slowly behind him. When it bumped shut, the soft sound echoed into the cavernous space.
They passed the elaborate organ in the back, while, ahead, the white marble altar waited, draped in sumptuous green cloth. A sturdy gold cross sat atop it, flanked by a pair of large white candles.
Portia strode about halfway down the aisle, then turned and began explaining her plans to him, but Luke, alas, was only half listening, momentarily arrested by her beauty.
She looked like a windblown angel, slightly mussed from playing with the children, her golden hair sparkling in the filtered sunlight streaming in through the high, clear windows.
She did not seem to notice his distraction, busy explaining things to him about how the ceremony would play out, telling him where everyone would stand, where family members would sit, and passing on some basic instructions the pastor had already given her.
Pointing here and there, her plans well memorized, she reminded him a bit of his sister playing stage director back when they were children, concocting the home theatricals they had delighted in putting on to amuse their parents.
Since Tavi had always managed to end up as both director and star of the show, that had left Luke to play all the other roles in their scripts, a task he had not shrunk from even as an eight-year-old. He had, admittedly, been a bit of a ham.
Jumping from hero to villain, he’d found it a jolly lark to rush behind the scene sets for a quick costume change, and when he couldn’t remember his lines, he was cheeky enough to improvise—a habit that irritated his sister to no end.
But the raucous applause from their doting parents and hugs afterward had made all their efforts worth it.
As his mind drifted back to the present, where Portia was giving him his stage directions for the wedding day, Luke was more than happy to rehearse the part where the vicar said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
“…so the front pews with ribbons on them will be reserved for our families. Mine are on the left; yours will take the right. You’ll have to go over the guest list one more time and make sure we haven’t forgotten anybody. People do have a way of surfacing once invitations go out. We can still add a few more if you need to. I don’t want to cause any awkwardness for people who might be important to you.
“Now then.” She turned, fists planted on her hips as she surveyed the chapel. “We’ll have garlands woven through the chandeliers and also festooning the galleries up there, along with swathes of fabric.” She pointed this way and that. “There will be large bouquets in tall urns at the edges of the altar and at the back of the church, flanking the aisle. But the flowers are what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He blinked back to awareness. “Yes?”
“I want you to know, first, that I searched high and low trying to fulfill your request about flowers that would not disturb the bees—”
“Huh?” Luke did not recall saying that. But it did sound like something Finch would tell him, Lucas-like, to say.
Portia turned around with an incredulous look, which turned to a glare. “You don’t remember?”
He blanched at her angry stare. “Sorry.”
She took a step toward him. “Your Grace, you were very specific about it. You wrote it in your letter that there should be no garden flowers, no roses—I could show you!”
“N-no, I-I believe you. Sometimes I forget things. Very sorry.” He gave her a hapless Lucas sort of smile, mentally cursing himself for forgetting a detail of his Town persona.
His bride scowled at him. “Well—as I was saying—the solution that I finally came up with was that we could have wildflowers. They grow back quickly, so your precious bees will not go hungry, and lucky for you, they are abundant this year and many species are entirely beautiful. We should have no trouble collecting hundreds of white daisies and other field flowers, too.”
He gazed at her, impressed. “That sounds charming.”
The compliment mollified her slightly. “I was worried it would seem like some sort of peasant wedding in the countryside…but then I realized that, if it were artfully done, and skillfully planned, that it could actually be a gorgeous theme.”
“Theme?” he echoed, marveling at this unanticipated artistic side of hers.
She folded her arms across her chest, still looking a wee bit defensive. “I’ve sat through so many weddings over the past year—sometimes, you know, they really start to seem all the same. I wanted ours to be a little different, but when you gave me this stipulation of no garden flowers, no roses, I nearly panicked—”
“I really am sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“It’s all right.” She paused. “Of course you didn’t. You’re a man. Anyway, at first, I was at a loss—but I wanted you to be pleased. And once I started working on the problem, I thought of the wildflowers. I hated it at first. But it was the best I could come up with. So then I went out walking in some meadows to investigate the notion. And when I spotted a clump of lovely white daisies with yellow centers waving in the sunshine, the whole picture blossomed in my head of how it could be.”
