and Gervase’s cousin stood alongside him, while Penny and Belinda had followed Madeline down the aisle.
The service was short, uncluttered, direct. When the vicar named them man and wife, Madeline beamed, put back her veil and stepped into Gervase’s arms. He smiled, kissed her, too briefly but they knew their roles. Turning, arm in arm, their faces serene, showing their joy, they walked slowly up the aisle accepting the congratulations of all who leaned close to kiss their cheeks and shake their hands.
Around them, the organ pealed in joyful celebration, almost it seemed in triumph. Certainly there was an element of that in the tenor of many of the congratulatory messages; it seemed plain that to everyone theirs was a union not just to be applauded but celebrated as an example that all was well in this corner of the world.
The wars were behind them; this was the future, one to look forward to and embrace.
It took nearly an hour for Madeline and Gervase to travel the distance from the church steps-where their assembled half siblings had showered them with rice-to the carriage waiting to whisk them to the castle; once inside, they relaxed with identical sighs, gently squeezed each other’s fingers while they traded smiling glances, then sat back to recoup their energies over the short drive.
Gervase glanced at the brooch anchored between Madeline’s breasts. “That piece may be old, but I doubt it ever looked so well.” It sat perfectly nested amid the ivory lace adorning her gown’s neckline.
Smiling, she looked down, tracing the worked gold. “It was nice of Dalziel to send confirmation that the brooch was officially declared treasure trove.”
“Hmm.” Gervase hadn’t been surprised his ex-commander had thought of it; Dalziel rarely let any detail slip. The declaration had meant that the boys’ ownership of the brooch had been recognized, and their gift of it to Madeline would stand.
“I had wondered,” she murmured, “whether it was appropriate to wear it-something for which a traitor had sold information that hurt our troops.” Looking up, she met his eyes. “But I decided that instead it was a sign he, our gentleman traitor, hadn’t won. I have the brooch-he doesn’t.”
Gervase smiled back. “A sign of defiance.”
Also, Madeline thought, a symbol, at least to her, of the events that had opened her eyes and brought her to this moment, to being Gervase’s wife.
To having confidence in their love, to being able to say “I do” so sincerely.
Everyone had gathered in the forecourt and on the steps to greet them; the carriage rolled in and halted to applause and cheers. Gervase stepped down, handed her down and a roar went up-immediately followed by a deafening boom!
Everyone looked to the ramparts, then another of the castle’s cannons barked. Madeline looked at Gervase, but he shook his head. Not him.
Charles materialized beside her, shutting the carriage door and waving them up the steps. “Your brothers,” he told Madeline as the last of the cannons roared. “They thought it appropriate and conscripted Christian, Tony and Jack Hendon to give them a hand. Don’t worry-they’re safe.”
Madeline laughed, relieved by that news and amused that Charles had been so quick to volunteer it. But then Penny was expecting their first child, so perhaps Charles was developing the sensitivity of a parent.
She made a mental note to mention it to Penny, then the assembled throng engulfed her with their smiles and congratulations; on Gervase’s arm, she swept into the front hall, then they led the way into the vast ballroom, where the wedding breakfast waited.
The hours that followed were filled with happiness, pure, simple, a catalogue of relaxed pleasures, of those small moments that shine in memories ever after, a fitting accolade, she later thought, her gaze resting on Gervase, for a man who had selflessly served his country for so long.
She glanced around, at his friends and their wives, most of whom were in a delicate condition, saw the happiness they’d found shining in their eyes-other fitting accolades. Only Christian yet sat alone. She pondered that, then a bright laugh drew her gaze to Belinda-testing her wings with one of the younger gentlemen.
Looking swiftly around, Madeline located her brothers-all three, amazingly, were behaving themselves much as if their good behavior was their wedding gift to her. Her lips quirked, bittersweet; they would be returning to school in a few weeks, and when next she saw them Harry would be grown, with Edmond following closely. Her time to be devoted solely to them was at an end, but Gervase was now there to take them through the next phase, teaching them to be men, something she wouldn’t have been able to do, and there was no man she more wished them to emulate.
In return…her gaze drifted to Annabel, and Jane, then back to Belinda, still smiling at the besotted young man. She would take the three girls in hand. Although she had no great liking for London, for them she would brave the ton and the Season and make sure they were presented properly. Sybil and Muriel would help, but Madeline accepted that, much as with her brothers the primary role had fallen to her, with Gervase’s sisters she would be their mentor, their true guardian.
She wondered if Gervase would view her teaching them to fight and defend themselves, at least to a point, unladylike; regardless, she considered that a necessary accomplishment preparatory to their come-outs.
Life went on. One role ended, another began.
And yet another was developing, not here yet, which was just as well; by her calculations, she had eight months to get all the necessary arrangements to her liking before the next addition to their melded family made an appearance.
Her gaze drifted to Gervase; she smiled. She hadn’t told him yet; she was saving the news as a surprise for later that night.
Gervase felt her gaze, turned and caught it-caught the secretive, madonnalike smile that played about her lips. She was so serene these days; she’d managed the organization of their wedding with an effortless ease that had left him amazed. The bombardment of decisions had left him reeling-had sent him slinking away to hide in his library. She’d smiled and let him go, and handled all with gracious aplomb.
Thank God he’d had the sense to marry her.
Leaving those with whom he’d been conversing, he strolled to her side, took her hand and drew her to her feet. When her brows rose in question, he smiled. “Come and waltz.”
He led her to the floor, swung her into his arms, into the revolutions-and they both relaxed, let the barriers they deployed with all others, thin veils, true, but still there, fall. They smiled into each other’s eyes, and simply shared the moment. That curious, fabulous, infinitely precious unity of feeling, of being.
They’d danced the first waltz long ago; there was little by way of formalities remaining. The musicians were supplying a steady stream of waltzes that a large number of couples were enjoying.
Following his gaze around the room, Madeline sighed, a contented sound. “It’s gone well, I think.”
“It has.” He waited until she met his eyes. “But regardless of all else, I have all I need of the day. You.”
She was already smiling, but her gray-green eyes softened, glowed with a serene light he was entirely content to bathe in for the rest of his life. He drew her closer, whirled her into a turn and gave himself over to the moment.
That sense of contentedness lingered, a gentle warmth about his heart.
Later, when he joined his ex-comrades and Jack Hendon at the side of the room in what had come to be something of a tradition, Christian raised a brow and asked after the traitor’s cargo.
“The authorities in Falmouth sent a platoon of sailors the day after you and Dalziel left. They sifted the entire beach, and turned up three other pieces, all relatively small-a tiara, a necklace and a filigree orb. Once the platoon had retreated, the locals descended. They searched even more diligently, but found nothing more. The consensus of opinion is that heavier, denser items would have much less chance of being washed ashore, so most of our last traitor’s thirty pieces of silver are almost certainly sitting on the ocean floor somewhere around the Manacles.”
Tony Blake grunted. “At least he’s been denied payment. That’s some consolation.”
Each and every one of them would much rather have seen him hang.
“If only,” Charles said, “there was something distinctive about him. But a dark-haired, well-spoken gentleman who at a glance looks and sounds like Dalziel covers at least a quarter of the aristocracy.”
“And we’re unlikely to get another chance at him.” Jack Warnefleet sipped the brandy he was nursing. “That’s what irks most.”
“Us, and Dalziel.” Deverell narrowed his eyes. “I can’t imagine he was happy, having got so close-on the same beach, in the same area-only to have the man slip through his fingers.”
Gervase frowned. “Not happy, no. Strangely, however, I think he’s resigned.” He arched a brow at
