Towers was delightful. Nestled in a green wooded valley, it was a sprawling, asymmetrical pile, begun in the fifteenth century and added to by various ancestors every few centuries.
“It’s a bit of a monstrosity,” James said diffidently when the carriage turned a corner and the house first came into sight. But he clearly loved it.
“It’s wonderful,” Alice said, and she meant it. The oldest part of the building was in the half-timbered black-and-white Tudor style, other parts were stone, and one wing was brick. And there were battlements and several towers, including one round brick turret with a pointy roof.
The girls, too, were enchanted. “It’s a fairy place,” Judy exclaimed. “Can we sleep in the turret, Papa, can we?”
The church on the estate was small and beautiful, built of bluestone with a steep slate roof and a slightly crooked spire. Arched stained glass windows glinted in the late afternoon sun. The moment Alice saw the little church, she knew that this was where she wanted to be married, rather than the impressive, much larger church in Kenilworth that they’d seen earlier.
* * *
* * *
James paced back and forth at the front of the altar. It was ridiculous to be so nervous, he knew. But waiting for his bride in a church was almost as nerve-racking as waiting to go into battle. He just wanted it over and done with, and to be left alone with his family.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be here,” Gerald said heartily.
James gave him a baleful look. “Wait ’til it’s your turn.” He knew she’d be here. He didn’t know why he was nervous; he just was.
The church smelled of beeswax and flowers—the village ladies had descended and given it a good scrub and polish. Guests had been arriving over the last few days. The pews were filling up, county gentlefolk and villagers. He’d been stunned by the welcome he’d received from the local people. Apparently they remembered him with fondness, and had warmly welcomed Alice and the three little girls.
There was no organ, but the vicar had brought in a small choir to sing the bride down the aisle. They started to hum, then broke into a soft hymn. James turned and a small figure dressed in blue began marching importantly down the aisle, a small figure wearing a very strange black-and-white fur collar.
The collar yowled, stretched and leapt to the floor. Luckily it wore a smart blue velvet harness, which restrained it. The congregation chuckled, and some of James’s tension dissolved.
Next came Lina, elfin and dainty, looking more like her mother every day. Then Judy, serious and responsible, his firstborn. After that came Lucy, part of his family now, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. And finally there she was, the love of his life, serene and lovely in shades of sea green and blue to match her glorious eyes, shining now as they met his. She was radiant, smiling; he had the biggest lump in his throat.
He held out his hand to her and she took it.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”
Epilogue
The biggest, splashiest wedding of the season was over—and nobody had been strangled. The large and lavish wedding breakfast was coming to an end, and Lucy was upstairs with Alice and Mary, changing from her wedding dress into a traveling outfit. She and Gerald were going to Paris for their honeymoon.
“Are you sure you like the murals?” Lucy asked Alice, while Mary removed dozens of tiny pink rosebuds from her hair. “If you don’t like them, you can always paper over them.”
“Never!” Alice said, shocked. “The girls adore them. I don’t know how you came up with such charming designs, each one so different but so perfect for each child. Lina is in love with her fairy dell, Judy adores her horses, and Debo—well, we could hardly get Debo to leave her room once she saw it. She’s named every single cat—all thirty-five of them!”
Lucy laughed. “I’m so glad.”
The door opened, and Gerald poked his head around it. “Ready?”
Lucy looked a query at Mary. Mary stepped back, beaming. “All done, miss—I mean, Lady Thornton. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “So strange to be Lady Thornton. It doesn’t feel like me at all.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Alice assured her. Gerald entered, followed by James, who had been his best man. Alice had given away the bride, an action that raised more than a few eyebrows.
“The baggage is all packed,” Gerald said. “We’re driving to Dover and will spend the night there, then catch the packet to France in the morning.” He glanced at Lucy. “Or the next day.”
Alice looked at Lucy. Something in Gerald’s expression suggested that she and James hadn’t been the only ones who had anticipated their wedding vows. The house at Bellaire Gardens had been empty, after all . . .
But there was a faint crease between Lucy’s brow, and she was looking at Alice in a very particular way. At a very particular part of Alice’s anatomy. “Alice . . .” she began on a query and stopped.
Alice raised a brow at James, who nodded.
“Yes, Lucy, what you’re wondering about—it’s true,” Alice said softly.
“Really?” Lucy gasped. “Oh, Alice, that’s wonderful.” She embraced Alice.
Alice placed a hand on her swelling midriff and leaned back against James. “I know. It’s our little miracle. After all those years of being barren.”
“You must have been mistaken.”
Alice smiled mistily. “I don’t understand it. Thaddeus had a son, after all. But who cares about the whys or wherefores. All I know is that I’m expecting a child, and I’m over the moon.” She glanced up at James and said softly, “We’re over the moon.”
“Congratulations,” Gerald said. “But this son of Uncle Thaddeus’s—when was this?”
“He was born shortly after Thaddeus and I were married. His mistress, Mrs. Jennings, went to the country, where she gave birth to a son in secret. The baby was raised by one of his tenants in the country. Thaddeus made no secret of it to me—far from it, he was furious.”
Gerald frowned. “So this son would now be nineteen or twenty then?”
Alice nodded. “I suppose so. Thaddeus never let me forget it. If old Lord Charlton had allowed him to marry Mrs. Jennings instead of forcing him to marry me, that son would have been his legitimate heir.”
Gerald snorted. “I doubt it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen Mrs. Jennings’s son, and he is definitely not related to Uncle Thaddeus.”