From This Day Forward
Part 3 of 5
By S. Faith, © 2008
Words: 34,523 (this part: 7,065)
Rating: M / R
See Part One for details.
The day itself: ceremony (con't.)
The pelting by rice was nothing compared to the tackle the two of them got afterwards by Pamela Jones. "That was beautiful, simply beautiful," she gushed, squeezing Mark tight to her with one arm and her daughter with the other. "And you two looked absolutely perfect up there together! Absolutely stunningly perfect. Did I know, or did I know this was meant to be?" She looked to Una, who stood there with a handkerchief to her face, dabbing away tears of joy as she nodded.
"Yes, m'dear," said Colin Jones. "You knew." He moved to embrace his daughter. "My darling girl," he said. "Never seen you look lovelier, or happier."
"Thanks, Dad," she said, her voice muffled.
Mark had in turn been greeted by his own father with a hearty hug, then by his mother, who planted a kiss on his cheek and hugged him tight. "That was perfect," she said.
"I certainly don't mind continuing to hear that word with regards to today," he said, holding his mother close to him before she broke away to give her new daughter-in-law a hug and a kiss.
"Bridget, I think you know already how happy we are to have you as part of our family," Elaine said with a smile, "but it bears repeating." Malcolm nodded in agreement.
"Thank you," she said, looking to Malcolm with another smile. "I'll never get tired of hearing it."
"And Mark, of course, we're absolutely thrilled to have you as part of ours," piped in Pamela.
"Couldn't imagine giving Bridget away to anyone more worthy," said Colin, his arm around his wife's shoulder.
"Auntie Bridget?"
The two of them both looked down at the sound of a child's voice; it was Constance, whose beautiful little hairdo had become slightly untidy. She looked very serious in her mission, holding out a small bouquet of roses to Bridget. "I'm s'posed to give this to you to throw."
Mark realised her full bouquet, roses and ribbons on a near-epic scale, would have needed quite a heft to toss back to the waiting pool of ladies, who had all congregated together and were looking positively feral. With a smile, Mark accepted her bridal bouquet so that she could take the one from Constance to throw. "Thank you, Constance."
"Auntie Bridget?" she asked again.
"Yes, dear?"
"You look really pretty."
Bridget smiled, her eyes tearing up again. "So you do, Constance."
The little girl beamed proudly, then bounced off to where her mother and father were standing.
Bridget turned so that her back was to the crowd. She looked to Mark before saying under her breath, "I'm so afraid I'm going to… pop out."
He drew his brows together.
"Of my dress," she elaborated, looking pointedly down her front.
He tried not to laugh out loud, because he didn't want to attract attention. "I could shore you up if you like," he offered in return.
She chuckled. "Later, dear."
With that she pitched the bouquet behind her, managing to not in fact pop out, then turned around to see where it had landed. To her surprise it was Tom that held the bouquet, and on his face was a rather stunned look.
The crowd erupted into gales of laughter.
Mark slipped his hand around his new wife's waist, whispered into her ear, "You know, I should have expected nothing less of our wedding," before pecking a kiss on her cheek.
………
The day itself: celebration
The weather was wonderfully cooperative, not too uncomfortably hot and sunny while still being lovely and pleasant, and blue skies all around. The wedding party and both sets of parents assembled for photos in the churchyard while the guests made their way to Una's for the reception; Una and Geoffrey's rockery had been chosen because Mark and Bridget had decided they didn't want either of their families to have to deal with managing the whole affair on their children's wedding day, and Una had gladly accepted the task. Bridget also didn't want there to be any hurt feelings on the part of her mother for having it at the Darcys', which, of the two families, would have been the more suitable location. Neutral ground, as it were, seemed a much better decision.
The full group of them had just been posing for one last photo, were dispersing towards their cars when Mark felt Bridget reach for his hand. "I never got a chance to tell you how fantastic you look," she said, raising her gaze to look up at him through her lashes, raising her free hand to brush down along the lapel of his suit coat.
It amazed him even now that her compliments could still make him feel undeserving of them. "I doubt nearly as many eyes were on me as they were on you," he said, "but thank you."
She glanced down again and seemed to notice the tie pin for the first time; a quiet Oh escaped her mouth. "What's this?" she asked, reaching up to touch it. "I didn't know there was a matching pin."
