The church bells were pealing merrily.

Every house in the village must have emptied out its inhabitants, who were gathered in the street in their Sunday best and in festive spirits because they were all to be treated to their own wedding breakfast at the village inn in one hour's time, courtesy of the Duke of Bewcastle.

It was the scene that greeted Freyja and Joshua as they emerged from the church. Someone set up a cheer, and everyone joined in, a little self-consciously at first, but with growing enthusiasm as the congregation began to spill out onto the church steps after the bride and groom and the best man-the Reverend Calvin Moore-and the bridesmaid.

"Shall we wait to be swamped by grinning guests?" Joshua asked. "Or shall we make a dash for it?"

"Let's make a dash for it," she said, and he took her hand in his and ran along the path with her, beneath the great old tree, past applauding, smiling villagers, to the carriage.

It took a while to get her in-her velvet gown came complete with a train. She was laughing and breathless and flushed by the time he climbed in and took his seat beside her.

Everyone was out of the church by then-all her family, the Earl and Countess of Redfield, Viscount and Viscountess Ravensberg-both smiling fondly at Freyja-his grandmother and his aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Potford, with their children, Constance and Jim Saunders, Chastity, Lord and Lady Holt-Barron with their daughter and her betrothed, a few of his closest friends.

"Drive on," Joshua said to the coachman. It would be time enough to greet everyone back at Lindsey Hall before the wedding breakfast. Right now he had a new bride to gaze upon in some wonder.

Was he really a married man? He had found it hard to believe in the reality of it all after she had left Penhallow with her family. Every day he had half expected that one of her daily letters would be the one breaking off their betrothal.

They were married!

He found her hand inside her large white fur muff and laced his fingers with hers as the carriage rocked on its springs and moved away from the church.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked.

"What nonsense!" she said. "What utter nonsense, Josh. It is the dress and the hat and all the fur. And the color. Aunt Rochester advised me to wear white, and she was quite correct in her judgment. It is just the clothes."

He laughed. "I'll have to take them off you later tonight, then," he said. "All of them. Every stitch of them. Just to see if you are still beautiful without them. I'll wager you are."

"If you ever tell me lies," she said, looking at him severely, "I will knock your teeth down your throat, Josh. I swear I will."

"You can't," he said, grinning at her. "You are my wife now, my marchioness. You have to do as you are told. It has to be 'Yes, my lord,' and 'No, my lord,' and 'How may I serve you, my lord.' No more fisticuffs, my charmer."

For one moment he thought he was going to have to parry blows right there in full sight of their guests and all the villagers behind them. Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows arched upward and her green eyes glared. But then she threw back her head and laughed.

"You would tire of me in a month," she told him.

"Make that a week," he said.

If she were ever to look at herself in a mirror when she was laughing like this, he thought, she would see for herself how incredibly lovely she was, dark brows and Bedwyn nose notwithstanding. But he would not provoke her again by telling her that. Not now.

"No more complaints about winter?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "It is my favorite season."

"I love you, sweetheart," he told her. "My wife."

Her laughing expression softened into a smile, and she looked even lovelier.

"I am, aren't I?" she said. "And you are my husband. I do love you, Josh. I do."

He winked slowly at her and lowered his head and kissed her.

They both ignored the cheers that rose behind them. They were half drowned by the church bells anyway.



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Best-selling, multi-award-winning author Mary Balogh grew up in Wales, land of sea and mountains, song and legend. She brought music and a vivid imagination with her when she came to Canada to teach. Here she began a second career as a writer of books that always end happily and always celebrate the power of love. There are over three million copies of her Regency romances and historical romances in print. She is also the author of the Regency-era romantic novels No Man's Mistress, More than a Mistress, A Summer to Remember, Slightly Married, and Slightly Wicked, all available in paperback from Dell. Visit her website at www.marybalogh.com