It was a wedding worth waiting for, as the bride and groom agreed after the event. But, ah, the wait had been tedious in the extreme.

On three separate occasions between Christmas and August the viscount had traveled to Bath. On two of those occasions he had stayed for a week, on the third for ten days. And yet he had found his sojourns there almost more frustrating than the long spells when he was not there, since Susanna flatly refused to neglect any of her duties-or would certainly have done so if he had ever asked. During those weeks he had come to understand that a teacher’s work was more a way of life than a job. There was almost literally no spare time, even for a languishing fiancé.

Apart from the dreariness and frustrations of the wait, though, they had been happy months for Peter, who felt that all his dreams had suddenly come true and would come to full fruition once he had a wife by his side at Sidley-not that a wife had been part of the original dream. Once she was there, he doubted that he would ever want to step beyond the bounds of Sidley and its neighborhood-his home, his circle of contentment and happiness.

Susanna did have regrets about the life she would leave behind on her marriage. The school had been home and haven to her as a girl. It was where her bewildered, badly bruised heart had healed. It had been home and workplace during her young adulthood. She loved teaching, she loved the girls, she loved her fellow teachers, especially Claudia, who had been both sister and mother as well as friend to her for many years.

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 Susanna must have arrived with Colonel Osbourne. And then he was sure of it as he looked up at the vicar and the Reverend Clapton, who was celebrating the nuptial service with him, and saw that the latter was beaming with grandfatherly pride as his eyes focused on someone at the back of the church.

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 bonnet covered with lace, one layer of which covered her face. She looked small, almost fragile, beside her large grandfather with his erect military bearing. She also looked incredibly lovely. And no bonnet or layer of lace could obscure those bright golden-red curls.

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, Susanna.

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 Anne and Frances came to her dressing room to hug her, and very nearly impossible when Claudia had arrived and held her close for surely a whole minute before releasing her.

“Susanna,” she had said, “I found it difficult to let Frances and Anne go-they were and are dear friends. But you are more than a friend. You came to me as a bewildered, sullen, unhappy girl, and I loved you from the first moment, well before your true nature shone through. I would not let you go to any man who was unworthy of you or to anyone you did not love with all your heart. Though what I would do to stop you I do not know.”

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, Susanna discovered as soon as Peter smiled, she was not terrified at all. Why should she be? This was her wedding day, and here they were at church together. And there was something more than the smile itself to dazzle her.

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 bonnet and-quite scandalously-kissing her briefly right on the lips. With the vicar and Mr. Raycroft and both her grandfathers looking on.

The organ was beginning a loud, joyful anthem as they came out of the vestry and proceeded along the nave, past the pews occupied by their relatives and friends. It seemed to Susanna that she had never smiled so much in her life-and yet she bestowed a special smile on her girls, seated side by side in two pews, all neatly clothed in their Sunday best, all on their very best behavior.

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.