Page 97 of Wed By Proxy

“Guy?” She gave a gurgle of laughter.

“When you stepped forward and whispered you were my wife. I felt it right here.” He pressed a fist to his chest.

“Instantly?”

“Aye. I knew, that you belonged here. With me.”

She continued to stroke the back of his neck in a calming fashion. “I understand why Temur and Waldon came with you, for I have a personal bond with them. But how did you persuade the Earl of Strethneal, Lord Wallace and the others to accompany you today?” she puzzled. “They are staunch northerners, are they not?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “But it seems when Julia used to complain other women did not like her, she spoke true. The Countess of Strethneal and Lady Wallace put fleas in their husbands’ ears after that night. They were as appalled as everyone that I had not given you your due. And it seems Kirkby is a romantic. He should get on well with your Queen,” he grumbled.

“How do you mean?”

“Seems he heard some ballad he took a fancy to. About my wronged wife kicking my arse and throwing my leman out on her ear.”

“What leman? Julia? I bet she’s spitting about that.”

“Oh aye, she’s furious her sainthood’s been revoked,” he agreed dryly. “Kirkby’s very much looking forward to meeting my warlike bride. And they all agree the Crown should returned you to me, if I vow to treat you right.”

“You do treat me right,” she said staunchly.

“You’re too good to me, my love,” he said frankly. “I have your jewel by the way. It’s in the case back home with the rest of them. She wasn’t happy to relinquish it,” he said grimly. “I was forced to be quite blunt.”

Mathilde forbore to answer, remembering her mother’s words. “Lord Vawdrey told me you’d suffered enough, and I should go easy on you,” she said instead. She for one, thought they had dwelt quite long enough on Julia.

“He did?” Guy sounded startled.

She nodded. “I know you don’t like him, but—”

“He brokered our marriage,” he interrupted her. “So, I already owe him a considerable debt. And if he asked you to look kindly upon me today, then it seems my grudge against him is long past.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

“That’s good,” said Mathilde earnestly. “For Fenella, his countess, is very dear to me and has written that she hopes our children will grow up to be close friends with theirs.” Guy’s eyes widened at the idea of future Randalls being friends with Vawdreys, but he managed a murmur of assent.

“If that’s what you want, then they will be,” he vowed.

“What do you think of the name Leander for our first-born son?” she asked musingly. “Leander Randall, Marquess of Martindale.”

Guy’s expression wavered a moment, then he swallowed and nodded. “Aye, love, it sounds ... very well.”

“Really? You didn’t look too sure.”

“Quite sure,” he insisted, and when she continued to look unconvinced, he coughed and added. “I was only thinking, that young Leander would have one of my lesser titles until the time comes for him to inherit mine.”

“Lesser titles?”

“Probably my secondary one — Viscount March.”

“Viscount March?” Mathilde sat up a moment. “Leander Randall, Viscount March,” she pronounced with satisfaction. “Oh, I do like that.”

“Wait a minute,” Guy frowned. “Vawdrey said you were not yet expecting…?”

“Oh, well, I’m probably not, just yet,” Mathilde agreed. “But even if I’m not already, I’m sure I will be before long.”

Guy breathed out noisily. “Aye.”