Page 57 of Jennifer
‘I think the boot is actually on the other foot,’ his wife commented drily, ‘and be honest dearest, if Jennifer has set her heart on him, the poor love doesn’t stand a chance.’
‘He’s hardly what I’d hoped for,’ Nicholas responded. ‘He lives in a rundown tower with his father, who is, according to Augustus, a mutton-headed chawbacon.’
‘Truly, it takes one to know one,’ Grace answered tartly. She turned on to her side, facing her husband. ‘We’ve always known that Jenny would never settle for someone too high on the instep, and as difficult as it is to say this, we both know that Caerlaverock suits her. She’s never looked so well.
'She doesn’t want the life of an indolent aristocrat, Nick. She wants to make a difference.’ She gave a general wave around the room. ‘Here, she can do that, and I believe Brendon Galbraith will stand right beside her.’
Nicholas was silent for a while, his eyes half closed, deep in thought. In truth, he’d long been troubled that he did not have more time to spend at Caerlaverock. The estate deserved much more attention than he was able to give it. A school for foundlings was an admirable idea. He was consumed with sudden awe for his spirited daughter. Truly, she was one of a kind.
He opened his eyes and turned his head towards Grace. ‘Caerlaverock was built on what was, once upon a time, Galbraith land,’ he commented mildly. ‘Mayhap it’s time the twofamilies finally took possession together.’
∞∞∞
The next day, Nicholas sent for Jennifer just after breakfast. As she entered the room, seating herself gracefully opposite the desk at which he sat, Nicholas experienced a momentary pang. His daughter was a beautiful woman and would have been an asset to any drawing room in the land. Soon, he guessed, she would be attired in clothes much better suited to the lifestyle she’d chosen. Never again would she sparkle in the ballrooms of theton…
Abruptly, Nicholas’s thoughts screeched to a halt. What the bloody hell was he thinking? He couldn’t even remember a ball where Jennifer had actually sparkled – except perhaps the one last November which had purportedly been held to remember the gunpowder plot over two hundred years earlier. As he remembered, Jennifer had set one of the drapes alight, and it had cost him a pretty penny to replace them – especially as the Baron in question was a penny-pinching, old toad-eater who’d last replaced the curtains at the coronation of King George III.
He found himself chuckling as Jennifer looked at him enquiringly. Strange how when one stopped trying to manipulate life, it very often worked out exactly as it was supposed to…
‘May ah remind ye that ah’ve nae actually asked ye tae marry me,’ was Brendon's comment an hour later.'
Jennifer waved an airy hand. ‘No matter, I’m perfectly happy to do the asking,’ she responded with a chuckle.
‘Ye’ll dae nothin o’ the sort,’ he retorted, glaring down at her inoutrage. ‘Ye tell me their graces hae given their permission, but they hae nae gaen it tae me. Ah’ll speak wi’ yer da this eenin…’ He broke off with a whoomph as she threw herself at his chest. His lips quirked as he looked down at her, his eyes plainly revealing his happiness.
‘But dinnae be thinking ah’ll be sharing yer bed until we be handfasted…’
∞∞∞
The handfasting took place a mere three weeks later. It was a simple ceremony during which both Brendon and Jennifer wrapped a piece of cloth around their clasped hands and declared their wish to be husband and wife in front of two witnesses.
Unfortunately perhaps, the two witnesses they chose were Brendon’s da and Jennifer’s grandfather. A muttering of, ‘Deuced heathen practices,’ and, ‘Ah dinnae ken what the world be coming tae, wedding a bloody Sassenach,’ certainly didn’t do much to encourage the romance of the moment. Nevertheless, both men had to concede that they’d never seen a couple look so happy.
And while the wedding breakfast was suitably formal as befitted the marriage of the Laird of Caerlaverock’s daughter, the ceilidh that came afterwards was anything but. Indeed, with Dougal’s instruction, the Reverend discovered a hitherto unimagined flair for Highland dancing and what’s more, he vowed to teach Agnes as soon as he was back home in Blackmore…
Chapter Twenty-Four
Naturally there also had to be a good old fashioned Anglican wedding.
Jennifer travelled home with her parents in advance of Brendon who announced he couldn’t possibly have the father of the groom dressed in a kilt that last looked to have been washed not long after Culloden. Before leaving, the Reverend had quietly had a private word suggesting the groom also purchase a clean pair of drawers since the ones Dougal was wearing had clearly never been washed at all…
To Augustus Shackleford the journey back to Blackmore had been the longest of his entire life. Even Flossy had taken to curling up under the seat, her head firmly tucked underneath her paws. Dear God, he’d forgotten just how much children could talk – or mayhap he’d never actually been stuck in a carriage with one for nigh on a sennight before.
He could swear that Finn never stopped. From the moment they climbed into the carriage at Caerlaverock to the moment they stepped out of it at the vicarage. He had no idea what he’d do if Percy refused to take the lad. Agnes would likely leave him… He paused and thought for a moment. Clearly, every cloud had a silver lining.
Still, at the end of the day, he needn’t have worried. He’d taken Finn to visit, and almost from the onset, both Percy and Lizzyhad been captivated by the lad - although what they actually saw in him was anybody’s guess. As far as the Reverend was concerned, the boy’s only saving grace was his partiality to bread-and-butter pudding.
As with every other Shackleford wedding – although the villagers were quick to point out that, in actual fact, this was aSinclairwedding and much more genteel – the whole of Blackmore was invited, and for one day, the high and mighty (not to mention the good and the great) mixed with the commoners – and of course the rest of the Shacklefords, who, as always, provided the entertainment.
Everyone agreed that the bride was a vision and the groom looked very handsome, even though he was wearing a skirt and had an accent that absolutely no one could understand apart from Mary Noon who had apparently courted a man from Glasgow in another life.
So, all in all, the wedding turned out to be a corker, which was no more than the Blackmore residents had come to expect from their Duke and Duchess. Indeed, as the villagers were staggering home, they were already taking bets as to who would be next.
THE END
