“You will look beautiful no matter what you wear. In fact, the less the better.”
She swatted him playfully. “Tomorrow,” she said, and it was a promise.
The wedding day had dawned rainy and overcast. Lady Charlotte had declared it good luck, but everyone else had declared it typical Scotland. Duncan and Stratford had managed to make it to the church in Kirkmoray. Like the Duke of Atholl’s castle, it was old and crumbling, but when Emmeline had said it had charm, he’d agreed. The church had been built overlooking a loch and, in the distance, the Highlands. With the low-lying clouds, neither could be seen at half past seven in the morning, but if the weather ever cleared, the view was spectacular. The stone church looked a bit uneven in places, but the circular stained-glass window and the vaulted ceilings made the inside airier than the squat outside would have led him to believe.
He and Duncan stood nervously at the chancel. The priest, Anglican (though Stratford had a suspicion that Duncan’s village might still harbor any number of Catholics), cleared his throat and looked at the papers before him. His hands shook and he muttered to himself, seemingly more nervous than the bridegrooms.
“Do ye think he will make it through the service?” Duncan whispered to Stratford as the guests continued filing in.
“He’d better,” Stratford said. “I’m not doing this again.”
“Mrs. Wellesley looks happy,” Duncan said as his soon-to-be mother-in-law entered with three of her daughters and took a seat at the front beside his own mother. Emmeline’s mother was beaming.
“Thinking of all the blunt she’ll save not having to send Emmeline to Town for another Season.”
Duncan elbowed him, almost causing Stratford to topple over. “She’s pleased tae have ye for a son.”
“Yes, well.” Stratford felt his neck warm at the compliment. “I need to thank your mother again for arranging all of this.”
Duncan waved a hand. “She’s in her element.” It was true. Lady Charlotte stood with the Duke of Atholl, presiding over everything like a queen.
And then as if by some invisible cue, the guests quieted and took their seats, and Stratford realized the brides must have arrived. His belly fluttered as the doors to the narthex opened, and the two women started forward.
Certainly, there were two—Stratford knew this—but he could only see Emmeline. She wore a pale blue gown adorned with ribbons of sapphire. Instead of a bonnet, she wore those same ribbons threaded through her hair. Drops of rain glittered in the dark curls, making a stark contrast beside her pale face and her large blue eyes.
Duncan gripped Stratford’s shoulder, and Stratford was not sure if it was to support him or because the Scotsman needed shoring up. Emmeline was finally beside him, and the priest spoke, but Stratford barely heard a word. Emmeline smiled at him and mouthed the words, I love you. And Stratford knew he would spend the rest of his life proving just how much he loved her too.
EMMELINE
When they’d emerged from the old church, the sun had deigned to peak through the clouds and rays of light streaked across the Highlands beyond the loch. Loftus had been relegated to waiting outside the church, and he jumped up to greet them. Emmeline petted him and looked about her. The scene was so pretty Emmeline could have painted a picture—if she had any talent for painting. Instead, they’d all returned to the duke’s castle for the wedding breakfast, held in the keep, which with its tapestries and trestle tables, made her feel as though she had stepped into the Middle Ages.
At the breakfast, Stratford’s mother had taken her hand and welcomed her to the family. “I’ve always thought of you as a daughter,” she said. “Now you are one in truth.” She’d kissed her cheek, and Emmeline had felt true warmth. She and Stratford were to live at the estate his uncle had gifted Stratford, but she would not mind inviting his mother to visit. Her own mother...
Well, her own mother had not been quite as insufferable as usual. She’d limited her comments on Emmeline’s appearance and had only tried to prevent Emmeline from eating cake once. When Emmeline had given her a hard stare, she had withdrawn and murmured, “Well, you are Mr. Fortescue’s problem now, I dare say.”
“Do you hear that?” Emmeline whispered to her new husband. Husband—she liked the sound of that.
“You are my problem?” he said, giving her a wink. “You’re a good problem to have.”
“Do you think you might take your problem upstairs for a little while? I think I should like to lie down.”
His expression turned to one of concern. “Do you have a headache?”
“No, but I’ll say that if it means we can have time alone.”
He smiled, relieved. “You go first. I’ll join you shortly.”
She excused herself and left the breakfast, which took a good twenty minutes as everyone wanted to wish her happy and hug her and tell her how lovely she looked. Finally, she escaped up a narrow, winding stone staircase to the bedchamber she’d been given. Stratford’s things had already been moved to it, in preparation for the wedding night. She was ready now. Once she had put her mind to it, Lady Charlotte had proved an adept chaperone and ensured she and Stratford had very little time alone. They’d barely been able to steal a kiss under Lady Charlotte’s watchful eye.
Now, they no longer needed a chaperone. Emmeline removed what she could—shoes and stockings, ribbons and lace, but she could not manage the dress on her own. She couldn’t reach the pins in the back. When Stratford knocked, the bodice hung down and the skirts sagged. She opened the door. “Come in and unwrap me,” she’d said, pulling him inside.
“Gladly.”
She gave him her back before he could act on any of the other ideas she saw formulating in his mind, and he began to remove pins and untie laces. “Did anyone see you sneak away?” she asked.
“I would have gotten away without notice,” he said, “but Duncan yelled out across the room, Where are ye off tae, Stratford? And then everyone looked at me and clapped.”
Emmeline laughed. “Were you terribly embarrassed?”
“Not so embarrassed that I didn’t salute and come here to join you. There. That’s all of them I think.”
Her skirts slid to the floor, and she removed her bodice and stays, standing in just her chemise. “Now it’s your turn,” she said, turning to him. She took her time undressing him. First, she stripped off the tight coat, then the neckcloth and waistcoat, and finally the linen shirt.
He had to sit on the bed to remove his shoes and stockings, and when he reached for his breeches, she reached for the tie of her chemise. He eased his trousers over his slim hips as she slid the linen over her breasts and down to her waist.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he whispered as the chemise fell to the ground and she stood naked before him. “You’re perfect.”
“No,” she said, looking at his broad shoulders, muscled chest, and slim hips. She could not miss his erection jutting proudly either. “You are perfect.”
“Turn around,” he said, twirling one finger. “I want to see that arse I have been dreaming about.”
Normally shy, Emmeline turned around and wiggled her hips.