When he explained that there wasn't, explained the provenance of the pin, she looked almost overwhelmed. "That was so sweet of them," she said. "I love that we have matching sparklies."
"We've already got those regardless," he returned, taking her left hand in his, to place a kiss on the ring on her fourth finger, meeting her eyes with his own. On impulse she reached for the nape of his neck with her right hand, and got up on tiptoes to kiss him.
It wasn't until she pulled away from him with a smile on her gorgeously flushed face that he realised the photographer was not only still in place, but had been happily snapping photos during that entire exchange. Bridget followed his gaze, and turned bright red when she saw the man lowering the camera and grinning madly.
"Always like to get some unposed photos," he explained, "and those are going to be among the best I've ever taken."
………
As the door of the car closed behind him, Mark realised it was the first true moment of silence he had experienced all day; Bridget seemed equally relieved for the peace. He settled into the seat of the Bentley, invited Bridget into the crook of his arm, which she accepted gratefully.
"I'm sorry about that back there, with the pictures," she said, raising her head to look up at him. "I thought we were alone. I never would deliberately mortify you in such a way."
He raised his fingers to sweep along the line of her chin, down her throat, across her pearls then along her collarbone to her shoulder. "No need to apologise," he said. "I'm by no means mortified. In fact, I wonder that those photos won't be the best of the lot."
The car, silent in running, lurched forward as they began the trek to the Alconburys' home.
She reached to touch his face, lovingly brushing a thumb along his eyebrow, down along his sideburn. "I can hardly believe it's really real. We're married. Blimey."
He nodded, chuckling. "It's really real, and everything was, and I quote, 'perfect'."
She grinned, looking down in that breathstoppingly demure way she had. "I don't think I have ever been happier."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he teased, "because that makes my job awfully difficult for the rest of our lives."
"Oh, hush," she teased, then kissed him again quite at length, squeezing his hand in her own as she did so.
"I almost wish," he said into her ear, holding her close after breaking away, "that we were heading straight for our suite."
She laughed lightly. "Oh, Mark, I never thought a week without—"
"No, no," he said, chuckling. "Not for that. Or rather, not just for that. But with the hustle and bustle already today, and the two of us about to be on centre stage all afternoon, I'm very much looking forward to having you all to myself for more than just a car ride to Una's."
"Oh." She rested her head on his shoulder, and sighed. "I see what you mean." At that moment, the car came to a stop. "It would seem, my darling husband, that we are on."
………
Lunch was delicious, which did not surprise him given that Nick had been riding herd on the menu, and in fact was not to be found at the head table at all; he was busy in the kitchen bossing the caterers around. Bridget was clearly having a blast with her friends, joking about how worried she was that she wouldn't be able to fit into her dress with all the compulsive eating of chocolate she'd done in the last twenty-four hours.
It was partway through lunch when Hugh got to his feet and raised his flute of champagne.
"I don't know what I could say," he began, "that could possibly do my friend Mark justice, that his choice in bride hasn't already accomplished. I admit that I don't know Bridget as well as I know Mark, and certainly haven't known her nearly as long, but like deducing a planet's existence based on indirect evidence, I know the kind of woman she is by the positive, wonderful effects she's had on my friend, something he has needed in his life for a long, long time." A wave of quiet laughter made its way through the assembled family and friends. "So here is to Mark, to Bridget, and to a long and happy future."
"Hear, hear!" shouted someone in the crowd as they all raised their glasses, clinked them together, and sipped.
"Let us not," said Tom, standing suddenly with an impish grin, "forget to acknowledge the positive, wonderful effects Mark has had on my dearest friend Bridget."
"Oh God," Bridget said, feigning horror, covering her face with her hands.
"She's no longer, for example, smoking two packets a day in a nervous frenzy; not calling me at two in the morning pissed on Chardonnay and crying about fuh—about dating mind games," Tom went on as sporadic chuckles circulated around the tables; thankfully he had not had enough champagne yet to let 'fuckwittage' slip through, "or going on about how she's going to die alone and be found three weeks later half-eaten by Alsatians." The crowd was really laughing now; Bridget had flushed bright pink, and Mark could see her distinctly mouth the words, I am going to kill you as Tom looked her way, even though she was smiling. "She's always welcome to come out for a drink with her Singleton friends anytime she wants, but honestly, we've all known for a while she hasn't needed to look anymore. She'd already found the Mars to her Venus."
