For Annette, the events of the last few days swam through her head as she tried to sleep. Sydney slept peacefully beside her as she replayed the last week in her mind. How strange it seemed, barely one week ago she was imprisoned at La Force, and condemned to death. She awaited her own execution and had thought her life completely over… yet here she was, quite alive, in a new country, and married to a man she adored.
She thought over the events that had taken her to this point. Following Sydney's proposal the journey to England had been a short one, as the winds were favorable, and they had arrived at Dover early in the afternoon following.
Just as they approached the docks the Pimpernel's men had appeared and rounded up the refugees. Sydney and Annette came down from the poop deck, arm in arm, happily planning their future as they heard the beginning of the address.
"Friends, we are nearly arrived in England. There will be carriages to take you to London tomorrow morning," said one of their guides.
"What are we to do until then?" asked the baker as the news was passed to them.
"There is an inn just off the main road – and the owners are friends of the League. You may all stay one night there as guests before you depart," he answered.
"In the meantime, citizens, I wish to invite you all to join us," Sydney said to his fellow travelers, almost interrupting the sailor's address. "This young lady," he said, placing an arm around Annette, "has just consented to be my wife, and we mean to marry this very day, if possible. You are all very welcome."
Annette had been embarrassed by Sydney's announcement, but that had quickly changed to contentment as the applause erupted amongst their fellow travelers.
Somehow it had all worked. The ship had gone to anchor at the harbor at Dover and through some miracle Sydney had arranged for them to be married at the Anglican church in town. Annette's English was somewhat wanting, but that didn't seem to be any hindrance at all – nor was her faith. Despite her Catholic father, her mother had been Protestant and had raised her likewise. The priest in the Anglican church spoke enough French to assure her that the marriage ceremony was everything she would wish. Within hours of their meeting, the baker – whom she now knew to be named Luc Marsault – walked her down the aisle, as the other refugees and a few of the ship's sailors watched from the pews.
The wedding itself was perfect. Annette had of course wished her young cousin could have been there – it was the one regret she had on that day – but she knew it was best not to dwell upon the misfortunes of the past. Sydney had taken her hand before God and promised to love and be true to her for the rest of their lives, and she eagerly did the same for him. She was so deliriously happy that she could not rightly remember the rest of the afternoon… it came back in bits and pieces.
Annette stopped her reminiscing and turned to her sleeping husband. She had never shared a bed with a man before, yet his sleep seemed more peaceful than any she had known. When he loved her it was with his whole body and soul, but when he slept… oh, how she loved to watch him sleep! His rest was something she envied. She still had troubling dreams of the prison and her own looming death, but not Sydney. Sydney slept so soundly and peacefully – it seemed nothing could awaken him or upset him or even remotely disturb him. He was at peace with everything.
She turned over and thought over their wedding night. How nervous and shy she had been, and he had treated her with the utmost tenderness. He put her comfort and well-being above his own wishes that night. She had always been nervous of the act of love, but her new husband had been nothing but kind and gentle. It had hurt – oh to be sure, it had hurt – and when she had awoken in the morning to find the sheets stained with blood she thought she may die of embarrassment. Sydney laughed and assured her that there was nothing unusual about it. Even so, she had hid her eyes from the innkeepers and the maids as they had departed.
Annette smiled to herself in the darkness. That had been four days ago. Since their arrival in London things had somewhat settled down. They were now staying at a hotel in Bloomsbury, since Sydney had flat-out refused to take his bride back to his old lodgings. She suspected there would be more to the story, and Sydney himself had requested that she not think of him too highly, as he insisted that he had not led the most responsible of lives prior to his incarceration. Annette truly did not care. Whatever Sydney had done or not done in the past, it did not worry her. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone. She turned over again and snuggled close to him as she allowed herself to drift into a deep sleep.
