you know that no one else caught my eye while I have been waiting for you.”
Priscilla almost snorted but managed to control herself. “I should think not,” she whispered. “There should be no other rivals for your affection.”
The service passed so quickly, they reached the vows before Priscilla could really take in the moment.
“Do you, Priscilla Rosemary Seton,” said the Reverend, her wedding ring balanced on a Bible as he intoned, “take Charles Montague James William George Audley to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance?”
Priscilla smiled into the sparkling blue eyes of Charles as she said, “I do.”
The vicar continued his monologue, and she whispered underneath it, “Even if you do have the most ridiculously long name!”
Charles rolled his eyes, but Priscilla’s gaze was caught by a woman seated beside the two mothers in the second to the front pew, dabbing at her eyes as she stifled tears. It took another glance for her to be sure. Miss Ashbrooke, sobbing along with Lady Audley.
Although she thought wryly, the matchmaker apparently cried at every wedding, from the happiness of the match. Lady Audley was undoubtedly sobbing for the loss of her son, and to a woman she did not entirely approve of.
“Charles and Priscilla have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company,” the vicar said finally, a benevolent smile on his face, “and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands. I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
Priscilla fought the urge to kiss her new husband – that simply would not do! Instead, she followed the vicar’s gestures, and the newly married couple sat in the front pew, in front of their mothers, to listen to the sermon.
Charles took her hand in his and kissed it. “And that’s just a taste of what there is to come,” he whispered.
Priscilla felt her cheeks pink. “Charles! You cannot say such things, and in church!”
He chuckled and turned his head to attend to the vicar.
Priscilla squeezed his hand and tried to pay attention to the sermon, but she could not. She was Priscilla Audley – a duchess! It was preposterous. She had never had aspirations to titles or wealth. They had never brought Charles any happiness, and she had known too many ladies that compromised on their affections to attain such a poisoned chalice.
Charles was more than enough of a prize for her.
“Miss Seton! Miss Seton!”
Priscilla turned her head slightly and glared at Miss Ashbrooke. “You of all people, Miss Ashbrooke, should know better to address me with my maiden name!”
Miss Ashbrooke did not seem abashed by the whisper. “Tosh, you are a maiden still. Now,” she continued, “tell me. Do you know of any eligible young ladies you can introduce me to?”
The vicar raised his voice a little. “And so that means, of course…”
Priscilla almost laughed at the strangeness of it all. Why was Miss Ashbrooke soliciting introductions to young ladies at her own wedding?
“I have far too many gentlemen on my books,” the matchmaker continued to hiss, “and although with a few good matches the balance could be utterly changed, I –”
“Miss Ashbrooke,” murmured Charles, not turning his head away from the vicar, “if you are not quiet, I will have you removed.”
Priscilla stifled a giggle as Miss Ashbrooke’s mouth fell open in horror.
It felt like mere minutes before the wedding service was over, and Priscilla was walking down the aisle toward the church door, Charles holding her arm.
“Oh, look, some of the village children have – Charles, what are you doing?” Priscilla yelped as he swept her off her feet and into his arms.
Rice and flower petals fell around her as many of their guests laughed to see Charles holding his bride in his arms.
Priscilla did not notice. She was staring into his eyes and saw only affection and devotion. “No one will ever rival for my affections,” she whispered. “It’s you, Charles. Only you.”
“I should think so,” he said quietly as he stepped outside the church and kissed her on the cheek. “How long do you think we need to stay around, smile at family, friends, and indifferent acquaintances before we can make another visit to the Blue Room?”
“We have our whole lives to enjoy together,” she said aloud, smiling at him as their guests spilled out of the church and into the churchyard. “Thank goodness you recognized your feelings for me in time.”
Charles nodded. His arms were strong around her, and Priscilla knew she would never have to worry about him letting her fall. He would be there forever.
“And now,” he whispered, “for the beginning of the rest of our lives.”
About Emily E K Murdoch
If you love falling in love, then you’ve come to the right place.
I am a historian and writer and have a varied career to date: from examining medieval manuscripts to designing museum exhibitions, to working as a researcher for the BBC to working for the National Trust.
My books range from England 1050 to Texas 1848, and I can’t wait for you to fall in love with my heroes and heroines!
Follow me on twitter and instagram @emilyekmurdoch, find me on facebook at facebook.com/theemilyekmurdoch, and read my blog at www.emilyekmurdoch.com.