Charlotte stepped down from the carriage as she took in the sight of the church before her.
It all looked rather quaint against the backdrop of green, rolling hills, the scent of lilies permeating the space with their light fragrance along the edges of the property. The sun shone around the building, rays striking the rose-colored mosaic to cast sprigs of color in every direction.
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, her eyes watching the fall of her cream-colored gown as she stepped onto the grass. She smiled, for she was to be married.
Today.
Sophie tugged lightly on her gown, and Charlotte met her friend's brown eyes. Sophie had shown up the day after the fire, her abigail and mother in tow. She had received Charlotte's letter and, frantic with worry, had made haste to the Claymore estate.
It seemed Sophie's bedside manner was worse than Charlotte's as Sophie had delivered a scolding so blistering, Charlotte was left feeling like a troublesome pupil just rapped on the knuckles by her governess.
Sufficiently brow-beaten, Sophie had then drawn Charlotte into her arms and it had sent them both into a fit of tears until Greyson had happened upon them. He had tried to back away, the panicked look on his face bringing a watery smile to Charlotte's face.
Shaking off the remembrance, Charlotte glanced down at her gown, hardly believing the abrupt change in her circumstances. The gown was a beautiful chiffon confection that highlighted the caramel tones in Charlotte's hair. It had a low scoop neck with beaded embroidery at the waist. A small train of buttons trailed down her back, leaving her upper shoulders bare to the soft breeze.
Rather scandalous and yet, at the same moment, modest too.
It suited her.
A spring of hair curled over her forehead, and Charlotte found her gloved hand rising up to the loose topknot of curls. The only luxury she had afforded her appearance was in allowing Lady Marianne to weave a string of pearls through her locks.
"I wore them when I married Benjamin," she had said, her fingers trailing lightly over each individual bead. "I hope they will bring you both as much love as Benjamin and I had."
Was this, Charlotte wondered now, her throat tight, what it was like to have a family?
A mother?
A sister?
A carriage drew up behind her, its wheels rattling on the cobblestones. Charlotte watched as the dowager countess and her daughter came to a stop. Lady Marianne was let down first, her gown in a soft shade of lilac with shortened sleeves and a shawl of pure white draped in the crooks of her elbows.
Lady Georgianna was next, her curls resplendent in an elaborate whorl of curls and pins. She had traded her usual green-colored gowns for a yellow one that played with the ends of her curls like licking flames.
Charlotte couldn't help remembering the past week. After Greyson and Charlotte had told of wishes for hasty nuptials, the estate had become a veritable hive of activity.
Marianne had taken the helm, scheduling the various fittings all week where Charlotte was tucked and pulled, pushed and hemmed. It was all rather a whirlwind of color and fabrics. Georgianna would watch on the sidelines, a hint of mischief playing in her green eyes. It was so very different from Charlotte's first impression of Georgianna as the elegant and reserved lady that it made her blink back tears.
They had become very dear to her in such a short amount of time.
Marianne had also rallied her son into journeying to London, the archbishop being prevailed upon for the special license and the posting of the banns in The Times. Although, Charlotte couldn't help but think it was all rather silly considering the unusual circumstances.
It was a tad late for decorum and propriety, she would wager.
Heavens, they hadn't been properly introduced before Charlotte spoke to him through a mess of fruit tart! Not to mention the fact that for half of their acquaintance she had been dressed as a male.
"Are you ready?" Sophie's voice whispered in Charlotte's ear, her blonde head tilted towards Charlotte's darker one.
A fluttering took flight in Charlotte's breast as she nodded, sunlight stealing away her vision and leaving red and orange spots dancing on her eyelids. And then she was ensconced in the dimness of the church before it opened up to a vestibule that took her breath away.
It was lined with a white runner down a wooden aisle, floral accompaniments bundled at the end of each pew, a plethora of pinks and purples and whites. Another mosaic took up the entire wall before her, glinting blue and yellow and red.
That was when her eyes found Greyson. She was vaguely aware of Sophie's mother in a pew on one side, and Lady Marianne and Georgianna sneaking past to take a seat in the front beside her. But her attention remained on Greyson. He stood tall at the front next to the minister, his arms clasped behind his back.
