Simply Magic

But all women must leave behind their homes and their families when they married. And in her case it was, she believed with growing conviction as the months passed, a worthy exchange. She could never have been truly happy as an unmarried woman, with no man, no children, no home of her very own. Not truly happy. And she loved Peter far more deeply than she could have imagined loving any man. Perhaps it was because she liked him and admired him as much as she loved him.

And there was no school near Sidley, she had discovered. It was a lack she meant to rectify, and though Peter had merely laughed when she had mentioned it during one of his visits to Bath, it had been an affectionate, indulgent laugh, and there had been love and admiration in his eyes.

She had dreaded the end of school in July, telling herself with each passing event that it was the last in which she would be involved. At the same time, she had thought the end of term would never come.

She was to have a wedding in August.

She was to marry Peter.

She was to spend the rest of her life with him, for as long as they both lived.

But August came, as it inevitably does each year.

And with it came the wedding day, a perfect blue-skied sunshiny day.

Peter was sitting at the front of the church, John Raycroft beside him, aware that the pews behind them were filling with guests, though he did not turn his head to look.

He felt, in fact, as though it would be impossible to turn his head if he tried. Surely for once in an otherwise exemplary career, his valet had knotted his neckcloth very much too tightly, though the man had almost wept over its perfection after standing back to examine his handiwork an hour or so ago.

He ought not to have come so early, he thought, as his stomach started to feel like a churning cauldron.

What if she simply did not come?

What if someone spoke up during that dreaded silence after the vicar had asked if anyone knew of any impediment to the marriage?

What if his tongue tied itself in knots?

What if he dropped the ring?

What if Raycroft had forgotten to bring it?

“Do you have the ring?” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“I do,” Raycroft whispered back with smirking complacency-though he had been just as much of a wreck two months ago when Peter had been his best man. “Just as I did when you asked five minutes ago.”

What if she said I don’t instead of I do? Or was that I won’t and I will? He could not for the life of him remember what the correct wording was. He must listen very carefully to the vicar when the time came.

What if?…

Oh, Lord.

And then there was a distinct swell in the hushed murmurings from the pews behind, and he guessed that Susa

Peter stood and turned as the organ began to play.

And there she was.

Finally the phrase made perfect sense to him.

She was dressed from head to toe in delicate ivory, her gown fine lace over satin, her bo

As she came closer, he could see her face and her eyes. They were looking back into his own, huge with anxiety and perhaps wonder and-oh, yes, and definitely with love.

Ah, Susa

Even now he could not quite believe that they had overcome the odds to reach this moment.

He realized that he had been gazing back, an identical look on his own face. But no one was going to speak during that moment of silence, and no one was going to drop the ring, and Raycroft did have it with him. His tongue would remain unknotted, and she would say I do or I will, whichever it was.

All was well.

He smiled slowly at her and felt such a welling of happiness that it almost threatened to overwhelm him.

He smiled, and suddenly the sunshine shone as brightly inside the church as it did outside.

But he looked so much like the man who had dazzled and terrified her on the lane from Barclay Court almost exactly a year ago that she marveled how a stranger could become the very beat of her heart in so short a time. And this time it did not matter that he was Viscount Whitleaf. It was a name, a title, that she would share in a few minutes’ time.

He was dressed elegantly in black and cream and white.

There surely could be no more handsome man in the world.

Her inexplicable terror vanished.

She had wept in her grandmother’s arms early in the morning but had been unable to explain even to herself why she did so. Grandmama had said it was because she was in love, that if she were marrying for any other reason, she would do so with steely calm. She had blown her nose and laughed.

But the terror had remained, and it had been very difficult to stay dry-eyed when A

“Susa

She had laughed and stepped back and dried her eyes.

“Ah,” she had said, “why did I neglect to notice that all three of you were young, lovely women? If I had noticed, I would not have befriended any of you in a million years. I would have remained aloof.”

She had laughed again and looked fondly at each of them in turn.

And now, Susa

There was the look in his eyes.

It warmed her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began.

And indeed it was a brief moment of time after the long wait. But a glorious moment nonetheless. Peter spoke his responses, she spoke hers, the shiny gold ring slid onto her finger-ah, but she could not list all the moments. It was all one jumble of happiness.

And then the vicar-no, Grandpapa Clapton-was pronouncing them man and wife and leading them off to the vestry to sign the register. And Peter was lifting her veil up over the brim of her bo

The organ was begi

She had once been one of them.

A gaily decorated open barouche awaited them outside the church gates. A crowd of villagers had gathered to enjoy the show. But they did not hurry toward the gates. The congregation spilled out behind them, and they were caught up in hugs and handshakes and smiling greetings. They were also showered with rose petals, mostly by the girls.