A June Bride by Teresa DesJardien Page A

Alessandra Hamilton, promise to love, honor, and obey your husband, Geoffrey, until death do you part?” the vicar intoned with his eyes fixed on the good book before him. When she did not answer at once, he looked up over the bible and the pince-nez balanced on his nose, and harumphed.
    Alessandra stared back at the vicar, until finally her eyes, as if of their own volition, raised to meet Geoffrey’s. His face was arranged along somber lines, but there was a light of amusement and comprehension in the back of his eyes. His other hand came down on hers where she held his arm and he squeezed gently. As if he’d never said “divorce.”  As if he were saying, “Remember what we agreed: to love, honor, and obey as best we may, respectful of one another.” He was calm, he was assured; she must emulate him in that.
    In fact, he was dashedly handsome. She had always known her cousin was good-looking, but here, today, in a man’s wedding finery, his cravat starched and arranged in clever folds, his rich brown eyes complemented by the gray morning coat and the gray and white waistcoat he sported, she saw he was decidedly attractive.
    The vicar cleared his throat again.
    Alessandra recalled herself. Her voice barely quivering, she answered, “I do.”
    There were a series of sobs from those who had come to observe the impetuous wedding, and only a few noticed that one of them came from Jacqueline Bremcott.
    Alessandra repeated all the phrases every young girl had memorized by heart by the time she was ten: “in sickness and in health”; “for richer, for poorer”; “for better, for worse.” Geoffrey was then asked the same questions, and answered each also, “I do.”
    “You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said, beaming down at them as he snapped the bible closed.
    Geoffrey rose to his feet and pulled Alessandra up after him by both hands. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, his lips striking her on the side of the mouth instead of directly on her lips.
    One part of Alessandra heard her mother blowing her nose and murmuring, “My baby. My baby,” Another part heard her father telling someone, “All done up then, and didn’t cost me a fortune to pop her off, neither.” And yet another part of her could do nothing but stand there and marvel at the sensation that tingled at the corner of her mouth.
    A tug on her arm persuaded her to move, and she came out of her daze to realize Geoffrey was trying to lead her from the church.
    “There’s to be a reception,” she said to him, and then winced at her own inanity.
    “At the house. Yes, I know. Are you well?” His hand slid under her elbow, the better to steady her.
    “Oh, yes, quite well.” She shook her head, as though to clear it, and managed a smile. “How are we to get there?” The look he gave her said she was still saying inane things, but he answered, “The carriage. Your father provided one for us. His party will be brought back with some of the others.”
    “Oh, the carriage,” she said, her smile growing even brighter to cover up the fact she had almost said, “Alone? Just the two of us?” I’ve thought about bedding, but somehow not about being alone together. She just kept from shaking her head in amazement at herself.
    He stopped in the antechamber, and she was grateful when she felt the cool stones of a wall pressed against her back; they would help her stay upright.
    “Are you going to be well if I leave you here for a moment? I really should slip a little something to the vicar. I doubt anyone else will recall to do so.” He looked at her keenly, but then a flood of well-wishers surrounded them, coming suddenly from the interior church. He seemed to assume she would be taken care of, and so he disappeared back the way they had just come.
    “You look so lovely, my dear, truly you do,” someone close by said.
    By the time Geoffrey returned, ushered through the press by a swell of good wishes, Alessandra had regained some of her