The Trials of Alaric (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #8)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A laric and Bea were left to host the house party for the next few days. The only change to every other day so far, Alaric thought, was that he now had the right to assist Bea, who had been in charge since the party began.

Whittington’s trip to Bangor went off without a hitch, despite the drizzly weather. The chaplain had offered to share the fishing boat he had hired with Lewiston and his family, but the earl decided not to leave after all.

“Father says he wishes to do your father the courtesy of staying for the wedding,” Lady Dorothy told Bea. “Mother says we should stay in case Howard or Meadowsweet is inspired by the wedding to propose,” said Lucy, and both sisters giggled.

Bea wanted to delay the wedding until her father was better, but Lord Claddach, Alaric, and—surprisingly—Lady Claddach all argued for it to be held as soon as it could be organized.

For the same reason, Alaric suspected. Bea as a young unmarried countess was going to be vulnerable to those who wanted to attach her lands to their own. Lewiston for one—Alaric was certain that was the reason for his change of mind. If he hadn’t suspected Claddach’s illness before the evening Alaric and Bea announced their betrothal, he must have heard about Dr. Bryant’s visit the same evening and drawn the correct conclusion.

He and Lady Lewiston had buttonholed Alaric and Bea separately to explain why a hurried wedding would be a mistake—it would hint at a scandal and therefore damage Bea’s reputation, it was unfair to Lord Claddach, who needed to rest, it didn’t give Bea enough time to prepare, it meant Lord Claddach would be unable to attend.

Her cousins added their arguments. Bea should have a special gown for the occasion. Bea should be married in London, with everyone important in attendance. Even some of the house guests were recruited to the cause, though some took one side and some the other.

Only concern for her father gave Bea pause, and it took Lord Claddach himself to lay it on the line to her. “I need to see you married, my girl. Married to a worthy man and safe from Lewiston and his ilk, who might take advantage of your grief. Yes, you are of age and capable. But you are a woman, and English law is foolish where women are concerned.”

After that, Bea simply smiled and shook her head at whatever anyone said against an immediate wedding.

Just a few days later, Alaric stood in the window embrasure in the room at the top of the north watchtower, watching his wife as she slept in the large bed.

His wife! His in every way now. By the promises of love they had made in this very room less than a week ago. By the vows they had made today in the church in Bailecashtel—no, yesterday now, for when he had looked through the window, he’d seen the first hint of dawn. By their joining in this bed.

The smile he had been wearing since he woke grew broader. And not just one joining, either. He would have stopped after the first glorious time, thinking his wife would be sore. But Bea would have none of it, and the second time was even more wonderful. And the third, after a short sleep.

He had woken ready to enter her again but was instead leaving her to sleep. She needed to rest, his wife. The whole island rested on her shoulders, a reality emphasized to him when he had arrived at the church to find the square packed with people who could not fit into the church, where every cleric on the island waited to witness Mr. Whittington officiate at their wedding.

She shifted, rolling onto her other side, and pulling the sheet up so all he could see of her now was her sweet curves, covered but not hidden by the sheet, and her dark brown curls.

How magnificent she had looked when she stepped into the church on her father’s arm. He’d been well enough, he insisted, and no one else would give his girl into the hands of the man who had won her.

He had looked better, too, for his few days of rest. But Alaric had had no attention to spare for him beyond one quick glance. His eyes were riveted on his bride. His Bea. His busy Bea, both Queen and worker. Honey, too. His honey and his love.

Turning to the window, he gazed across the sea, but what he saw was his bride. In another gown of green, this one the soft color of sea foam. He hadn’t seen it until she stood before him in the church, but he had heard about it. The craftswomen of Claddach had been working for this day for the past eighteen months, and the gown represented their loved island. It was made from the finest Claddach wool, embroidered in gold with the flowers of Claddach, and trimmed with lace made from flaxen thread grown and spun on the island.

The lace veil that had covered her head was also home grown and crafted. It had been fine enough for him to see the shape of her face. Her eyes met his and never looked away as she walked toward him. The Heart of Claddach had gleamed on her chest.

After that, the actual ceremony had seemed remarkably short. Perhaps because he had put back her veil and become lost in Bea’s eyes. He had spoken his vows without stumbling, placed his ring on her finger—bought from a jeweler in Bailecashtel with money supplied by Tarquin, but he would pay his brother back once he had access to his bank again.

He remembered bits of the rest of the day. Stepping out of the church to face the roaring, deliriously happy, crowd. Traveling back to the castle in a flower-bedecked carriage pulled by islanders, twenty at a time, in shifts that seemed to last only a matter of minutes so that as many people as possible had a turn. Listening as his brother made a speech that had him laughing and also fighting back tears, as Tarquin spoke of their lifelong friendship.

But best of all had been arriving at the tower, farewelling their escort—all the younger members of the house party, most of them now in couples—and hurrying up the steps to open the door and lock out the rest of the world.

No. Best of all had been taking Bea in his arms and introducing her to the arts of love. And what an apt student she had proved to be.

The bed creaked. Alaric turned around. Bea was sitting up in bed, the sheet still wrapped around her. She held out one arm to beckon him. “Alaric, come back to bed,” she coaxed.

“I am not tired,” he told her. “I thought I’d leave you to sleep.”

She raised both arms in a stretch, and the sheet fell away, riveting Alaric’s attention on her lovely breasts, which he had not, now he came to think of it, adequately loved last night or early this morning. If it was not deliberate seduction on her part, then she had a native and hitherto unexplored talent.

“I have no wish to sleep,” she informed him. “Isn’t there something else we could think of to do?”

Alaric could think of several things. “Things we’ve already done, or new things?” he asked.

His wife proved once again the advantage of marrying a confident, capable, independent lady. “Why not both,” she said.

And Alaric covered the floor between them in four swift strides and went back to bed.