"Hurrah!" shouted Jude and Sharon in unison.
"Hurrah!" chimed in Magda and Jeremy, grinning broadly.
"Hurrah!" said the rest of the crowd, lifting their flutes once again and drinking.
Tom went to her, took her hand, and planted a kiss on the back of it. She got to her feet, tears flooding her eyes again as she pulled him into a hug. "I love you, ya big poof," she said, just loud enough for Mark to hear but the rest of the reception could not.
"I love you too, Bridgeline," he said in an equally quiet tone, looking as emotional as Mark had ever seen him. "You are both so lucky to have each other," he added, meeting Mark's eye.
Mark nodded. How well he knew it, and as Bridget took her seat again, he reached forward to kiss her, to which the crowd cheered for them.
"Oh, bugger," said Hugh. "My mobile. Excuse me." He stood, and walked away to take the call.
Speeches apparently over—for which Mark was thankful, as he did not want to be pressed into one; he was excellent at extemporaneous public speaking, except when it came to verbalising his feelings for Bridget—they resumed partaking of the excellent food. Mark noticed that Bridget had barely eaten a thing.
"Darling, you should have more to eat," he said.
"I know," she concurred. "Haven't had a thing all day. My stomach's too nervous."
"There's nothing to be nervous about anymore," he said with a grin. "The hard part's over. It's dancing, cake, then we're off. So you should at least try." He brought a forkful of her food to her mouth. "Besides. Nick will be heartbroken if you don't clear your plate. He'll take it as a personal affront."
She laughed. "Well, when you put it like that…" She opened her mouth and took in the food.
For some reason, this made the rest of their guests break out in applause again. He shared a look with his bride, then asked quietly, "Why am I starting to feel like a performing seal?"
She burst into giggles, then made a seal-barking sound under her breath, which caused him to laugh too. He took her hand, looked at her shining face, and said without thinking, "God, I adore you."
The guests let out a collective, "Awwww."
He felt heat flood his face; he would be very thankful when he was no longer under a microscope. From her expression, she knew he felt this way, squeezing his hand back.
Hugh returned, looking grave as he took his seat again. "I have to leave."
"What?" asked Mark.
"Why?" asked Bridget in unison.
"Seems they're short-staffed and I have somehow found myself on call, despite being told I was not available today. I'm so sorry."
"Can you at least stay to finish lunch?" asked Bridget. "Have a dance?"
"Yes," he said, "and no. I'm so sorry."
"Oh," Bridget said plaintively.
It pained Mark to see Bridget look so sad on this, her self-proclaimed happiest of days; it seemed that it pained Hugh as well, because he then added, "Ah, to hell with them. I'll stay long enough to have one dance with the bride, and blame it on traffic."
The transformation of her sadness back to joy was delightful to watch, and she radiated a smile at him. "Thank you, Hugh."
"Yes," added Mark, looking at his friend, "thank you."
"Can't bloody well disappoint the bride now, can I?" he said.
"Indeed not," said Mark, turning back to look at his bride, reaching and clasping her hand again.
The same string quartet that had played at Mark's parents' Ruby Wedding had luckily been available for their own wedding, and it was the sudden change in the tempo of the music, as much as the appearance of the waitstaff to clear away the plates, that made Mark realise that the meal was drawing to a close.
"To our dear family and friends," came the booming voice of Malcolm Darcy, "I would like to thank you all for joining us today to celebrate our son's marriage to a very, very fine girl indeed, Colin and Pam's dearest Bridget." There was a polite, quiet round of applause. "As is tradition," he said over the tail end of the applause, "the first dance is reserved for bride and groom. Mark, Bridget dear, come on down."
Mark rose from his seat, then turned to take her hand and helped her to her feet, as the guests politely clapped again. He led her to the dance floor, a patio of smoothed paving stones, then took her in his arms, waiting for the music to begin, waiting to see the look on her face when she recognised the tune he'd requested for this dance.
The music began, and he stepped forward to lead her in a traditional slow dance. He saw that very distinct look on her face of struggling to place the tune: brows furrowed, lips pursed. When it finally came to her, she looked up into his eyes with a beaming smile.
