Page 57 of When She Was a Governess
“I will.” Her voice trembled but didn’t break.
The vicar nodded. “Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”
Sebastian had already done so, but the ritual required asking again. He stood. “I do.”
Henry took Sophia’s right hand in his. His palm was warm, slightly damp with nerves. He was nervous too. Somehow that made her feel better.
The vicar prompted him, and Henry’s voice rang clear: “I, Henry George Montrose, take thee, Sophia Catherine Ashford, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for 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.”
He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hand tightened on hers. He might not love her the way she loved him, but he would honor these vows. He would be faithful, kind, protective.
It would have to be enough.
Then it was her turn. She repeated the words the vicar gave her, her voice gaining strength: “I, Sophia Catherine Ashford, take thee, Henry George Montrose, to 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 plight thee my troth.”
Henry released her hand only long enough to accept the ring from Thomas, who stepped forward as groomsman. It was a simple gold band, elegant in its plainness.
The vicar blessed it, then nodded to Henry.
Henry took her hand again, sliding the ring onto her finger as he spoke: “With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I theeworship, 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.”
With my body I thee worship.The words sent heat through her, made her acutely aware of what came after—the wedding night, the intimacy she both longed for and feared would never happen. Separate bedrooms, he’d said. A marriage in name only.
But the ring on her finger was real.
The vicar continued with prayers, with Scripture readings, with blessings. Sophia heard none of it. She was too aware of Henry beside her, of the way his shoulder almost touched hers, of how his breathing had quickened.
Finally: “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
They were married. It was done.
“Forasmuch as Henry and Sophia have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth to each other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Man and wife. Husband and wife. Married.
The vicar closed his book. Now they would sign the register and make it official.
But then James’s voice rang out from the pews: “Oh, for God’s sake, Montrose—kiss her.”
Startled laughter rippled through the small congregation. Georgiana swatted James’s arm, but she was smiling. Even the vicar looked amused.
Henry turned to Sophia, his eyes searching hers. Asking permission.
She nodded, barely breathing.
He took her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Then he leaned down and kissed her.
His lips were warm and soft, but then something shifted. His hands tightened slightly against her face, and the kiss deepened, became something more than a polite formality. It was tender and searching and made her legs weaken.
Sophia’s hands came up instinctively to rest against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palms. Her first kiss. Their first kiss. And it was nothing like she’d imagined and everything she’d hoped for all at the same time.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark and slightly unfocused, and she saw her own wonder reflected there. For a moment they just stared at each other, the rest of the world fading away.
Then Amelia’s excited squeal broke the spell, and they both turned, slightly dazed, to face their small audience.
Around them, the congregation was clapping—even in this solemn space, James’s irreverence had broken the formal atmosphere. Amelia was bouncing in Lucy’s arms. Rose was crying. Charlotte was beaming.
The vicar cleared his throat, smiling. “If you’ll follow me to sign the register?”
