The following was inspired by characters in the 2007 BBC series Cranford. The screenplay for Cranford was adapted from Cranford, Mr. Harrison's Confessions, and My Lady Ludlow, all by Elizabeth Gaskell. I have no connection to either Mrs. Gaskell or the BBC, and have of course departed from the canon on several points.

Many, many thanks to everyone reading/reviewing. Nothing raises my spirits so wonderfully as hearing from readers.

The excerpts from the marriage service were culled from The Book of Common Prayer.

Chapter 31: The Lovers' Bridge

"I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it."

Many years before Miss Matty had heard her own father utter those words at the solemnization of a marriage -- not a particularly common event in Cranford -- and on that occasion she'd felt the most unpleasant sense of suspense, as though she expected the bride or groom to confess some dreadful sin as everyone stood waiting.

Today, though, she entertained no such apprehensions, given the reassuring warmth in Reverend Hutton's voice, and the hint of a gentle smile on his lips, as he guided Mr. Carter and Miss Galindo through each word of the marriage service.

"Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will." Mr. Carter's dark-hued voice had a particular warmth today as well, as though contentment had lent it additional radiance. Miss Matty had never seen him looking so pleased as he did at this moment, with Miss Galindo standing by his side.

"Wilt thou obey him," Reverend Hutton was saying now, still with the trace of a smile, "and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

At that moment Miss Matty could just see Mr. Carter's face, and to her astonishment that good, grave man smiled as well at the words, and Miss Galindo -- for she was in that instant Miss Galindo still -- dimpled up at him as she made her reply.

"I will." Her lovely voice was fully as strong and clear as her bridegroom's.

With that a little stir took place before the altar -- the bride's uncle stepping forth to give her in marriage, Reverend Hutton supervising the couple as they joined hands to recite their vows, Captain Brown drawing the wedding ring from his pocket and handing it to Mr. Carter, who placed it upon the prayer book. Miss Matty fairly held her breath as he once more took Miss Galindo's hand.

Receiving the ring from Reverend Hutton, Mr. Carter raised his eyes -- so expectant, so hopeful -- to his bride's face. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Casting his gaze downward, he guided the ring onto her finger."With my body, I thee worship."

Then, with another unexpected smile, he completed his vow. "And with all my worldly goods I thee endow." By now his bride was again smiling back at him as he added, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Miss Matty at last let out her breath as Reverend Hutton took up the prayer of blessing over the newly married couple. For several minutes she quite forgot where she was and was duly startled when all at once the rector fell silent and a lad, perhaps twelve years of age, stepped forward. Such a handsome boy, Miss Matty thought, gazing upon his pale, solemn face, with its full, deeply colored lips.

For a moment he stood there, staring down at the book before him, and his hands trembled as he sought his place.

"God be merciful unto us, and bless us," he began, "and show us the light of His countenance, and be merciful unto us." With that the boy looked up at the congregation and, at the sight of so many people, faltered in his reading of the Psalm. Then he caught Matty's eye, and she smiled and nodded her encouragement.

"That Thy way may be known upon earth, Thy saving health among all nations," continued the lad resolutely. "Let the people praise Thee, O God. Yea, let all the people praise Thee."

Let all the people praise Thee, Miss Matty echoed within herself.

"O let the nations rejoice and be glad, for Thou shalt judge the folk righteously, and govern the nations upon earth. Let the people praise Thee, O God. Yea, let all the people praise Thee. Then shall the earth bring forth her increase, and God, even our own God, shall give us His blessing. God shall bless us --"

God shall bless us.

"And all the ends of the world shall fear Him. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen."

"Amen," whispered Miss Matty.

As Reverend Hutton took up his duties again and prepared to lead the congregation in the Lord's Prayer, Miss Matty saw the boy return to his place between Captain Brown and Mr. Goddard's clerk, and noticed that each man briefly put a hand on the young fellow's shoulder, as if to say, "Well done."

"O Lord, save Thy servant and Thy handmaid," the rector was praying now.