“Really?”
She nodded, a smile tugging at one side of her mouth. “Turns out this vexing rule of yours inspired the perfect way that I could create a very unique wedding day for us.”
Luke said nothing. Until now, he’d had no idea that he had inconvenienced his bride so much with his arbitrary ban on garden flowers. He had nothing against them, of course; it had merely been part of his Lucas role.
A look of alarm filled her face at his silence. “I’m sorry if you hate it, but it’s too late to change it now. Your Grace, you never mentioned any objections in your answer to my letter on the last round of questions, but—”
“No, no, I love it. I think it’s a wonderful idea, my lady. I am silent only because I am amazed. Please, tell me more.”
She eyed him warily. “Very well. It’ll be a celebration of the countryside, right here in Town. A pastoral fantasy, as it were.”
“Aha…like some of Shakespeare’s plays? Much Ado About Nothing…”
“Exactly! A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She nodded, her blue eyes sparking with approval at his answer. “Besides, the picturesque is all the rage right now. I’ve been looking at paintings from artists who specialize in the style, as well as sketches from famous gardeners and architects considered masters in it.”
“You’re a genius,” Luke informed her.
She laughed. “You really like it?”
“It’s wonderful. The irony is also amusing. A duke marrying his duchess in a peasant-style wedding.”
She clasped her hands joyfully. “I thought so, too!”
They gazed at each other, laughing. Portia was radiant with pleasure at his admiration—and his cooperation, no doubt. Luke was simply in awe.
He dropped his gaze, worried that his enchantment with her would make him fall out of character. “Now I am all the more anxious for the big day to come.”
She rapped him on the chest with playful scorn. “And to think you wanted to postpone it!”
He smiled shyly at her. “It can’t arrive fast enough for me now.”
“Well, we need time to let enough daisies grow, don’t we? Then collect them all. I shall have an army of servants out picking wildflowers for two days in advance—my own, and some of Serena’s.”
“I could dispatch some of my staff to help—”
“No, no, yours already have all their assignments!” she warned, holding up her hand. “Don’t go changing anything unless you consult me first. This whole day will run like a delicate piece of clockwork.”
“Thank you for all your hard work, my lady.”
With a wave of her hand, she leaned against the nearest pew. “I suppose I’ve enjoyed it. I’m just so relieved that you’re pleased. I want it to be a beautiful day for everyone.”
“It will be if you’re there,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s very sweet.”
He pressed his lips together and lowered his head, outwardly bashful, but inwardly beginning to wonder if he could resist using his charm to try to get on her good side. As Silversmoke, she had offered him a whiff of flirtation, but there was none of that for oddball Lucas.
It was absurd to be jealous of oneself, was it not?
“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Before I forget: the music.”
“Yes?” He leaned his hip against the nearest pew and folded his arms across his chest, peering through his plain glass spectacles at her.
“Normally, of course, a couple chooses songs for the wedding ceremony that have a particular significance to them, provided the vicar approves. I chose the music I wanted for the entrance processional, but I left certain music slots empty so you could choose some, too. I thought…” She hesitated.
“Hmm?”
“Since your parents are no longer with us, I thought you might have some song of particular significance that could be played to honor them in spirit.”
His gaze homed in on her with sudden intensity, and his jaw tightened.
Luke had been trying very hard not to contemplate his parents’ absence on his wedding day. Because it enraged him and filled him with more than his usual melancholy.
Perhaps that was why he had made a point of staying uninvolved. He figured he would just show up, sign his name, and put the ring on her finger.
“Any particular song that would be meaningful to you, in honor of their memory?” she asked, searching his face.
Floundering at the question when he had not been braced for it, Luke lowered his head. “Um…I can’t recall one they’d have wanted at the moment. I should like to think on it a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” she murmured, studying him.
“Thank you.” Luke kept his gaze averted. “I’ll have to ask my sister. She’d remember better than I.”