"Billy Joel. 'Just the Way You Are'," she said quietly.
"Well," he said, "I do."
"Thought we had that bit already," she replied teasingly.
"Don't mind saying it a hundred times," he returned.
She drew in close to him, closer than was probably proper for a wedding dance, pressing her temple to his cheek as best she could with the tiara and veil; however, another distinct sound of approval washed over the crowd.
"Under a microscope indeed," she said quietly, at which he chuckled.
"Trained seals," he reminded.
She giggled.
"I hope," he said quite seriously after a moment, "that in my darkest hour of despair, I can call up this moment, this entire day, to comfort me."
She squeezed the arm she had around his waist. "I hope you will never have such an hour."
All too soon the song drew to a close, and there was a round of polite applause as they stopped dancing; he drew away from her, then bent to kiss her quickly on the lips. Within moments the music began again with a new song, and other couples joined them on the dance floor, Mark felt a tap on his shoulder, turned to see a waiting Hugh.
"May I have the honour?" he said in an overly formal manner.
"Of course you can, you big nut," said Mark with a smile. "Don't leave without saying goodbye."
"Roger that."
Hugh swept Bridget into his arms and they began to dance, each with a smile on their face as they talked to one another. Mark in turn felt a tap on his shoulder again, and turned to see Sharon smiling at him. "Wanna dance?" she asked.
He said nothing, just smiled and took her hand, and began leading her around the floor.
"We meant what we said back there," said Sharon.
"We?"
"Well, when Tom was talking, he was rather speaking for all of us. We might not have been as nice to you as you deserved when we first met you, but when we saw how hard Bridget—" She stopped suddenly. "Crikey, I've had too much to drink. Ignore me."
"No, finish what you were going to say."
She rolled her dark brown eyes, blew a non-existent strand of hair from her eyes; she clearly knew there was no getting out of this. "When we saw how hard Bridget took it when you two split up, we kind of knew things were serious. For her. About you."
He smiled. "Well, let's be thankful then for everything that happened in Thailand—as that was the catalyst our getting back together."
"And showing the lot of us the sort of man you really were."
He felt another tap on his shoulder—realising this was likely his fate for the rest of the afternoon—and when he turned, he found Tom standing there waiting.
"May I cut in?" asked Tom.
Without thinking, Mark stepped back, expecting Sharon to be swept off by Tom, but instead, felt Tom swing himself into a dance. Couples around them started to titter; after the initial surprise, Mark could not help grinning himself. Only Tom would be bold enough to try such a thing.
"I realised this might be my only chance to dance with you, Mark," he said with a smile, feeling Tom's hand on his upper arm, ever proper and formal. "I had to jump at it."
Mark was aware that Tom thought he was attractive, but the manner in which Tom had done this did nothing but amuse Mark. It was surely a sign that Mark had come a long, long way from the uptight, humour-deficient man he had once been.
"So long as you know you'll never have a chance with me," Mark joked in return.
Tom looked shocked, then laughed. "Oh, the heartbreak," he said with an air of melodrama. "I shall, however, bear it as best I can."
"So come on, let's get on with it," Shaz said, sweeping up to the two of them, full steam ahead. "The boys need their fair shake, too."
Mark was perplexed. "What?"
"Garter!" said Shaz, throwing her arms up, showering Jude's head with bits from the bouquet she was still toting around. "Time to retrieve the garter."
He knew the tradition, had seen it at the wedding receptions he'd attended, and thought it rather a tacky, salacious act for something as precious as this. He looked to Bridget, who was fighting a laugh.
"I'm game," said Bridget, "and I have on one to keep and one to give away."
He couldn't believe it. She had planned for it!
Shaz, Jude and Tom started to chant "Gar-ter! Gar-ter!" which attracted the attention of the attendees nearby… especially the single men. He saw Giles grinning like mad; cousin Simon red-faced and beaming; and there was Hugh, practically rubbing his hands together with glee.
Even the music had stopped.
Jude came running forward with a folding chair, placed it facing away from the group of men who had gathered. "Sit."
Afraid of what might happen if he didn't, he sat. Bridget came up to him and planted her shoe on the chair between his legs, looking down at him with a grin.