Charlotte smiled, joy striking her heart that after all this time, all this waiting and planning and hoping, it was finally here.
The day Greyson became her husband.
Greyson smiled slowly in return, his gray eyes so intense on her that Charlotte wondered if it were possible to expire on the spot.
A tailcoat of black draped his form to perfection, a pair of buff breeches tucked into Hessians that shined. His cravat was perfectly tied, an intricate knot that only highlighted his tanned olive skin. His dark brown hair was still a touch too long, curling about his collar, but swept off his face. He looked rather...debonair.
But then she noted his waistcoat.
Charlotte's eyes narrowed on the offending piece of clothing before a laugh erupted from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, casting an apologetic glance at the minister before returning her eyes to Greyson's.
He had not...
And yet, as the smile lit his eyes, Charlotte knew the dratted man had, in fact, worn that ruined waistcoat of ages ago. Their first meeting, like a permanent handprint, marred the silver fabric, barely covered by the flaps of his tailcoat. The berry juice was lighter, the fabric no doubt having been washed at some point, but still there.
Still a reminder.
The flutters ceased and with quick, sure strides - most uncommon for any lady, she knew - Charlotte made her way down the aisle.
She didn't care.
As she came abreast of him, they both reached for each other. His hands swallowed hers, gloved as well, but his heat clasped her skin in an embrace regardless.
Greyson smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes crinkling.
Charlotte smiled back.
Before Charlotte knew it, the vows had somehow been spoken and the minister was asking for the bride's ring. Her glove was being drawn off, the cloth rasping against her knuckles and sending a shiver down her spine.
It was a surprise, then, that it was not a ring that was placed within her palm at all, but something else entirely.
She looked down at the object and gasped, her eyes colliding with Greyson's sheepish expression. Red colored the tips of his ears, and he cleared his throat as Charlotte fought for words.
"How...?"
Charlotte fumbled, her thoughts drifting back to the day before.
The solicitor dealing with Charlotte's inheritance had been called to Greyson's estate. Charlotte had been in for quite a shock, discovering that overnight she had become a rich woman, indeed. Not only had her father provisioned a staggering amount of pounds on her, it appeared Henry had left for India, signing off everything that wasn't entailed to the title to fall to Charlotte and then, if applicable, any offspring.
It was unheard of.
Greyson had asked for a minute alone with her and as the solicitor had left the room, Charlotte had settled into his lap, her arms sliding around his neck. Her fingers had trailed circles through his hair. "I can't believe it."
"Would you like to go back?" Greyson had asked, his arms tightening around Charlotte.
Pulling back, she had looked at Greyson curiously. "Back where?"
"To your home," he had said, his hand sweeping a curl behind her ear. "Back to where you grew up? It wasn't entailed. The land. It's yours."
Charlotte huffed a laugh, burrowing her face in his chest. "You know," she whispered, licking her dry lips, "I carried around this chess piece while I was away. In my pocket."
She looked up, catching Greyson's eyes.
"My father had promised the night before he...died...that he would teach me how to play. I was always sneaking into his study and touching the pieces." A sad smile stretched across her face. "My father liked to tell me about each piece, about the queen in particular. How powerful she was." She had swallowed harshly. "How she protected the king..."
Charlotte had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear meeting Greyson's eyes. "After I was told what happened...I destroyed it. That entire set." Charlotte had laughed bitterly. "Every piece broke except that queen. I thought if I carried it...If I didn't...I was worried I would be nothing more than a pawn. I'd let Papa down."
"You know," Greyson had said, his thumb sweeping into the divot of Charlotte's chin, "the great part of being the queen is you can move whenever you wish. You can go forwards or backwards or slip to the side. Hard to catch."
"Strong. But every piece on that board," he had continued, "has a place. Works for a common goal. I doubt your Papa would have wanted you to do it alone, Charlotte."
Charlotte had swiped the moisture from her eyes.
He always knew the exact right words to say.
Charlotte had leaned in, kissing the lower half of Greyson's jaw. Tilting forward, she had placed her lips on his forehead and then lifting herself onto one foot, Charlotte had parted his hair to kiss the top of his head.
"Charlotte?" He had murmured, a bemused smile in his voice. "What in the devil are you doing?"
