Without hesitation George pulled off her coat and slung it over Lily’s head.
“Ow, George, what are you—”
“He can’t see you now. Give me your reins.” George took the reins from Lily’s hands and, laughing, they rode quickly home, making a large detour around the park to avoid her husband-to-be, while Lily tried to explain between giggles and through the muffling layers of coat that it was the dress he wasn’t supposed to see, not the bride.
Once home, Lily found her bridal gown laid out ready on her bed, a hot bath steaming gently, and Emm and Aunt Dottie waiting anxiously. “Hurry along, girls,” Emm said. “Only two hours before the wedding.”
• • •
“He’s inside, waiting at the altar.” George had peeped into the church when they’d arrived. Rose and Emm gave the last tweaks to Lily’s dress, an exquisite confection of lace over cream satin—Miss Chance had outdone herself—and a coronet of silk flowers, which anchored a lace veil. One last adjustment of the veil, and Emm went inside.
Lily was trembling like a leaf.
Aunt Dottie took Lily’s white-gloved hands in hers and squeezed them affectionately. “Stop worrying, darling girl—I have one of my feelings about this marriage; it’s all going to work out beautifully. Now, go in there, marry that handsome man and remember what I told you.” Then she too went inside the church.
“What did she tell you?” Rose asked.
“I can’t remember,” Lily lied. Love is never wrong. How did Aunt Dottie know she loved Edward?
“You can still escape,” Rose told her. “You don’t have to do this, Lily.”
Yes, she did.
Lily took a deep breath and stepped inside the church. It smelled of wood polish, brass cleaner and flowers. There was a dramatic musical chord from the organ and a rustling in the congregation as people stood and heads turned; a sea of faces, a mixed blur of goodwill and curiosity.
All Lily saw was Edward, waiting at the end of the aisle, tall and solemn and so darkly handsome it made her want to weep.
“Go on then if you must,” Rose murmured from behind her. And Lily began the walk down the aisle.
“Dearly beloved . . .”
She’d taken off her gloves for the ceremony. His hand was warm. Hers felt frozen. She was shaking worse than ever. He kept hold of her hand and rubbed his thumb over it in a soothing rhythm, back and forth. Slow, steady, reassuring. She glanced up at him, saw him watching her and managed a small smile.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Cal stepped forward. Her big brother. “I do.”
“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband . . .”
Her throat felt dry, but she managed to say, “I will.”
Her hand was shaking so badly he found it difficult to slip the ring onto her finger—for a moment there she’d thought he might drop it, but he gripped it firmly, and then it slipped on, still warm from his body, and fitting perfectly.
And then he spoke in that deep voice of his that somehow shivered through to her bones. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow . . .”
With my body . . . She swallowed, and thought of what Emm had told her: bliss. Or what Aunt Agatha had said: an unpleasantness we must all endure.
Tonight she would find out for herself.
“. . . I pronounce that they be man and wife . . .”
There, it was done. She was a married woman. The rest of the service that followed—the prayers, a short sermon and communion—passed over Lily in somewhat of a haze. But the shock of having to sign the register jerked her out of it.
“Sign your name, my dear,” the vicar told her, indicating a heavy, bound book.
Lily stared blankly at the page, the words doing their usual slippery thing, resisting her comprehension. She stood staring down at it in silent panic. Where to write her name? Was she going to have to confess here and, now, on her wedding day, in front of her new groom and in the sight of God and His minister that she was a defective creature who could not read?
“Just here,” the vicar said kindly, and placed his finger on the place where she was to sign. She seized the pen, dipped it into the ink, and quickly wrote her name. Or should she have signed it as Lily Galbraith?
She stared down at her signature, frozen with dread. Would she have to sign again? How did you spell Galbraith? Why hadn’t she thought of that? She knew girls did that, wrote out their married name—or the name of the man they hoped to marry—over and over. But she hadn’t.
“That’s right, my dear.” The minister reached across her to blot the ink and Lily jumped. He smiled. “Wedding nerves. Most ladies suffer from them. Never mind, Mrs. Galbraith, it’s all over now.”
Mrs. Galbraith. She was married.
• • •
Lily ate very little at her wedding breakfast. She was too tense. But because others kept urging her to eat, she nibbled on an almond biscuit, had a spoonful of some creamy chicken dish, and ate the corner of a small pastry and a few early-season strawberries, soaked in sugar syrup, because they were still a little tart.
It wasn’t a particularly large gathering, but it seemed every single person there wanted to speak to her, to give her advice or make jests about marriage—some rather too warm to spare Lily’s blushes—and what with all the merriment and the champagne for the toasts, her head was soon spinning. They cut the cake and drank the final toast. Then it was time for Lily to go upstairs and change into a traveling costume.
Edward had arranged for them to stay at a country house belonging to a friend of his, a short distance from Brighton, which meant a journey of five or six hours. Lily had never seen the sea and was excited by the prospect.
It was raining outside, so most people
