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wood pigeons nesting in the rafters. There were only the parson, two witnesses, and the bride and groom, but a small group of curious villagers waited outside. Charity wished they could have given the people more of a show. She wore her best gown, a cream silk chemise dress with a narrow sash. Apart from the neck ruffle, it was a little plain. Rebecca had convinced her to wear her hair loose under a straw hat trimmed with wild primrose and lily of the valley. Perhaps in sympathy with her, the groom had dressed soberly for the occasion in a brown silk coat, cream embroidered waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, white cravat and fawn breeches. There were no velvets or laces and his hair was unpowered. He had pinned a nosegay of yellow flowers to his coat, as a knight might do for his lady, and she thought him very elegant.
    He complimented her on her outfit, saying what a delightful rustic picture she made, like a true country miss. It was not quite what she wished to hear. But she would let nothing detract from this special day. Her heart beat fast as he gazed into her eyes and said the words that would tie them together, come what may until death.
    “I give thee my troth,” she answered solemnly, gazing into his face and, she suspected, a little in love with him. She searched for some sign he felt the same but found nothing more than courtesy and acquiescence. It made the true meaning of the day seem unreal to her. Was she really married? She desperately wanted him to love her, if he didn’t already.
    “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Robert slipped his signet ring bearing the St Malin coat of arms on her finger, saying it would suffice until he could retrieve the family jewels from the London bank. It felt loose, and she panicked at the thought of losing it.
    After paying the parson enough money to make his eyes bulge, Robert proved as good as his word, for they departed for London straight after the ceremony, sparing only a little time for her to change into a travelling gown. Pulled by four matched greys, the well-sprung carriage travelled fast.
    “I hope Felix doesn’t miss us too much,” she said as she glanced out the window. They were passing through Helston and the smell of hops wafted in on the breeze from the Blue Anchor.
    “I trust James will look after him.”
    “But if the dog continues to pine?”
    “Then James will let me know. I promised my uncle I’d take good care of him.”
    “Felix loves you.”
    He looked surprised and pleased. “Do you think so?”
    “I’m sure of it.”
    She was to be closeted with her new husband for the best part of three days, and the prospect seemed daunting. She asked him to tell her more of London society, and he obliged. He made it sound thrilling and completely unnerving. Why couldn’t the wedding have been held in London with all the fanfare a man of his stature deserved? If he was ashamed of the less than brilliant match he’d made, why take her there at all? He might tuck her away in the country if he chose. She snuck a peak at his fine profile, and wanted to ask him if he was happy. But she was afraid of the answer for she often detected some underlying sadness in him. Her gown billowed out taking up far too much space in the carriage. Even through the yards of fabric, she felt sure his knee touched hers. Every touch was electric, like some unspoken message of what was to come.
    “Shall I meet your family in London?”
    His lips firmed. “I don’t spend time with my family.” Charity’s eyes widened. “Why ever not?”
    He leaned forward and flicked her cheek with a gentle finger. “You ask too many questions.”
    “If you supplied me with answers, I’d stop,” she said in a teasing tone. His amused blue eyes studied her.
    “I have reason to doubt it.”
    They spent their wedding night at a coaching inn in Honiton where Robert had engaged a private parlor and two bedchambers. The