The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,60

the aisle, little Mary at her side. He jiggled the ring in his hand, waiting to hand it to MacAvoy and worried the man would be so shaken he’d drop it and James would have to crawl around under the pews looking for it. But for now, he listened to the sermon and heard the Bible’s words. Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.

Unbidden, Lucinda Vermeal’s face floated before his eyes. He wondered what had made her so very angry that day at her new home, pushing him away from her, urging him to leave her. He didn’t believe he would leave her.

When the time came in the ceremony, MacAvoy’s hand was steady and his color was back as James handed him the ring. It appeared that the groom’s fears were in the anticipation rather than the execution of the marriage. He watched MacAvoy kiss his bride and then pick up Mary and kiss her too. The shy child must have understood the gravity of the ceremony, though, and wrapped her arms around MacAvoy’s neck. James heard her whispered, “Papa.”

James followed the triumphant groom, still holding Mary, with his bride, Mrs. MacAvoy, at his side. That would take some getting used to. MacAvoy was married. James was nodding and smiling to the guests as he walked down the aisle until a set of pale blue eyes flashed at him and looked away. Ah, Lucinda, looking elegant and unapproachable in brown silk with a wide white collar.

Lucinda was not sure how Elspeth did it, making every one of the wedding guests in her home feel comfortable, but she did. She’d commandeered staff from her mother-in-law to manage the household and kitchen duties so that her own staff could enjoy the service at the church and the festivities in her home as one of their own was married. There were laundry maids in their best dresses alongside Mr. Pendergast’s parents, scions of Philadelphia society.

“I understand there’s to be no formal sit-down dinner,” Aunt Louisa said as she removed her bonnet and handed her coat to a servant in the entrance way of the Pendergast home.

“Perhaps she thought it might make some of the guests uncomfortable,” Lucinda said.

“Yes. I think that is why she and Mrs. MacAvoy have chosen something less formal.”

The ballroom had a huge buffet table down the center of the room and small tables for two or four guests scattered around the edge of the room. Muireall Thompson was directing her younger brother, Payden, and their housekeeper’s son, Robert McClintok, on how to fill their plates and juggle a glass of punch as they approached.

“Miss Thompson? Muireall?” Aunt Louisa said with a light laugh. “Do you think they will be successful making it to one of the tables with their food and drink?”

“I’m not sure. Payden has plans to tell his sister that the small plates are ridiculous and wants to know how she expects him to get enough food to fill himself.”

“Mr. Thompson,” Aunt Louisa said as James joined them. “You did an exceptionally good job of keeping the poor groom from fainting. He looked terrified prior to the service.”

“He was, ma’am,” James said and glanced at Lucinda. “But I convinced him to stand his ground.”

She took a deep breath. James Thompson was handsome enough to take her breath away on any day and devastating in the dark suit and green silk vest he wore today. She’d watched him at the altar before the bride arrived, encouraging his friend, talking in a low voice to him. Aunt was right that Mr. MacAvoy had looked pale and nervous. And then he had seen his bride, and the change in him had been startling. His face lit, his eyes devouring the very demure, beautiful, and proper woman, his bride, as she made her way down the aisle. When he’d picked up the little girl and kissed her and the child had laid her head on his shoulder, every female in the church had sighed.

It was such a romantic tableau. Nothing like the furor she was feeling for the man standing beside her, crowding her and letting their arms touch. She turned without speaking and walked away. He followed her, as she knew he would. She stopped and spoke over her shoulder.

“Find someone else to follow, Mr. Thompson,” she said and continued walking toward the door to the ballroom, her destination unknown.

“Lucinda.