Christmas Wishes Part 1. Elizabeth Rolls

as though walking arm in arm with her was the most natural thing in the world.

      When she was sure they were far enough ahead so that they might not be overheard, she whispered, ‘Are you mad?’

      ‘No more so than the next man,’ he replied. ‘Do you fear for the sanity of our children? Because we will need to have a son, if you do not wish to see more of young Tom Kanner.’

      ‘Children.’ She had been a fool not to think of that last night when they were being so careless in their lovemaking.

      ‘You do like children, do you not? You have two, of course. You seem to enjoy them well enough. It is a great comfort to me that you survived both the births and the upbringing. I suspect you are made of sterner stuff than the two duchesses who precede you.’

      ‘Duchesses,’ she said. That was what she would be, should they marry. Not a fairy-tale princess, but the very real Duchess of Montford.

      ‘Think of the advantages to Gwendolyn and Benjamin.’ He was speaking quickly, as though he feared that he must plead and win the case before they arrived at the church door.

      ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘We cannot.’ It was as it had been at breakfast; she could not breathe. They were still travelling forward, down the road to the church. But she felt like a leaf on the tide, being dragged along against her will.

      ‘Are you not at least fond of me?’ He seemed taken aback by the thought. ‘I am sure you will find me the most amiable of husbands.’ Then he smiled.

      ‘It is not that,’ she said hurriedly, trying to ignore the little rush she felt when he smiled at her. ‘It is just that...’ And what was it, precisely? ‘It is so sudden,’ she said at last.

      ‘Not really,’ he answered. ‘I am near to fifty. To have waited half a century to feel the way I do is a long wait indeed.’

      He felt something for her. Apparently, it was more than friendship and more than lust. ‘You have been married before,’ she reminded him.

      ‘Each time, it was different. And this...’ He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. ‘What I feel for you is different. It is sudden, as you say. But it is strong. And I have never been so sure of a thing in my life as I am when I look at you. Life is fleeting. Why should we wait?’

      Why indeed? She knew what he spoke of, for she felt it, as well. Since the day he had walked into her kitchen, she had been caught in the sort of giddy, headlong rush she had not felt since she was a girl. But was it wise to trust such feelings?

      He sensed her doubt and patted the hand that rested on his elbow. ‘Marry me. It will be fine. You shall see.’

      ‘So you keep saying,’ she replied. ‘But perhaps it would have been better had you told me of your intentions last night.’

      ‘I thought I made them clear enough.’ Now his smile was positively wicked. ‘With my body I did thee worship. In comparison, it is but an afterthought to endow you with my worldly goods.’

      Very well. They had been married in body and spirit by the time the clock had struck twelve. And she had no intention of admitting, in a churchyard, on Christmas, that she had been willing to surrender to his charms without the benefit of matrimony. ‘I do not need a man to help me, Thomas Kanner,’ she said, a little too primly. ‘Until recently, we have done quite well on our own.’ And what a lie that was. ‘For you to swoop in and rescue me is entirely unnecessary.’ But most welcome.

      He gave her a look that sent the blood singing in her veins. ‘Is that what I am doing? I had no idea. I was attempting to seduce you.’

      ‘Shh,’ she said, looking around her to be sure none of the villagers gathering on the path ahead of them had heard. And then she whispered, ‘You succeeded.’

      ‘That is good,’ he said. ‘Because once you realise how much work comes with the title, you will wonder if you have gone from the frying pan into the fire.’

      ‘Work?’ It had never occurred to her that there would be more than the title.

      ‘The management of several houses, scores of servants, entertainments to arrange, charities to organise...’ He ticked off the duties on his fingers. ‘Your poor daughter would have had no idea how to go on, and you’d have ended up doing the work anyway.’ He glanced down at her, a sly sidelong glance. ‘And I’d have been your son-in-law. For the sake of the girl’s honour, I’d have been willing to try. But it was scant hours in your presence before I realised how awkward that would have been.’

      ‘Awkward?’

      ‘To have such carnal thoughts about a woman who should be respected as a mother?’ He shuddered.

      She gave another hurried ‘Hush,’ and then followed with ‘Good morning, Reverend Allcot! And a Merry Christmas to you.’ They had arrived at the church door, and the vicar was there to greet them, eyeing the man who escorted her with obvious disapproval.

      Before he could speak, Thomas supplied his own introduction. ‘Allcot, is it? Good morning, Vicar. I am Montford. Let us go into the vestry. I wish to speak to you about performing a marriage.’

      ‘But the service is about to begin.’

      ‘Do not worry. It cannot begin without you. Nor me, for that matter.’ Thomas cast a dazzling smile at the most sombre spinster in the village. ‘It is not every day a duke comes to hear you preach the homily.’

      If he meant to create gossip, he was succeeding. There was an audible gasp from the woman, and a whisper rippling through the parishioners lined up behind them.

      And now Mr Allcot was being swept along on the same tide that carried her, until they reached the vestry and Thomas produced the licence from his pocket.

      ‘There has been a slight change of plans, as you well know. My nephew was totally unfit to offer for young Miss Marsh.’ He smiled again. ‘I have no such encumbrance, nor does Mrs Marsh. So if you would do us the service of a sacrament, in the time allotted...’

      Allcot glanced down at the paper before him. ‘This cannot be proper. The names are wrong. Perhaps if you could reapply...’

      Generva had not realised how much she had come to want the marriage until it appeared it might be impossible. The sudden sense that her heart was crashing towards the ground was proof enough of her true feelings. She inserted herself into the conversation. ‘The groom’s name is right, is it not, my darling Montford? Thomas Kanner was named to honour you.’ She looked up at him in adoration.

      He smiled back at her, reading the message in her eyes. ‘That is very true. We will add my title to the line.’ He picked up a pen from the writing desk, and did so. ‘There. Right as rain.’

      ‘But the bride...’ Allcot laid a bony finger beside Gwendolyn’s name.

      Now Thomas took up the aspergillum resting on the table and obliterated the bride with a sprinkling of holy water. ‘Oh, dear. I seem to have smudged it. But we can fix it yet.’

      He scrawled Generva in the place from which Gwendolyn was rapidly disappearing. ‘There.’ He smiled in satisfaction. ‘All better.’

      The vicar stared in alarm at the mangled paper. ‘That cannot be proper,’ he insisted in a weak voice.

      ‘I fail to see why not,’ Thomas said, all innocence. ‘The licence is right. But the names were written wrong. They are correct now. For myself, I can hardly wait to upbraid Chuckles for his mistake. Over dinner, perhaps.’ He turned to Generva, as if in an aside. ‘You will love the man, my darling. We must entertain him as soon as we are back in London.’

      ‘Chuckles?’ she said.

      ‘An old nickname for my friend Charles. Manners-Sutton,’ he added for the benefit of the vicar.

      ‘The archbishop?’ The vicar turned as white as his alb.

      ‘His