"Lift away," she said quietly.
He placed his hands on her ankle, ensconced in sheer white hose; he then used his thumbs to lift its hem, eliciting hoots from a few in the crowd. He exposed her knee; he glanced up to her, saw the grin had not left her face. She was even laughing in spontaneous bursts, glowing with the attention she had.
She was enjoying this; he figured he might as well, too.
He walked his fingers up over her knee to the delight of those gathered around, a wide grin on his own face. She looked a little surprised at his willing participation, and, still grinning, she winked at him.
He heard someone clap and holler.
His fingers met the silk and lace band, and edged over to pull it down; it surprised him how far up her leg she'd put the thing, just over halfway up her thigh, and apparently there was yet a second one even farther up. He couldn't imagine how it must have appeared, to be elbow-deep in her wedding dress, but he was sure someone in that crowd was snapping copious photos. He eased the garter over her knee and past her calf, taking care to trail his fingers with a sly wink back up at her.
He watched her mouth the word, "Later."
It was white silk with a blue ribbon running down the centre, and white lace trimming the edge. As he held the prize aloft, the men began to chant again.
"Just throw it," Bridget said, her foot still between his legs, her hosiery-clad knee and shin still exposed. "Toss it behind you."
He did.
Bridget's mouth formed an O, and she raised her hands just as it transformed into an enormous smile. Mark swivelled in his chair and fought the urge to laugh himself:
The garter was squarely in Nick's hand. His lips were pursed, but Mark could see the very edges turned up in amusement.
Everyone applauded. Bridget righted her dress, then went over to him to peck a kiss onto his cheek; Mark was close on her heels.
"I promise you I was not aiming for you," said Mark.
"I'm not so sure you don't have eyes in the back of your head," he said in return, though Mark watched as he tucked the garter into his trouser pocket.
………
As the music continued, Mark felt himself next claimed by his mother, who beamed up at him proudly the entire time, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "This is one of the best days of my life," she said, "seeing you so obviously happy, in love… after achieving so much in your life to be proud of, you deserve to have it all rounded out with a wife who deserves you in return."
He felt a little emotional at her proclamation, even as it didn't surprise him. He usually looked to his father for professional guidance; his mum, however, had been the one he consulted in matters of the heart, not that any other woman he'd discussed with Elaine had touched him in the way Bridget had.
As he was dancing with his mum, he happened to catch a glimpse of Bridget—not that the bride at a wedding was ever terribly difficult to find—dancing with her father, and the sight of it made his smile get a little broader, with the way he was looking at her with such love of his little girl, now all grown up and married. She looked equally adoringly up at him.
The song ended, and the couples broke apart to politely clap. Hugh appeared at Mark's side, and Mark left the dance floor with him. "Already said my goodbyes to your lovely bride," he said. "I really do have to go though."
"I'm sorry you can't stay."
"I'm even sorrier," said Hugh. He held out his arms, and once again Mark gave him a quick, firm hug. "Hope you have a lovely honeymoon, though I am starting to wonder if the locale is even going to matter."
"What?"
"Bridget mentioned her friend Jude's pre-wedding idea."
Mark burst out with a laugh even as he felt the heat rise in his skin again. "Ah," he said, quite at a loss for words.
"Anyway," he said with a smile. "Best be off. Take care."
He watched as Hugh walked away, then turned back to the dance floor, scanning the crowd for his new wife. He found her in short order, dancing with his cousin Simon, looking distinctly uneasy. He couldn't imagine why; Simon, a school-aged teen, was shy but rather a nice kid. He decided to rescue her from whatever was bothering her about Simon.
"Darling," he said as he got within earshot. Her eyes met his, and her expression was filled with relief. "I'm told the cake cutting will be happening momentarily. Simon, pardon us."
"O-of course," stammered the young man, flushing red, dropping his hands down in front of him, one hand over the other.
As he led a recovering Bridget away to the edge of the crowd, he slipped a hand around her waist, leaned in close to her. "Darling," he said quietly into her ear, "you look shell-shocked. Are you all right?"
She looked up to Mark. "I'm… um… your cousin." She must have been distracted if she didn't even realise they weren't going straight for the cake.
"What about him?"
"How old is he?"
"Sixteen. Why do you ask?"
