Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Marlow held his regard. Rosalind felt a surge of pride in the way he retained his dignity. Her husband. Her love.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied. “I swear I shall never cease trying to better myself, to be worthy of her.”
You are worthy, she wanted to cry. New tears sprang to her eyes. You’re already worthy. Why won’t you see it?
Under the duke’s expectant gaze, Townsend also extended a conciliatory handshake to Marlow, though his eyes still burned dark.
“We shall excuse the women to begin planning a wedding,” her father said. “And we gentlemen shall remain and hear the entirety of your adventures again, perhaps in more detail now that Townsend has joined us.”
“If you wish, Your Grace.”
“No need to Your Grace me now that you’re part of the family,” said her father. “Truly part of it, by marriage.”
Marlow nodded, then turned to Rosalind and gave her hand a squeeze. She wanted him to kiss her, but this was not the time, when he’d only just earned her parents’ acceptance. If they must have a second marriage to pacify everyone, so be it, but for Rosalind their real marriage would always be the intimate ceremony beside the fire with the Maria Reginas and the smiling priest, when she and Marlow had still been reeling from their close brush with death.
“Go with the ladies,” he said. “I’ll relate our adventures one more time, then do my best to forget them.”
“Be sure to emphasize your heroics.”
Her staunch, affectionate words brought a smile, and then a small kiss after all, placed upon her forehead. It felt oddly intimate. Of all the people in this room, only they would know their real experiences during that stormy night, and the sinking…and everything they had gone through since.
*
She, her mother, and Felicity retired to a sunny solar with brick walls and vases of pretty flowers. Jane joined them shortly after, having been kept away from the original confrontation by her husband, who did not wish his pregnant wife to become upset.
“He was not too much of a hothead?” she asked, gazing apologetically at Rosalind.
“He was Townsend,” she replied, making everyone laugh. “But they’ve made peace now. Mostly.”
The other three women seemed to sense Rosalind’s high emotions and drew her into a less stressful conversation about the small, private wedding Felicity and Prince Carlo would host. They decided to hold it two days hence, and though Rosalind asked for something simple, Felicity reminded her that it was to be presided over by her husband, a member of Tuscany’s royal family.
“Married by a prince,” said Jane. “Indeed, it must be something very dignified.”
Her mama insisted on ivy and white flowers for decoration, and Felicity offered to loan her veil, which Rosalind remembered for its outsized length and fine embroidery. It was decided she must have a grand new dress with a train, so they moved the nuptials out another three days to allow the court seamstress and her army of assistants to design and create it.
“It will be a crunch,” said Felicity, “but you’re my baby sister. Nothing is too fine.”
“We were already married,” she said softly, just to remind them. “That was not a lie.”
“No one thinks you were lying,” said her mother. “It’s only that…when you’re the daughter of an English duke and enjoy connections to royalty, it doesn’t do to have your marriage lines written in some parish book in rural Sicilia. It harms nothing to have another ceremony and a more official document. When we return to London, we can truthfully put about that you were wed in an Italian court. Not that your other wedding wasn’t meaningful,” she added, seeing Rosalind’s frown. “We just don’t want talk. You understand what I mean.”
“People love to gossip,” said Jane. “You recall I was a victim of gossip myself. If you and Elizabeth hadn’t been there to comfort me, I don’t know how I would have survived. Dear Rosalind, I don’t wish you to be hurt.”
Felicity nodded. “Indeed, you and Marlow have been through enough. We shall ensure your return to society goes as well as can be managed. There now, don’t be sad.”
Rosalind found she’d turned into a sobbing mess again. “I’m just sorry for all of it,” she said. “I regret everything so much, but I cannot be sorry about Marlow. If we must have a fine wedding in a palace for everything to be proper, then we shall. Oh, I am thankful, Felicity. Don’t think I’m not.”
That night, when she and Marlow were finally alone, Rosalind sobbed in his arms, pouring out all the guilt she’d shoved down over the course of their adventures, because it had been too stressful and inconvenient to entertain. Now it weighed on her like a ship’s anchor about her neck. There were too many people around her who knew the old Rosalind, the sweet, biddable one, and now looked at her with new eyes.