"I'm kissing you." She had said, sitting back.
He had huffed a laugh at that, his voice low. "As much as...I appreciate the gesture," he had rumbled, "may I ask why?"
Charlotte had swallowed. "I was kissing every place I hurt you."
He had groaned, pulling her face towards him. "It takes a lot more than that tiny fist of yours to hurt me, Charlotte." Before she could say another word, Greyson had asked, "What happened to it?"
Charlotte's brow had furrowed. "To what?"
"Your chess piece. You said you had carried it with you. Where is it now?"
The church came back into focus as Charlotte laughed. She glanced down at her palm, the black surface of the queen gleaming in the shards of light spilling from the front of the vestibule. Greyson had retrieved it for her.
"Where did you find it?" Charlotte whispered, her bare hand running over the smooth features.
"Williams did, actually. He had found it after that night and gave it to me," Greyson said. His hand cupped Charlotte's cheek, bringing her gaze back to him. "I had a feeling it was yours, and I kept it."
"Why?"
"I think I was saving it," Greyson breathed, "for when you were ready to take it back."
Charlotte allowed the tears to come as his face blurred.
"You take it," Charlotte said, leaning in. Her hand placed the chess piece back into his palm, closing his fingers around it. "For safekeeping."
***
"So, how does it feel?"
Greyson glanced to his right, his eyes pausing at the gleam in Thorne's hazel gaze before Charlotte grasped his full attention once more. Even across the room filled with family members and friends for the wedding breakfast, it was as if they were the only two in the room.
Him and Charlotte.
Charlotte, the Countess of Claymore.
Charlotte, his wife.
It sent a surge of satisfaction thrumming through Greyson's veins. The chess piece weighed heavily in his pocket and Greyson wondered if it would be completely unseemly to whisk his wife back to their bedchamber now, mere hours after the wedding.
Their bedchamber.
At that moment, Charlotte laughed.
Greyson watched, entranced, as Charlotte's back turned and he glimpsed a smooth current of her pale skin, a dark curl hanging loose from her coiffure. He imagined it would only take one pull, perhaps two, for the whole mass of her hair to tumble haphazardly down her back.
His hands twitched.
Her friend, Sophie, glanced away, her attention diverted to another lady who had similar features although with darker golden-brown tresses. Charlotte used the distraction, her head turning to the left and the right in quick succession as she stepped back. Her back came up against the table laden with sweets behind her, and Greyson watched as Charlotte's hand fumbled blindly until victorious, her hand closed around a tart.
Her fourth of the morning.
Fourth!
The little scamp had been obscurely sneaking the treats since they had arrived back from the wedding.
Thorne shifted next to him, and Greyson realized he hadn't answered the question asked of him.
What had he been asking...Oh, right.
So, how does it feel?
Greyson smiled. "She makes me happy, Thorne."
"Oh, yes," the man said, his blonde hair glinting, "I can see that, my friend, but actually I was referring to something else entirely."
Greyson tore his gaze away from his wife to meet Thorne's eyes, sparkling with amusement.
His friend grinned. "I was wondering how those petticoats of yours are faring these days. Have you, by chance, broken them in yet?"
Greyson growled beneath his breath as Thorne's bellow of laughter drifted between them.
Of course, he thought, wryly. How long had the bloody man been saving that joke?
Charlotte glanced in their direction then, her tart forgotten, as she glanced between the two of them, a bemused smile on her face.
"Goddamnit, Thorne," Greyson grumbled, twisting to face his friend and lowering his voice, "I swear if you don't behave yourself I'm going to...to..."
"You'll what?" Thorne asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Swat me with your reticule? Snap me on the wrist with your fan?" He glanced at Greyson's breeches, rotating around his friend. "Are those hidden in those petticoats as well?"
Greyson sighed.
He had walked quite brazenly into that one, hadn't he?
A commotion began in the corner then, and Greyson turned his attention to the doorway. What he saw made him scowl.
It seemed Greyson had had a visitor waiting as soon as his nuptials had been spoken.
The Duke of Burkeley was outlined in the entryway to the room, his hefty bulk taking up all the leftover space in Greyson's home. The kicker, however, was that it was his sister on the man's arm.
