Page 19 of The Favourite

“Oh, I quite agree, however it is not one that will endear you to the locals.”

“No, I do not imagine it would.”

“Congratulations, milord!” A red-faced man in a mustard tunic interrupted them with a clumsy bow.

“You are too kind,” Alisander responded, and the other hurried off, looking relieved to have done his duty.

“I believe it is considered lucky to be congratulated by a Wheelwright on your wedding day,” Vawdrey mused.

“Is that what he is?”

“He is at the palace pricing some repairs to the royal conveyances this morn.”

“I see, and why is that considered lucky? I am not yet fully acquainted with all your quaint customs in this land.”

Vawdrey gave a slight smile at the faint contempt in his voice. “I believe it is something to do with moving ever forward like a wheel in your lives together.”

Alisander turned as a particularly violent gust of wind rattled the nearest window. Raindrops next battered the murky glass with force. “And what of rain on a wedding day?” he asked. “Is that also an omen of good fortune?”

Lord Vawdrey looked amused. “You make your own fortune when it comes to marriage, my good Bardulf, as you have already demonstrated admirably.”

“Hmmm.” Seeing that a gaggle of pageboys was approaching, Alisander reached for the purse of coins suspended from his belt. “It seems I must now pay off the lucky pageboys before they run riot,” he commented dryly.

Vawdrey laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and melted away into the crowd. On emerging from the crowd of excitable youngsters, his purse considerably lighter, Alisander made his way back around the room toward his bride. His progress was slow, for he was scrupulously polite to all who offered him congratulation, but as soon as he saw a space appear on the bench beside her, he was quick to secure it for his own.

“Wife,” he greeted her with a nod. Disappointingly, this did not make her start or color as it should.

Instead, she said in a low voice, “Did you mark the Queen’s withdrawal?”

“No, has she gone?” he answered, unconcerned.

Jane bit her lip and nodded. “She took no leave of you?”

“None. Did she of you?”

“No.”

“Well, well, she has been busy this day and is likely worn out from all her exertions,” he answered flippantly. This did make her flush, likely with annoyance, but he found he derived no pleasure from this.

It seemed to him, suddenly, that this wife of his ought to be more concerned with his frame of mind than the Queen’s. Wanting suddenly to needle her, he asked, “By the by, whatever happened to Viscount Morpington? Was he not in the running at one point?”

Jane’s goblet nearly slipped through her fingers. “In the running for what?” she replied tensely.

“Your hand, my dear. Was he not your most prominent suitor? I think the tale I heard was one of childhood sweethearts.”

Jane’s color rose. “We were no such thing!” she said indignantly, and seeing a few heads turn in their direction, she lowered her voice. “And I don’t believe for one minute that anyone ever described us as such! You are merely trying to torment me.”

“No? Mayhap I had the tale confused with another in my head,” he replied carelessly. “I could have sworn ‘twas you and Morpington.”

“Stop linking our names together like that!” Jane hissed. “You will start a ridiculous rumor all by yourself!”

“So, a young Morpington did not chase you around the mulberry bush in the idyllic days of youth?” Jane pressed her lips together and shook her head. “He ne’er attempted to kiss you ‘neath a mistle bough, not even one time?” he continued whimsically.

For the veriest instant, a look of guilt and panic flitted across Jane’s face. He should have found it funny, but for some reason, he did not. “No,” she gulped. “Of c-course not.”

Alisander narrowed his eyes. “Never?” he asked softly. “Viscount Morpington ne’er tried to steal a kiss from you. Not even once?”

“Not then,” she prevaricated, trying to avoid his eye.