“It will only stop good things from happening. Come, now. They’re waiting for you.” She grinned. “He’s waiting for you.”
Elsie nodded and let Emmeline pull her from the room.
Please let it be so. Please. Please. Please.
The church wasn’t far from the stonemasonry shop, so there was no point in hiring a carriage, though Elsie did not like walking down Main Street garbed like a bride. She hadn’t yet put on her veil, and she ignored the few looks she got, keeping her eyes straight ahead. The light exercise helped steady her. Maybe Emmeline was right. Maybe this would all go off without a hitch. Maybe she’d get a happy ending like in her novel readers. Maybe.
They entered through the tower, and the church bells began ringing as Emmeline pinned Elsie’s veil to her hair. Elsie’s nerves cooled and ran from her shoulders to her feet, raising gooseflesh beneath her dress.
Emmeline gently pinched Elsie’s cheeks, bringing some color into them. Then, with an encouraging smile, she hurried into the nave to spread her flowers before sitting down. It was tradition, ensuring a happy path for the bride.
Elsie licked her lips. Took another breath.
The church bells ceased, and the church sounded eerily silent in their absence. She hadn’t asked for a choir to fill the empty space. She’d been too convinced something would happen to prevent . . . well, this.
She gripped her simple bouquet, made of twelve white roses. The flowers had been nearly as expensive as the dress.
If he’s there, everything will be all right, she thought, approaching the door to the nave. If Bacchus is there, then even if Merton appears, or a spellmaker with a knife, or Raven himself, it will be all right.
Please, God, let him be there.
Surely Emmeline would have rushed back out to warn her if he weren’t.
The organ music started. Heart thudding against her ribs like a battering ram, Elsie waited until a boy no older than ten opened the door to the nave. The aisle leading to the altar was lined with white rose petals. Most of the pews were empty, as was to be expected. Her gaze traveled down it, finding Ogden, the clergyman, the parish clerk, and—
Bacchus.
He stood to the left of the altar, dressed in blue, his hair pulled back more neatly than she’d ever seen it. Elsie walked toward him, down the aisle, which seemed painfully long given all the eyes on her. She glanced over them. The Duchess of Kent had come and smiled at her sweetly. There was no sign of her husband or daughters. Across the aisle from her stood Lord Astley; he’d come to witness the event, as promised. Ahead of him, Emmeline, Reggie, and Irene. By the duchess, in a wheeled chair and unable to stand, was an older woman with gray-streaked blonde hair. It took a second for Elsie to place her. That had to be Master Ruth Hill! Her color looked well, and that was a relief.
And then her gaze found Bacchus again. His green eyes hadn’t wavered from hers, and in the chapel lighting they reminded her of an evening in the forest. He was beautiful in every sense a man could be beautiful. Her nerves lightened to a buzz. Let Merton come. She couldn’t hurt Elsie so long as Bacchus was near. No one could.
The way he looked at her warmed her center. Was Emmeline right? Did Bacchus look at her a certain way? Was it just the dress? But Bacchus’s eyes hadn’t so much as strayed to the dress.
She reached him, heart still drumming as though she were marching to war. The congregation sat. The clergyman started saying something. Elsie couldn’t process it.
She was getting married. She was getting married. She was getting married.
God, please don’t let me cry.
“Who gives this woman away?” the clergyman asked.
Ogden stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. “I do.”
Elsie grinned at him. She would miss seeing his mussed hair in the morning, sharing meals with him and Emmeline, arguing over how old he was. Heaven knew she would miss that.
Ogden sat, and Elsie found herself glancing at the doors, the windows, looking for shadows, listening for sounds. But she found nothing out of the ordinary.
She caught sight of Reggie’s ear-to-ear grin, and realized she was mirroring it when her cheeks began to hurt.
And then her gaze shifted to Bacchus, who was still watching her with those forest eyes, and Elsie felt suddenly undone, like she was falling and flying at the same time. Like her heart beat somewhere besides in her body.
And then he spoke, his Bajan accent genuine and rich.
“I, Bacchus Kelsey, take thee, Elsie Camden, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Her vision blurred, and she blinked it clear. Her spirit turned within her. The clergyman spoke to her, and it was by some miracle she was coherent enough to repeat what he said.
“I, Elsie Camden, take thee, Bacchus Kelsey, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.”
And then Bacchus reached for her hand. She’d given the ring back to him last night, and when he slid it on her finger, it felt like she was seeing it for the first time. For a moment, as his fingers slid up hers, time stopped.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Placing the ring—Ogden’s father’s ring—on Bacchus’s fourth finger was the most reverent experience Elsie had ever had. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
To her right, the clergyman closed the Book of Common Prayer. “I pronounce you man and wife.”
Elsie’s heart slammed back into her, nearly knocking her from her feet. This was it. It was done. She and Bacchus were married.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Her thoughts snapped to attention as Bacchus leaned down and touched his lips to hers. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given her.
And then, despite herself, she laughed.
The rest passed in a blur. The cheers, the applause—Elsie barely registered Lord Astley leaving, his witness done. She and Bacchus were swept into the vestry, where their marriage license awaited them. The clergyman signed it first, followed by Bacchus. Elsie, with trembling fingers, scrawled her name: Elsie Amanda Camden. She hadn’t realized she’d settled on a middle name until that moment. It looked well, she thought. Elsie Amanda Camden . . . Kelsey.
Congratulations were heaped upon them from their small wedding party. Cheeks kissed, hands shaken. Elsie pulled Emmeline aside after receiving the vicar’s well-wishes.
“I know you’re not formally a bridesmaid, but you should be,” she confessed, and pulled a small broach, in the shape of a dove, free from her gown. “I wanted you to have this anyway.”
Emmeline gasped. “Oh, this is the one from the dressmaker’s shop! Oh, Elsie, it must’ve been expensive.”
“I’m a spellbreaker, don’t know you?” Elsie prodded her shoulder. “I am quite employable. I want you to have it so you’ll think of me when I’m not around.”
Emmeline drew her into a tight hug. “I’ll remember you besides, you ninny! Thank you.” She pulled back, then tipped her head to something over Elsie’s shoulder. Elsie turned to see the Duchess of Kent approaching shyly. Emmeline squeezed Elsie’s hand before leaving them. Bacchus noticed as well, for he stepped over and placed a hand on Elsie’s shoulder.