Daphne felt her skin turning a shade that rivaled her mother's. “I might have done,” she mumbled.
Violet shook her finger at her daughter. “Daphne Bridgerton, I cannot believe you would do such a thing. You know very well I warned you about allowing men such liberties!”
“It hardly signifies now that we're to be married!”
“But still—” Violet gave a deflating sigh. “Never mind. You're right. It doesn't signify. You're to be married, and to a duke no less, and if he kissed you, well, then, that was to be expected.”
Daphne just stared at her mother in disbelief. Violet's nervous, halting chatter was very much out of character.
“Now then,” Violet announced, “as long as you don't have any more questions, I'll just leave you to your, er,”—she glanced distractedly at the mementos Daphne had been shuffling through—“whatever it is that you're doing.”
“But I do have more questions!”
Violet, however, had already made her escape.
And Daphne, no matter how desperately she wanted to learn the secrets of the marital act, wasn't about to chase her mother down the hall—in full view of all the family and servants—to find out.
Besides, her mother's talk had raised a new set of worries. Violet had said that the marital act was a requirement for the creation of children. If Simon couldn't have children, did that mean he couldn't perform those intimacies her mother had mentioned?
And dash it all, what were those intimacies? Daphne suspected they had something to do with kissing, since society seemed so determined to make sure that young ladies keep their lips pure and chaste. And, she thought, a blush stealing over her cheeks as she remembered her time in the gardens with Simon, they might have something to do with a woman's breasts as well.
Daphne groaned. Her mother had practically ordered her not to be nervous, but she didn't see how she could be otherwise—not when she was expected to enter into this contract without the slightest idea of how to perform her duties.
And what of Simon? If he could not consummate the marriage, would it even be a marriage?
It was enough to make a new bride very apprehensive, indeed.
In the end, it was the little details of the wedding that Daphne remembered. There were tears in her mother's eyes (and then eventually on her face), and Anthony's voice had been oddly hoarse when he stepped forward to give her away. Hyacinth had strewn her rose petals too quickly, and there were none left by the time she reached the altar. Gregory sneezed three times before they even got to their vows.
And she remembered the look of concentration on Simon's face as he repeated his vows. Each syllable was uttered slowly and carefully. His eyes burned with intent, and his voice was low but true. To Daphne, it sounded as if nothing in the world could possibly be as important as the words he spoke as they stood before the archbishop.
Her heart found comfort in this; no man who spoke his vows with such intensity could possibly view marriage as a mere convenience.
Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.
A shiver raced down Daphne's spine, causing her to sway. In just a moment, she would belong to this man forever.
Simon's head turned slightly, his eyes darting to her face. Are you all right? his eyes asked.
She nodded, a tiny little jog of her chin that only he could see. Something blazed in his eyes—could it be relief?
I now pronounce you—
Gregory sneezed for a fourth time, then a fifth and sixth, completely obliterating the archbishop's “man and wife.” Daphne felt a horrifying bubble of mirth pushing up her throat. She pressed her lips together, determined to maintain an appropriately serious facade. Marriage, after all, was a solemn institution, and not one to be treating as a joke.
She shot a glance at Simon, only to find that he was looking at her with a queer expression. His pale eyes were focused on her mouth, and the corners of his lips began to twitch.
Daphne felt that bubble of mirth rising ever higher.
You may kiss the bride.
Simon grabbed her with almost desperate arms, his mouth crashing down on hers with a force that drew a collective gasp from the small assemblage of guests.
And then both sets of lips—bride and groom—burst into laughter, even as they remained entwined.
Violet Bridgerton later said it was the oddest kiss she'd ever been privileged to view.
Gregory Bridgerton—when he finished sneezing—said it was disgusting.
The archbishop, who was getting on in years, looked perplexed.
But Hyacinth Bridgerton, who at ten should have known the least about kisses of anyone, just blinked thoughtfully, and said, “I think it's nice. If they're laughing now, they'll probably be laughing forever.” She turned to her mother. “Isn't that a good thing?”
Violet took her youngest daughter's hand and squeezed it. “Laughter is always a good thing, Hyacinth. And thank you for reminding us of that.”
And so it was that the rumor was started that the new Duke and Duchess of Hastings were the most blissfully happy and devoted couple to be married in decades. After all, who could remember another wedding with so much laughter?
Chapter 14
We are told that the wedding of the Duke of Hastings and the former Miss Bridgerton, while small, was most eventful. Miss Hyacinth Bridgerton (ten years of age) whispered to Miss Felicity Featherington (also aged ten) that the bride and groom actually laughed aloud during the ceremony. Miss Felicity then repeated this information to her mother, Mrs. Featherington, who them repeated it to the world.
This Author shall have to trust Miss Hyacinth's account, since This Author was not invited to view the ceremony.