“She has been kind to me,” Beatrix said. “Even though it’s obvious that I am not what she expected of a daughter-in-law.”

“No,” Audrey conceded with a grin. “However, she is determined to make the best of things. You are the only chance of keeping Riverton in our branch of the family. If you and Christopher produce no offspring, it will go to her cousins, which she could not abide. I think she would have liked me much better, had I been able to conceive.”

“I’m sorry,” Beatrix murmured, taking her hand.

Audrey’s smile turned bittersweet. “It wasn’t meant to be. That is the lesson I’ve had to learn. Some things aren’t meant to be, and one can either rail against it, or accept it. John told me near the end that we had to be grateful for the time we had been given. He said he saw things very clearly, as his life drew to a close. Which leads me to what I wanted to give you.”

Beatrix looked at her expectantly.

Carefully Audrey removed a neatly folded bit of parchment from her sleeve. It was an unsealed letter.

“Before you read it,” Audrey said. “I must explain. John wrote it the week before he died—he insisted on doing it himself—and he told me to give it to Christopher when—or if—he returned. But after reading it, I wasn’t certain what to do with it. When Christopher came back from the Crimea, he was so volatile and troubled . . . I thought it better to wait. Because no matter what John had asked of me, I knew above all that I must do no further harm to Christopher, after all he’s been through.”

Beatrix’s eyes widened. “You think this letter might harm him?”

“I’m not sure. In spite of our kinship, I don’t understand Christopher well enough to judge.” Audrey shrugged helplessly. “You’ll know what I mean when you read it. I don’t want to give it to Christopher unless I can be sure it will do him good, and not create some unintended torment. I leave it in your hands, Beatrix, and trust in your wisdom.”

Chapter Twenty-four

A month later, on a sunny and dry October day, the wedding took place at the parish church on the village green. To the general pleasure of Stony Cross, the ceremony adhered to long-standing village traditions. The wedding party emerged from their carriages a few streets away from the church, and walked the rest of the way along a path heavily strewn with flowers and fertility herbs. More and more people joined them as they passed, until it was less of a wedding procession than a jovial mob.

Additional flowers had been piled into a pair of massive baskets that were strapped across the back of Beatrix’s mule, Hector. The little mule led the crowd at a dignified pace, while the women walking beside him reached into the baskets and tossed fresh handfuls of petals and blossoms to the ground. A straw hat festooned with flowers had been tied to Hector’s head, his ears sticking out at crooked angles through the holes at the sides.

“Good God, Albert,” Christopher said ruefully to the dog beside him. “Between you and the mule, I think you got the best of the bargain.” Albert had been freshly washed and trimmed, a collar of white roses fastened around his neck. The dog looked wary, clearly not liking the close-packed crowd around them any more than Christopher did.

As the women occupied one half of the street, and the men the other, Christopher caught only occasional glimpses of Beatrix. She was surrounded by village girls dressed in white, ostensibly to confuse evil spirits that might have had designs on the bride. Christopher, for his part, was surrounded by an honor guard comprised of friends from the Rifle Brigade, and a few men from his original cavalry unit.

Finally they reached the church, which was already filled. Violin music filled the air in buoyant strains.

While Christopher went to the front of the church to wait at the altar, Beatrix remained at the back with Leo.

“Beatrix,” her brother asked, “what did you do to Hector?”

“He’s a flower mule,” she said reasonably.

“I hope it won’t distress you to learn that he’s eating his hat.”

Beatrix stifled a giggle.

Bending his head over hers, Leo murmured, “When I give you away at the altar, Bea, I want you to remember something. I’m not really giving you away. I’m merely allowing him the chance to love you as much as the rest of us do.”

Beatrix’s eyes watered, and she leaned against him. “He does,” she whispered.

“I think so, too,” her brother whispered back. “I wouldn’t let you marry him otherwise.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon passed in a daze of happiness. After they exchanged vows, they left the church beneath an arch of swords held up by the honor guard. The front gate was closed—another Stony Cross tradition—and would not be opened until the groom paid the toll. Christopher reached into a velvet bag, pulled out a fistful of gold coins, and tossed them to the crowd. The shower of coins elicited squeals of glee. Three more handfuls were sent into the air, most of the glittering pieces caught before they ever reached the ground.

When every last coin had been retrieved, the assemblage swarmed to the village green, where long tables had been piled high with cakes brought by everyone in Stony Cross. Beatrix and Christopher fed each other bites of cake, while villagers showered them with crumbs to ensure the couple’s fertility.

The crowd continued their celebration on the green as the wedding party departed for Ramsay House. A massive wedding breakfast ensued, with endless rounds of toasting and merriment.