"I would have thought a boy that age would have better, er—" She paused, darting her eyes side to side. "Self-control."
Mark became alarmed. "Did he try something with you?"
"Oh, no, not in that sense," she said, looking more her usual self. "More in the sense of… involuntary reactions to the close proximity of a… woman."
Mark tried not to laugh, or even smile, but he was not entirely successful, so to make up for it he pulled her into a quick embrace. "Maybe it's a genetically inheritable trait, being attracted to you."
She giggled and placed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek; he was glad to know she was fully restored. "Come on. What about this cake?"
"It was actually a fib to rescue you," he said, "but we should make the rounds, circulate a little, and see if the cake is, in fact, ready to be cut."
As they walked and did their socialising Bridget was, as always, sparklingly outgoing, even more so today. He let her take the lead in small talk—her strong suit, no doubt—yet when they were between conversations, she leaned into Mark and said, "If I ever again talk about how fantastic it would be to be a celebrity, remind me how taxing this was."
"You're absolutely perfect at this," he said with a smile.
Her lips pulled into a little cupid's bow smile, and she rolled her eyes in a flattered, flirtatious manner; he was struck again with the reality that she was his wife, that he was the luckiest man on the planet.
"Mark Darcy!"
The voice out of nowhere took him by surprise, and when he spun around to find the source, he was met by a tall, grey-haired man with a bulbous nose, spectacles, and a very stern expression. "Robert Abbott," Mark said automatically, holding his hand out to shake it. "Glad to see you could make it."
The man's handshake was firm and decisive. "I appreciate the invitation."
"Hope you're having a good time," said Mark. "May I present to you my new wife, Bridget. Bridget, this is Robert Abbott of Abbott and Abbott, New York and London."
Robert Abbott looked to Bridget with a scrutinising look. To her credit she withstood the inspection without flinching. "It's very nice to meet the woman at last who managed to sway one of the most brilliant legal minds I've known into remaining in London."
He swore Bridget looked proud. "It's nice to meet you too, sir. I hope there are no hard feelings. I'm sure he would have done a fantastic job in New York, but if it's all the same to you, I'm glad he came back. Obviously."
The older man smiled at last; it was, after all, hard not to warm to Bridget. "Not at all. Career's an important thing, but not the most important thing." He held out his hand to take hers, but instead of shaking, he brought the back up to his lips and gallantly kissed it. "Very wise decision, Mark. Congratulations."
"Thank you very much," said Mark, as Bridget smiled sweetly and offered a thanks of her own. "If you'll excuse us," he continued.
"Oh, absolutely."
As they walked away they were approached by Malcolm and Elaine, who advised them that it really was time to cut the cake; the four of them proceeded over to where Pam already stood by the cake, camera in hand, next to the photographer. Also present were Colin and Nick; the former looked happily expectant, while the latter was still inspecting the cake.
"There you are, darling!" said Pam. Mark had never seen her look so excited. "This cake is lovely, isn't it? Not too fancy, just as it should be."
"Is this cake actually chocolate?" asked Nick, looking up to where they all stood.
"No," said Bridget. "Only half of it."
"What? For a wedding cake?" said Nick.
"It's what Bridget wanted," said Pam.
Nick looked slightly affronted still, but said no more. There was a lot Nick was willing for forgive for Bridget's sake.
With the photographer in place (and Tom on the sidelines, handheld video recorder in hand), Mark and Bridget went around the table before the cake, took the silver cake server in hand, and proceeded to make the first cut together. The small group who had gathered applauded. After they cut out two small pieces, Mark picked up a chunk of the chocolate, Bridget, a square of angel food cake, and proceeded then to feed one another cake.
It may have been that he'd had a little too much champagne himself, or was just concentrating too hard on not getting cake on her sleeve as their arms crossed, but he ended up getting frosting all over the corner of her mouth. She began to laugh, then mockingly accused, "You did that on purpose."
"I did not—" he began, just as she shoved the cake she held into his mouth. He realised then that the piece she had was larger than it looked.
Someone had another glass of fizzy at the ready, and Mark took it happily to wash down the cake before he said in his defence, "If I had done that on purpose, I would have fed you the angel food cake."
"Why?"