* * *
Portia saw that her question had touched a nerve. She had not meant to upset him, but now that the topic had been broached, she took a step closer, scanning him with compassion. “Lucas, it must’ve been so hard for you, losing them both at a young age.”
“It was terrible,” he said quietly, with a subtle nod.
She studied him, wondering if Joel would’ve had the emotional courage to admit something like that. Admit to weakness. Show any hint of vulnerability. It touched her.
Fountainhurst might be an unusual man, but he was humble. He did not put on airs, and that was almost unheard of for a duke.
She laid her hand cautiously on his arm. “Your Grace, I hate to be indelicate, but since I am about to join this family, I really think someone ought to tell me what exactly happened to them. I have heard just a hint in Society that there was violence, but I have not sought out the whole story. I did not wish to pry. I would much rather hear it from you than from the rumor mill. But, you see, I dread the thought of accidentally saying the wrong thing to one of your relatives at the wedding, out of ignorance. Besides, I-I think I have a right to know.”
He frowned at her, though his face was stamped with reluctant understanding. Behind his spectacles, she saw a wounded look in his green eyes, then he turned away, as if to hide it.
She watched his every move as he stared at the altar.
“A not unreasonable request,” he admitted. “Very well.” He squared his shoulders and crossed one arm behind the small of his back in a formal pose as he stood tall. He was silent for a moment.
She waited, watching him in the hush of the empty church.
“They went on holiday to Scotland to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Twenty years, I believe it was. Alas, they were beset upon the road, robbed, and murdered by a gang of filthy bandits in the Highlands.”
Portia’s eyes widened. She leaned against the pew behind her with a gasp.
The Grand Albion had a gentlemen’s club on the first floor—where Fountainhurst would have a membership, since he lived on Moonlight Square. The elegant assembly rooms upstairs, however, were the site of an exclusive weekly subscription ball, second only to Almack’s itself.
Every Thursday night throughout the Season, it welcomed the crème de la crème of Society.
“It’s tomorrow night at eight, same as always. Can you make it?”
Lucas winced. “I am truly sorry, but I cannot, my lady. Not this week. There is other business that brought me to Town, and I’m afraid it demands my urgent attention. But I could come next week! And, in the meantime, um, I have an idea of my own for an outing we might take together, i-if you like.”
“Yes?” she asked, encouraged by his participation.
“I should like to take you on a picnic,” he said. “Won’t that be nice? Weather permitting, of course.”
If this involves bugs, I’ll kill myself. But he needed encouragement, clearly. So she smiled and gave him a guarded nod. “That sounds very pleasant. When shall we go?”
“Could it possibly be Monday or Tuesday of next week?”
“Either day would be acceptable, yes, Your Grace. Thank you for thinking of it.”
“Monday, then.” He gazed at her for a moment, then they walked on.
Though silence had returned, it was different this time, not uncomfortable like before. Some relief had eased the tension of earlier, with these plans made.
Portia was happy that her future husband now seemed prepared to put forth at least a little effort in their dealings with each other.
A marriage was not a solo performance, after all, but a duet, and learning how to harmonize together would take ongoing effort.
While true love might be beyond her reach, whatever happened, she did not want to end up like her parents, strangers living cordially under the same roof, with nothing in common but their three now-grown children. They teamed up in amicable nonchalance when duty required, but other than that, the two mostly went their own ways.
Silversmoke’s description of his parents’ epic love whispered in her heart as she strolled along with Lucas. “’Twas a sort of miracle to behold,” he had said.
“Are you all right?” Lucas murmured, apparently hearing the wistful sigh that escaped her.
“Oh—yes. It’s nothing.”
As they arrived at the south end of the park, Portia glanced over at St. Andrew’s church, where their wedding would be held, and was suddenly inspired.
She seized hold of Lucas’s arm. “Come with me! Now that I have you here, I want to go over a few things concerning the ceremony.”
He spluttered as she began pulling him toward the church. “But—”
“Come, this won’t take long, I promise. I’ve worked out almost every detail by now, but I need decisions from you on a few final matters. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”
Lord, she had been trying to get answers out of him on certain wedding matters for weeks. Now that she finally had him in her grasp, the bridegroom was not getting away until he’d answered her questions.
