She was supposed to be littering the aisle with white rose petals but halfway to her destination, she spotted her uncle and shouted, “Unka Douglas!” as if she didn’t expect him to be anywhere near the Cathedral that day or even in the country (and hadn’t been practising her role for a month). She threw aside her basket of petals and dashed forward, throwing herself against him as the congregation twittered.
“She’ll ruin everything,” Will hissed at Julia’s side, his nerves in tangles.
Julia bent, not nearly as far as she had to ten months ago, to look him in the eye. “She’s just being Ruby and it doesn’t ruin the day, honey, it makes it perfect.”
“If you say so,” Will grumbled dubiously, clearly too overwhelmed by his looming responsibility to find rambunctious Ruby perfect at anything.
Lizzie, however, was perfect, serenely gliding up the aisle like she was a professional bridesmaid. She too was wearing ivory, a younger girl’s version of Julia’s dress (except not backless). It fell neatly in a column to just above her ankles. With it she wore gloves and a matching double-strand choker of pearls at her throat, wrist and tiny teardrop earrings (Douglas’s “early” birthday present to Lizzie whose birthday just happened to be in July).
Julia saw that Douglas decided to calm Ruby by picking her up and positioning her at his hip to give her the best vantage point of the proceedings. Julia found this, too, endearing and her heart melted at the sight.
Then again, she found almost everything about Douglas endearing.
However, upon entering the aisle out of nowhere an unbidden wave of melancholia overwhelmed Julia.
She was afraid something like this would happen and as she walked hesitantly forward, she tried to focus on Douglas. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t contain her trembling lips, her heart beating like a jackhammer, her legs feeling like jelly and her hand clutching Will’s arm with vice-like pressure, all the while her throat burning like fire.
“You okay, Auntie Jewel?” Will asked out of the side of his mouth, wincing at her grip on his arm.
Halfway up the aisle Julia halted. Ignoring the gasps of the crowd, she turned to her nephew and put her hand on his cheek. Again, she bent toward him.
“I didn’t say it before, when you told me you’d give me away, but I’m going to say it now. I miss your Dad with everything that is me, but I’m so proud you’re here with me now,” she whispered to him, her eyes filling with tears.
Will stared at her a moment then gulped back his emotion, nodded slowly and finally shot a sidelong glance up the aisle.
“Um, Uncle Douglas looks kinda mad,” he whispered, his face bright red.
Julia jerked upright and saw that Douglas didn’t look mad, he looked furious. He’d put down Ruby (she was now standing by a bewildered-looking Lizzie) and was scowling at Julia.
Julia fairly raced up the aisle, pulling Will along with her.
“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered when she reached him, avoiding his eyes, “we were having a moment.”
“Perhaps, in future, you’ll pick the timing for your ‘moments’ better,” Douglas replied dryly and her eyes flew to his.
His were carefully blank.
Julia’s heart sank.
“Er, shall I start the ceremony?” the Bishop asked in a low voice.
Douglas quirked a brow at the same time Julia cried, “Yes!”
After this incongruous start, Will’s performance at giving her away was superb.
With Julia’s hand held firmly in Douglas’s (very firmly) the Bishop started the ceremony.
Julia muttered under her breath, “I’m sorry, Douglas-honey, I got a little overwhelmed with missing Gavin. It just came over me.”
When the endearment came from her lips, the first time she’d ever used it when addressing him, Douglas’s lithe body froze, statue-still and Julia misinterpreted it as anger.
She thought of his father, his mother, their hideous treatment of him and what he likely thought was her disrespect in the aisle.
She turned to him and vowed fervently (if a little hysterically), “If someone was choking you in Sommersgate, I’d spend all night trying to claw my way in, even if it killed me, I swear to God!”
At this dramatic pronouncement, Douglas turned only his head in her direction and she realised the Bishop had stopped talking again.
“Darling, would you care to be quiet long enough for us to get married?” Douglas asked politely.
Julia could have happily had the floor open up and engulf her at that moment.
“Yes, yes, definitely,” she turned to the Bishop and nodded at him encouragingly while giving him a shaky smile.
The Bishop looked at Douglas for a shade longer than was necessary, obviously giving him time to run from the Cathedral, but Douglas stood true.
When Julia looked out the corners of her eyes at her intended to gauge just how furious he was, she saw his lips twitching with humour and her breath left her in relief. She leaned into him, resting her body against his side and she let her head drop to his shoulder.
The Bishop started talking faster, his eyes widening at this new affront to tradition and decorum.
But Julia was finished making a fool of herself and the only thing that caused her to be anything but deliriously happy (and it was only to cause her to be even more deliriously happy) was when Douglas’s deep voice rang out in the cathedral when he said his vows and when he said, “I do.”
It might not have been the near-shout Gavin had used but it was damned close.
And although Gavin had given Tamsin a mighty kiss when they were pronounced man and wife, the entire congregation at Wells Cathedral shifted uncomfortably in their seats when Douglas kissed Julia.
It was not decorous and befitting a church.
It was long and hungry with possession, branding her as his in the eyes of God (literally) and everyone else and it left Julia swaying, dazed and utterly, thrillingly, rapturously, ecstatically happy.
“I heard this house was frightful and actually haunted but it seems lovely to me.” A woman Julia didn’t know was speaking to her at the wedding reception which was being held at Sommersgate.
Julia nodded and stared in vague alarm out the French doors of the old entryway at a ten foot tall ice sculpture of swans sitting in the middle of the garden, their bills pressed together to form a heart.
She had heard no discussion about ice sculptures.
“If a little… ornate.” The woman was still talking.
With a smile, Julia turned her attention to the woman and explained, “There are no ghosts here…” she smiled and winked before she finished, “anymore.”
Before there was a chance for the woman to reply, there was a tinkling of glasses indicating that a toast was soon to be made.
Julia and Douglas had decided against a formal meal and traditional reception with the traditional toasts. Heavy hors d’ouevres and an even heavier open bar, good company and good conversation were all they were to provide. Julia simply wanted a party, a joyous celebration and nothing tired and staid.
Therefore she was a bit surprised that the glasses were being tapped for a toast and she looked to the stairs where Douglas stood on the sixth step.
Once the congregation quieted, Douglas said across the expanse, “Could I ask my wife to join me, please?”
A thrill ran down her spine at being referred to as his “wife” and she turned to the lady and murmured, “If you’ll excuse me, my husband wants me.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, smiling brightly into Julia’s glittering eyes.