Winter looped her arm through Gwyneth’s. “Come, my dear. We will go through your dresses, and—Where are you going, Thaddeus?”
He was already halfway up the stairs. “I have something to give her, if you recall.”
“Ah. Yes, he does.”
They took a more leisurely approach up the staircase, arriving at the top as Thad emerged from his bedchamber. Which, Gwyneth realized with a dry throat, would be hers tonight as well. A thought which might have terrified her had Thad’s smile not filled her so completely with joy.
“Here we are.” In his hands he held a delicate chain of gold with three pearls upon it. Even as she admired the simple beauty of the necklace, he reached to fasten it around her neck. “I realize pearls are not the traditional engagement gift, but these have a story I’m sure Mother will share in a few minutes. And since I do not know if I will be able to get a ring in time—”
“Of course you will have a ring,” Winter said.
Thad grinned and kept his gaze on Gwyneth, as if his mother were not even there. “I mean, I will have a ring.”
“My mother’s.”
“’Twas my grandmother’s.” The clasp secure, he dropped his hands and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “But I am afraid not much else will be what you likely envisioned for your wedding, and the honeymoon trip will have to wait. When the war is over, though, my love, I will take you anywhere in the world you please.”
Gwyneth grasped his hands and cherished the feel of the cool pearls against her skin. “Perhaps I once daydreamed with my friends of orange blossoms and wedding trips to Paris and Rome, but all I ever really wanted was what I have right here. The kind of love I saw in my parents, with the promise of forever they taught me was paramount.”
He leaned down and brushed a single, soft, eternal kiss upon her lips. “I love you, Gwyneth. More than life itself.”
A moment later he was bounding down the stairs, leaving her in a haze of bliss to veil the frightening night just passed. She looked to Winter. “I fear I am dreaming.”
“No time for that today.” With a smile, Thad’s mother took her hand and pulled her into Gwyneth’s room. “Show me your best things. I daresay your gowns are more in ton than anything Philly or I could offer, though we would be happy to lend you anything you might need.”
As she pulled out dress after dress, each and every one she had packed, Gwyneth felt a bittersweet stirring in her heart. Mama ought to have been with her on her wedding day. Papa ought to be below with the gentlemen. The Wesleys, at least, should have been fluttering about, the mister trying to be useful and the missus with her constant “Now, love” this and “Here, love” that.
But they were not, none of them, and some by choice. All her ties to England seemed to have drifted away like smoke on the wind. How blessed she was that the Lord had put her in another family just as loving, just as true to Him, just as much her own.
Philly joined them within the hour, Emmy not long after, and, given the constant stream of visitors she heard downstairs, Arnaud had been busily spreading the word. All the exclamations that floated up the stairs sounded joyful and, perhaps, edged with desperation. The fierce clinging to life and hope in the face of destruction.
Around midday, Rosie poked her head into the room, where they were all mending gowns and adding bits of lace. “Gwyneth, Mrs. Lane, Reverend Gruber arrived and would like to talk to you.”
Though she had been sitting in a pew in Reverend Gruber’s church every Sunday for months now, nerves still jumped and twitched in Gwyneth’s stomach at that. The good reverend, like everyone else outside the family, knew her as Miss Hampton. That would have to be rectified before he officiated the wedding. If he would even agree to do so.
“I showed him to the study. Mrs. Rhodes and her girls are at work decorating everything else.”
“Come, dear.” With a calming smile, Winter took her hand and led her down.
The minister waited within. Thad was there too, which helped the knots unravel. As did the warm smile Reverend Gruber gave her.
“My dear Miss Hampton. Many congratulations. I cannot say how glad I am to have learned that you and our Captain Lane have decided to wed.”
She let him take her hand and returned his smile, but she glanced to Thad. “Thank you, Reverend. But there is one thing…”
“Ah.” Thad chuckled and tucked an arm around her waist. “Quite right. Her last name is actually Fairchild, sir. Gwyneth is the daughter of the British general.”
When the minister’s face went pale, Gwyneth feared the worst. That he would refuse to marry them, that he would storm out announcing to one and all that she was the enemy. Then the man shook his head. “The one who was murdered? I read about it in the papers. How very terrible for you.”
She relaxed against Thad’s arm. “It has been, yes.”