She shepherded him out of the park and across the street toward the simple, white-steepled church. It sat opposite the Grand Albion down the long rectangle of the garden park. Built of brick overlaid with Portland stone, it had a couple of white pillars holding up a modest portico. A shallow set of stairs led up to the heavy oaken doors.
Despite the simplicity of the church, St. Andrew’s was considered one of the most fashionable places to get married in London, second only to St. George’s in Hanover Square.
When they reached it, Portia hurried Lucas up the steps, lifting the hem of her walking dress a bit with one hand; with the other, she still held on to her errant bridegroom, half expecting him to balk. Instead, he got the door for her, curiously scanning her face.
Then they went inside.
CHAPTER 7
Big Decisions
It had been a long time since Luke had set foot in a church. He and God were not on the best of terms.
He would not go so far as to say he did not believe the deity existed. But from what he’d seen of life, the Almighty either wasn’t listening or was too fed up with fallen man to care anymore. No, Luke ascribed to the respectable, old view that the divine clockmaker had designed nature to run on its own with exquisite precision, while He himself had wandered off to greener pastures, leaving humans to their fates.
That was why, to Luke, human beings must take matters into their own hands, exactly as he’d done with his own life. Men could not play God, but they could at least try to serve as one another’s guardian angels now and then.
Still, religion had its place in maintaining order in society, he knew, so he did not argue against it, did not wish to see it torn down the way the Radicals did these days, that mad lot. He wondered what Portia’s opinion of it all was as he followed her in. He’d have to ask her the next time their conversation lagged.
No doubt he’d get another chance soon, he thought wryly as he stepped over the threshold, into the dim, quiet vestibule at the back of the church.
Then they went through a second set of doors, into the sanctuary itself.
His soon-to-be bride marched ahead of him into the nave, all business.
Luke trailed obediently after her, glancing around at the place.
A long, red-carpeted aisle stretched ahead to the altar, flanked by rows of dark wooden pews. Stout white pillars at regular intervals held up the barrel-vaulted ceiling. They were Corinthian columns, and the flowery ornamentation around the tops had been gilded.
He could imagine how they must twinkle in the candlelight of the large, multi-tiered chandeliers that hung over the center of the aisle. For now, of course, the candles were unlit.
Sunlight streamed in through the high arched windows set behind the symmetrical galleries overlooking the nave.
A reverent hush filled the empty church, broken only by the creaking of the heavy door closing slowly behind him. When it bumped shut, the soft sound echoed into the cavernous space.
They passed the elaborate organ in the back, while, ahead, the white marble altar waited, draped in sumptuous green cloth. A sturdy gold cross sat atop it, flanked by a pair of large white candles.
Portia strode about halfway down the aisle, then turned and began explaining her plans to him, but Luke, alas, was only half listening, momentarily arrested by her beauty.
She looked like a windblown angel, slightly mussed from playing with the children, her golden hair sparkling in the filtered sunlight streaming in through the high, clear windows.
She did not seem to notice his distraction, busy explaining things to him about how the ceremony would play out, telling him where everyone would stand, where family members would sit, and passing on some basic instructions the pastor had already given her.
Pointing here and there, her plans well memorized, she reminded him a bit of his sister playing stage director back when they were children, concocting the home theatricals they had delighted in putting on to amuse their parents.
Since Tavi had always managed to end up as both director and star of the show, that had left Luke to play all the other roles in their scripts, a task he had not shrunk from even as an eight-year-old. He had, admittedly, been a bit of a ham.
Jumping from hero to villain, he’d found it a jolly lark to rush behind the scene sets for a quick costume change, and when he couldn’t remember his lines, he was cheeky enough to improvise—a habit that irritated his sister to no end.
But the raucous applause from their doting parents and hugs afterward had made all their efforts worth it.
