“Heaven have mercy! Oh, Joseph, I think he’s dead!”
“What? Chrystabel, did you say something?” His voice rising in panic, Joseph shook his head. “I cannot hear you! What did you say?”
“You couldn’t hear me yelling at you? I said Sir Leonard is dead!” she yelled some more as she rushed toward him. “Can’t you hear—”
“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you!” He shouted as though she were fifty feet away rather than five. “Do you hear the ringing?” He shook his head again, then clapped his hands over his ears with a howl of pain. “I heard the gun go off, and now I can only hear ringing!”
She gasped when his fingers came away coated in blood. “Joseph!”
“Chrysanthemum? Did you say something? Can you hear me, my love?”
TWENTY-FOUR
A month later
EVERYTHING HAD worked out.
The Church ofSt. Mary the Virgin was immediately adjacent to Tremayne Castle. A high, covered timber bridge linked the two buildings. The duke who built Tremayne had used the bridge to directly reach a church balcony that overlooked the sanctuary, so he could come and go and attend services without deigning to speak to any parishioners.
The duke didn’t sound like a nice man. Chrystabel thought maybe he’d deserved his beheading.
In any case, the bridge was long in disrepair, so the Ashcrofts and Trevors had walked out to the road and over to the church for the wedding on this fine, if cold, day. Since big church weddings were frowned upon by the Commonwealth government, there was only family attending and no parishioners to talk to, anyway.
As they weren’t really out in public, Chrystabel had decided to wear her new strand of pearls for her church wedding, together with a pre-Cromwell gown: a pale blue confection with silver scrollwork and seed pearls on the stomacher and underskirt. She’d changed into it after this morning’s civil ceremony, and Joseph had gaped appreciatively when he saw her all dressed up. Although they had already been declared man and wife by a Justice of the Peace, she didn’t feel married yet. She thought she might not feel really married until after the church wedding and the wedding breakfast. She’d been planning the menu for weeks.
But this service was taking so long that she feared half of her magnificent meal might spoil before their families got to enjoy it.
The tall, majestic church had been built in stages over the last several centuries. It had a Norman doorway, a Gothic chancel, a Tudor bell tower, a soaring dark wood hammerbeam ceiling, and many beautiful, colorful stained glass windows. Standing before the intricately carved altar while the vicar read the interminable service, Chrystabel felt dwarfed in the enormous old building. She normally enjoyed the quiet solemnity of church services, but today she was far too excited to stand still.
Today she gained not only a husband, but an entire family.
When she and Joseph had emerged from the priest hole, Lord Trentingham had been clearly bewildered to learn of their betrothal. But he’d bid her a hearty and sincere welcome to the Ashcroft clan, cracking open several bottles of Tremayne’s best vintage.
Lady Trentingham had, of course, appeared considerably less surprised. But when she’d requested this morning that the bride call her “Mother” from now on, Chrystabel had felt happy tears welling in her eyes.
And that was to say nothing of her three new sisters-in-law, three new brothers-in-law, and a growing gaggle of nieces and nephews. There’d only been time enough last night for kisses and congratulations, but Chrystabel knew they’d all be fast friends. The girls seemed a lively bunch—they obviously took after their mother.
And she’d already taken a particular interest in her eldest nephew, who was just a year younger than Arabel and never seen without a book in his hands. Looking over her shoulder, the bride laughed silently to see the boy reading in his pew and Arabel trying to hide her annoyance at his rudeness.
What a lucky coincidence that they’d been seated beside each other.
When the vicar finally flipped to the back of his prayerbook and cleared his throat, Chrystabel turned her attention forward.
At last, she thought, her heart soaring. She squeezed Joseph’s hand as the vicar began chanting their vows.
“Joseph Ashcroft, The Right Honorable Viscount Tremayne, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?” He was a very soft-spoken man, which she found a bit worrisome. “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
An expectant silence filled the church.
“Say that last part louder,” Chrystabel whispered to the vicar.
“So long as ye both shall live?” he repeated.
“Louder.”
“So long as ye both shall live?” he fairly yelled.
“I will,” Joseph said, his confident words finally booming through the magnificent arched sanctuary.
Along with everyone else, Chrystabel breathed a sigh of relief.
After the late Sir Leonard’s gun went off right next to Joseph’s head, his ears had been ringing and sore for days. He still hadn’t fully recovered his hearing, though Chrystabel thought he would eventually heal. In any case, over the last weeks she had assured him—very loudly and very often—that she would be just as happy to wed him hearing or deaf.
The soft-spoken vicar cleared his throat again and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Lady Chrystabel Trevor, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”
Tucked into the corner of a pew, Matthew and his new wife held hands, whispering their vows surreptitiously. They hadn’t been able to have a church wedding of their own, so it warmed Chrystabel’s heart to see them sharing in hers today.
After their civil ceremony in Bristol, they’d returned Christmas Day evening to the shocking news of Sir Leonard’s demise.
“Would you like to have our marriage annulled?” Matthew had asked Creath quietly, his face whiter than the snow falling outside. “Until the