He took her wrist and pulled her close to delicately kiss the cake away to the delight of the assembled, then said, "Because I prefer angel food cake, that's why."
Everyone within earshot began to laugh as she turned a fetching shade of crimson and reached up to brush her thumb along his lower lip. She then popped the edge of her thumb into her own mouth with a grin that she then turned onto the crowd.
Bridget then approached Nick and, to Mark's surprise, asked, "Care for a dance?"
Nick had the decency to mask his obvious astonishment, as did Mark as Nick held out a hand to take Bridget's and saw a smile on Nick's face; Nick was just not the dancing kind. He watched as Nick manoeuvred her around the small dance floor with a skill that Mark did not expect.
Mark felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over to see Colin Jones, smiling wistfully at his daughter before glancing up at Mark.
"Mr Jones," said Mark.
"Mark, happiest day of my life," he said. "And it's Colin."
Mark looked down sheepishly. "If you insist."
"So happy for the both of you," Colin continued. "Always nice to see two people who love each other make it work."
"Thank you," said Mark. Turning back to Colin, he continued with, "And thank you for helping to make her the wonderful woman she is."
Mark saw a little smile cross her father's lips. "I know she's not perfect—who among us is?—but she makes me proud. Always has."
"Thank you again, Colin," he said. "Your daughter is in good hands."
"Of that I have no doubt," said Colin, his smile growing broader. "You'll be heading off soon, I wager?"
Mark nodded. "Not right away, but soon enough."
"Hope you have a lovely honeymoon," he said. "Hardly matters where you go for these things, anyway, as it's not really the location that's important."
Had the comment come from anyone but Bridget's father, he might have suspected the comment had a double meaning, as it obviously had for Hugh. Mark just smiled and quietly agreed before Mr Jones advised he was wandering off to make sure his wife wasn't getting into too much trouble.
The dance ended and Nick led Bridget back to her husband, whom she greeted with a grin. "You never told me your uncle was such a good dancer," she said.
"I never knew that he was," replied Mark, slipping a hand around her waist without even thinking. "Not that I would have occasion to know first hand."
"I don't know. You looked quite dapper out there with Tom," teased Bridget, leaning into Mark.
"I rarely dance," said Nick. "Only under very special circumstances."
"Clearly there aren't many of those, then," Mark said.
"Quite right." Nick smoothed down the front of his suit. "So I suppose the two of you will be departing soon?"
Bridget looked up to Mark expectantly. "Will we?"
He smiled; he was starting to half-seriously feel like they were trying to get rid of the two of them, and she still had no idea where he'd planned their honeymoon.
"Soon enough," Mark replied mysteriously.
She got up on her toes and gave him a peck. "I'm going to go find Shaz and then find the ladies'," she said quietly. "A girl needs help with all this fabric."
Mark chuckled. "I'll wait right here for you."
As soon as she was out of earshot, Nick said, "You'll need to keep an eye on your wife's friends."
Mark looked at him, shocked. "Why do you say that?"
"Tom asking you to dance? And those girlfriends of hers… such language. Such opinions."
Mark chuckled. He was not in the least taken aback by Nick's thoughts on her friends. "I know better than to come between her and her self-styled Urban Family," he said. "I'm too young and too newly-married to die."
Nick merely furrowed his brows and pursed his lips; Mark knew better than to take his affront too seriously.
"Mark! Where is that darling wife of yours?"
Mark knew even before turning that it was Tom, and he smiled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"If you must know," said Mark, who saw Jude had also appeared, "she went to the loo."
Jude grinned, then looked from face to face in that small gathering. "All of you, stay right here. I'll be right back." She bounded off towards a table filled with champagne flutes; Mark watched as she corralled one of the stewards for a tray, then began placing flutes upon it. He had no idea what she was up to, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
He also noticed Bridget and Sharon returning from the direction of the house; with help, the loo must not have been as difficult as it could have been. Sharon looked a little pink in the face; he suspected she and the champagne had already become very intimately acquainted.
"Hey," Sharon said as they came nearer, just as Jude presented them with a tray of drinks. "What's going on here?"
"Have a drink. Tom has a special toast he wants to do," said Jude. As she handed one to Nick, she said, "You want to stay, you can."
"How kind," he said drolly, but even still, stayed for the toast; perhaps he thought Mark needed the moral support.