As his mind drifted back to the present, where Portia was giving him his stage directions for the wedding day, Luke was more than happy to rehearse the part where the vicar said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
“…so the front pews with ribbons on them will be reserved for our families. Mine are on the left; yours will take the right. You’ll have to go over the guest list one more time and make sure we haven’t forgotten anybody. People do have a way of surfacing once invitations go out. We can still add a few more if you need to. I don’t want to cause any awkwardness for people who might be important to you.
“Now then.” She turned, fists planted on her hips as she surveyed the chapel. “We’ll have garlands woven through the chandeliers and also festooning the galleries up there, along with swathes of fabric.” She pointed this way and that. “There will be large bouquets in tall urns at the edges of the altar and at the back of the church, flanking the aisle. But the flowers are what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He blinked back to awareness. “Yes?”
“I want you to know, first, that I searched high and low trying to fulfill your request about flowers that would not disturb the bees—”
“Huh?” Luke did not recall saying that. But it did sound like something Finch would tell him, Lucas-like, to say.
Portia turned around with an incredulous look, which turned to a glare. “You don’t remember?”
He blanched at her angry stare. “Sorry.”
She took a step toward him. “Your Grace, you were very specific about it. You wrote it in your letter that there should be no garden flowers, no roses—I could show you!”
“N-no, I-I believe you. Sometimes I forget things. Very sorry.” He gave her a hapless Lucas sort of smile, mentally cursing himself for forgetting a detail of his Town persona.
His bride scowled at him. “Well—as I was saying—the solution that I finally came up with was that we could have wildflowers. They grow back quickly, so your precious bees will not go hungry, and lucky for you, they are abundant this year and many species are entirely beautiful. We should have no trouble collecting hundreds of white daisies and other field flowers, too.”
He gazed at her, impressed. “That sounds charming.”
The compliment mollified her slightly. “I was worried it would seem like some sort of peasant wedding in the countryside…but then I realized that, if it were artfully done, and skillfully planned, that it could actually be a gorgeous theme.”
“Theme?” he echoed, marveling at this unanticipated artistic side of hers.
She folded her arms across her chest, still looking a wee bit defensive. “I’ve sat through so many weddings over the past year—sometimes, you know, they really start to seem all the same. I wanted ours to be a little different, but when you gave me this stipulation of no garden flowers, no roses, I nearly panicked—”
“I really am sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“It’s all right.” She paused. “Of course you didn’t. You’re a man. Anyway, at first, I was at a loss—but I wanted you to be pleased. And once I started working on the problem, I thought of the wildflowers. I hated it at first. But it was the best I could come up with. So then I went out walking in some meadows to investigate the notion. And when I spotted a clump of lovely white daisies with yellow centers waving in the sunshine, the whole picture blossomed in my head of how it could be.”
“Really?”
She nodded, a smile tugging at one side of her mouth. “Turns out this vexing rule of yours inspired the perfect way that I could create a very unique wedding day for us.”
Luke said nothing. Until now, he’d had no idea that he had inconvenienced his bride so much with his arbitrary ban on garden flowers. He had nothing against them, of course; it had merely been part of his Lucas role.
A look of alarm filled her face at his silence. “I’m sorry if you hate it, but it’s too late to change it now. Your Grace, you never mentioned any objections in your answer to my letter on the last round of questions, but—”
“No, no, I love it. I think it’s a wonderful idea, my lady. I am silent only because I am amazed. Please, tell me more.”
She eyed him warily. “Very well. It’ll be a celebration of the countryside, right here in Town. A pastoral fantasy, as it were.”
“Aha…like some of Shakespeare’s plays? Much Ado About Nothing…”
“Exactly! A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She nodded, her blue eyes sparking with approval at his answer. “Besides, the picturesque is all the rage right now. I’ve been looking at paintings from artists who specialize in the style, as well as sketches from famous gardeners and architects considered masters in it.”
“You’re a genius,” Luke informed her.
She laughed. “You really like it?”
“It’s wonderful. The irony is also amusing. A duke marrying his duchess in a peasant-style wedding.”
She clasped her hands joyfully. “I thought so, too!”
They gazed at each other, laughing. Portia was radiant with pleasure at his admiration—and his cooperation, no doubt. Luke was simply in awe.