The bomb had dropped quite unexpectedly as he and Charlotte had returned to his estate to find a strange carriage in the drive.
He had finally figured out Georgianna's secret suitor. One that he hadn't approved of, Greyson thought morosely. Unfortunately, it seemed his sister had had enough of London society and was ready to be a wife and mother.
And what's more?
His mother backed Georgianna's decision.
Greyson had gotten the whole story as Charlotte had been allowed to sneak away to the breakfast, her friend, Sophie's gaze, staring at the duke's broad back as he was ushered into Greyson's study. Gossip had reached London about the various attacks on Greyson's estate, and when the duke had learned Georgianna was in residence at the family home, the man had come as quick as he was able to ascertain Georiganna's health.
Admirable, Greyson thought, although why the devil she would choose someone so...mannequin-esque, Greyson couldn't imagine.
God, he thought, his head still reeling. The Duke of Burkeley and his sister?
It defied common sense.
Georgianna had agreed to the duke's arrangement - Greyson sneered at the word, not liking that she had settled for such a loveless match. And yet, Greyson couldn't fault Georgianna for her wishes. Despite the duke's pompous reputation, he had an unimpeachable character, a true aristocrat down to his tailored breeches.
And he could protect his sister from the gossips.
Greyson watched now as Georgianna allowed the duke to lead her into the room. If Greyson wasn't watching the duke so intently he would have missed it. His brows furrowed as the duke's gaze slid sideways, a loathing that had Greyson following the duke's gaze to none other than Charlotte's close friend, Miss Sophie Beaumonte.
He didn't get a chance to contemplate the look before Thorne broke in abruptly. "Congratulations, my friend, on your marriage. I believe, however, I am going to retire to my rooms for a bit."
Greyson looked towards his friend, not seeing the charming rogue, but the boy he had met at Eton. The serious boy who had a chip on his shoulder and a dangerous edge that one rarely saw or noticed unless they knew Thorne as well as he did.
If they knew the horrors that still lashed Thorne mercilessly.
Greyson nodded, "Of course."
He debated following his friend, but at that moment Charlotte's laughter rang true. He followed the sound to where she stood with Sophie, their heads close as their hands covered their mouths, some secret whispered.
Charlotte twisted suddenly, the skirts of her gown floating up enough that what he glimpsed stopped Greyson in his tracks.
He narrowed his eyes.
Had she done that on purpose...?
When he had been ensconsed in his study...?
And yet, Greyson knew with a certainty that he had seen exactly what he had.
With desire licking at his boots, Greyson stalked across the room towards her. She must have felt his intense scrutiny for her head turned. Her smile fell from her lips and she swallowed, drawing Greyson's gaze to her throat.
Greyson drew up to his wife - his wife - and taking her hand led her to the middle of the room. He turned, sweeping Charlotte into his arms. He executed a quick turn, taking her into an impromptu waltz. Charlotte's head tipped back as a gurgle of laughter tumbled free.
"I believe I owed you a dance, my dear," Greyson said, his eyes locked on hers.
Charlotte grinned. "Or is it I, perhaps, who owed you one?"
She glanced pointedly down at Greyson's ruined waistcoat which reminded him. Pulling her body into his, Greyson delighted in the gasp that left her lips. "Are you trying to drive me mad, then? Throwing down the gauntlet, as it were?"
"I don't understand," Charlotte murmured, her brows puckered in a frown.
His mouth dropped to her ear, his words low and only for her. "Tell me, Charlotte. Are you honestly wearing," he growled, "those damned enticing breeches of yours beneath that wedding gown? You think I wouldn't notice?"
That was when Greyson heard a sound that enchanted him.
Charlie threw her head back and laughed.
-- End--
A/N: That be all she wrote, folks! (On "In the Devil's Stables). Please let me know if you enjoyed the epilogue and story! Questions? Comments?
Another big thank you for getting me to #1 in Historical Fiction!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!
And if anyone is thrown off by the Duke of Burkeley's entrance, there might be a mention waaaaayyyyy back in Chapter Three. Originally he was supposed to be mentioned more, but in this version he didn't get as much page time as I thought he would.
But other than that...
They lived happily ever after... :)