With each of them now holding a flute aloft, Tom spoke. "Our little group of friends is a fairly tight, fairly close one, more like a family than some families are. We love each other, we care about each other and we are there to support each other whenever needed." He turned to Mark. "Now that you're married, Bridget's a part of your family, and you're a part of hers… all of hers. So, Mark, what I'm trying to say is, welcome, officially, to our little family, too."
Mark was touched. He knew at first that her friends hadn't thought much of him, and he wasn't sure what he'd thought of them, but after being thrown together to try to rescue Bridget from prison, he had learned how deep their bonds as friends were… and they had learned there was more to him than a snooty, stiff barrister.
"Hear, hear," said Sharon, bringing her glass to her lips, and taking in the whole thing in one swallow. "Low levels of fuckwittage helped your cause immensely, too."
She was pissed and he knew it, so he just laughed, but he saw Nick visibly bristle. "'Fuckwittage'?" he asked.
"Dating mind games," supplied Tom with a grin.
Jude snorted a laugh.
"So Bridget says you can really cut a rug," said Sharon, looking directly at Nick. "Wanna dance?"
Nick again looked stunned. "Thank you, but I must decline. I had one dance reserved for this wedding and I'm afraid that's already past."
Mark saw Bridget smiling as Sharon said, "Well, bugger. Would have been nice to dance with someone who could actually, you know, dance."
"You wound me, Shazzer darling," said Tom, feigning an arrow shot to the heart. "Maybe you could persuade Mark. He's pretty damn talented." He paused for dramatic effect, then added, "On the dance floor."
Nick must have thought no better of Bridget's friends, to judge by his expression.
Mark was about to offer to take Sharon for another spin—seeing as their previous dance was interrupted by Tom—when the faint sound of a rapid but consistent thudding sound approaching.
"What on earth—?" said Jude. "What is that sound?"
"That," said Mark, "would be our ride."
Bridget turned to Mark, her eyes wide with surprise as the sound got louder. Everyone under the marquee had stopped to try to zero in on it. "Is that… is that a helicopter?"
"You, my darling, are a very clever woman. No wonder I married you."
The helicopter, thunderingly loud now, came down in the field just beyond the Alconburys' property—Mark had already cleared it with the owner of that patch of wide-open space—and the propeller came to a stop.
"Oh my God!" Bridget said. "What about our stuff?"
"In the boot of the car, remember?" he said. "Passports and all."
She smiled broadly.
At the arrival of the helicopter, the guests (and rightly so) seemed to sense the bride and groom might be about to leave; the music had stopped and everyone's attention had redirected to them.
"Everyone," said Mark, "I would like to thank you all so much for sharing this day with us. I hope you're having a wonderful time, and hope you continue to do so, but as you may have guessed, it is time for us to depart." The murmurs were a mix of amusement and approval.
"We won't get a chance to properly deal with them until we're back, but I want to say right now, thank you all for your gifts," spoke up Bridget; leave it to her to think to do so. "You're all very good to the both of us."
Pam Jones appeared out of nowhere and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Colin was close behind, as were Mark's own parents, who had thoughtfully come bearing their suitcases from the car.
"Have a wonderful time," said Mark's mother, as she came to give him a hug and a kiss. "I can't wait to hear all about it."
"I can't wait to see what he's got planned for us," Bridget said excitedly.
Elaine smiled smugly.
After quick hugs with the family, they made their way to where the helicopter sat in the field. Mark shook the pilot's hand and with that, he helped Bridget up into the passenger area. She settled in as the pilot loaded their bags in, then gave them each a headset to muffle the sound and hear what the pilot had to say. He helped to get her safety harness fastened around the silk and chiffon of her dress, then got himself buckled in.
"This must be the most ludicrous look ever," she said, gingerly putting the headset over her hair, carefully avoiding the tiara and the veil.
He had to admit the look was a bizarre juxtaposition, but as always, she looked charming, and he told her so. She smiled and took his hand.
As the rotors fired up once more, they turned to wave out the window, then watched as their guests, the marquee and the Alconburys' house got smaller and smaller as they lifted up into the air. He felt her squeeze his hand tight, before looking at him with a thoroughly loving smile.
His spirits felt as high and light as their transport.