He dropped his gaze, worried that his enchantment with her would make him fall out of character. “Now I am all the more anxious for the big day to come.”
She rapped him on the chest with playful scorn. “And to think you wanted to postpone it!”
He smiled shyly at her. “It can’t arrive fast enough for me now.”
“Well, we need time to let enough daisies grow, don’t we? Then collect them all. I shall have an army of servants out picking wildflowers for two days in advance—my own, and some of Serena’s.”
“I could dispatch some of my staff to help—”
“No, no, yours already have all their assignments!” she warned, holding up her hand. “Don’t go changing anything unless you consult me first. This whole day will run like a delicate piece of clockwork.”
“Thank you for all your hard work, my lady.”
With a wave of her hand, she leaned against the nearest pew. “I suppose I’ve enjoyed it. I’m just so relieved that you’re pleased. I want it to be a beautiful day for everyone.”
“It will be if you’re there,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s very sweet.”
He pressed his lips together and lowered his head, outwardly bashful, but inwardly beginning to wonder if he could resist using his charm to try to get on her good side. As Silversmoke, she had offered him a whiff of flirtation, but there was none of that for oddball Lucas.
It was absurd to be jealous of oneself, was it not?
“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Before I forget: the music.”
“Yes?” He leaned his hip against the nearest pew and folded his arms across his chest, peering through his plain glass spectacles at her.
“Normally, of course, a couple chooses songs for the wedding ceremony that have a particular significance to them, provided the vicar approves. I chose the music I wanted for the entrance processional, but I left certain music slots empty so you could choose some, too. I thought…” She hesitated.
“Hmm?”
“Since your parents are no longer with us, I thought you might have some song of particular significance that could be played to honor them in spirit.”
His gaze homed in on her with sudden intensity, and his jaw tightened.
Luke had been trying very hard not to contemplate his parents’ absence on his wedding day. Because it enraged him and filled him with more than his usual melancholy.
Perhaps that was why he had made a point of staying uninvolved. He figured he would just show up, sign his name, and put the ring on her finger.
“Any particular song that would be meaningful to you, in honor of their memory?” she asked, searching his face.
Floundering at the question when he had not been braced for it, Luke lowered his head. “Um…I can’t recall one they’d have wanted at the moment. I should like to think on it a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” she murmured, studying him.
“Thank you.” Luke kept his gaze averted. “I’ll have to ask my sister. She’d remember better than I.”
* * *
Portia saw that her question had touched a nerve. She had not meant to upset him, but now that the topic had been broached, she took a step closer, scanning him with compassion. “Lucas, it must’ve been so hard for you, losing them both at a young age.”
“It was terrible,” he said quietly, with a subtle nod.
She studied him, wondering if Joel would’ve had the emotional courage to admit something like that. Admit to weakness. Show any hint of vulnerability. It touched her.
Fountainhurst might be an unusual man, but he was humble. He did not put on airs, and that was almost unheard of for a duke.
She laid her hand cautiously on his arm. “Your Grace, I hate to be indelicate, but since I am about to join this family, I really think someone ought to tell me what exactly happened to them. I have heard just a hint in Society that there was violence, but I have not sought out the whole story. I did not wish to pry. I would much rather hear it from you than from the rumor mill. But, you see, I dread the thought of accidentally saying the wrong thing to one of your relatives at the wedding, out of ignorance. Besides, I-I think I have a right to know.”
He frowned at her, though his face was stamped with reluctant understanding. Behind his spectacles, she saw a wounded look in his green eyes, then he turned away, as if to hide it.
She watched his every move as he stared at the altar.
“A not unreasonable request,” he admitted. “Very well.” He squared his shoulders and crossed one arm behind the small of his back in a formal pose as he stood tall. He was silent for a moment.
She waited, watching him in the hush of the empty church.
“They went on holiday to Scotland to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Twenty years, I believe it was. Alas, they were beset upon the road, robbed, and murdered by a gang of filthy bandits in the Highlands.”
Portia’s eyes widened. She leaned against the pew behind her with a gasp.