"Who put their trust in Thee," replied Miss Matty, along with the congregation. She cast another discreet glance at the bride and groom. Both kept their heads reverently bowed, but Mr. Carter had once again taken his lady's hand and was caressing it, perhaps unconsciously, as the rector and all the people offered their prayers to heaven.

Bridey had been right, thought Jack. Reverend Hutton only looked stern. Despite all the solemn and ponderous things he had to say during the wedding service, he seemed pleasant enough, and certainly happy to oblige a fellow who needed a wife as sorely as did Carter.

Now the good rector had come to his sermon, and he delivered that with warmth as well, earnestly explaining that a man must love his bride as Jesus did the church, though Jack for the life of him couldn't understand why any fellow would really want to be like Jesus, not if he bothered to think what that truly meant.

The rector's analogy held up a little better, Jack thought, when it came to a bride. Many a woman was like the church -- difficult to fathom, at times judgmental, and entirely too high-minded for her own good.

Not that Miss Galindo -- or Mrs. Carter, rather -- was looking either inscrutable or severe at the moment. Why, she'd a smile to charm the angels, and a pair of brown eyes as sweetly expressive as any Jack had seen. Carter had known ill luck enough for two or three men, but for all that, Jack envied him, at least at this moment, for having a lady who'd stand before the world, or at least the entire village, and promise herself to him, and look so gloriously happy doing it.

Almost from the time she could walk, Laurentia had been making curtsies before Lady Ludlow, but never had she done so with Edward at her side. There was such an appropriate symmetry in the way they paid their respects to her ladyship now, Edward gravely inclining his head, Laurentia unable to suppress a dimpled smile as she rose from her curtsy.

Lady Ludlow smiled warmly as well as she reached out to clasp the bride's hand. "I wish you both joy."

"Thank you, Lady Ludlow," said Laurie. "And may I say it is entirely through your efforts that we have begun so happily."

"Indeed we are both grateful for your many kindnesses," said Edward, just a touch shyly, "on this day and always."

"There is no need to thank me, Mr. Carter," said Lady Ludlow. "It is only fitting that you should celebrate at Hanbury. You have been such a part of its history, separately and together, and served it so well."

With that her ladyship sighed, either with contentment or melancholy -- Laurentia could not quite decide which -- and turned to watch the approaching guests, some in gigs and traps, and some on foot. She smiled, a bit faintly, then turned again to face the bride and groom.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Carter," she said, nodding at the both of them. "And so we come to the first duty of your married life."

While going through the receiving line, Miss Matty was seized by an impulse to shed tears -- quite astonishing, as she had remained dry-eyed during a most moving wedding service. Now she summoned will enough to keep her tears in check, concealing them behind her smile and the torrent of good wishes she uttered as she met the newly married couple. Indeed she found it by no means difficult to be effusive at such a moment; Mrs. Carter was fittingly radiant, and her husband, always such a reserved and dignified man, was all at once endearingly shy at finding himself in the unaccustomed position of bridegroom and host.

But it was good to be invited to share in such happiness, and to see Mrs. Carter take up her new role. Matty resolved to call upon the bride as soon as was proper. She would speak of it to Mary when they all returned home.

Dear Mary! Miss Matty watched her as she met the Carters and wished them joy with her usual understated warmth. She'd had barely a minute with Mary all the morning long but had seen how the young woman concealed her own agitation as the household made preparations and set out for the church. Then it had been unclear whether Dr. Marshland's precipitate arrival had soothed Mary's nerves or taxed them still further.

If it was the latter, perhaps a little diplomacy was in order.

As she, Peter, and Mary left the Carters to greet their other guests, Miss Matty turned to Dr. Marshland. "I am so glad that you were able to attend the wedding this morning, Dr. Marshland."

The Irishman smiled broadly. "All roads lead to Cranford, Miss Matty. I'd have been here if I'd had to crawl on my hands and knees!"

Seeing Mary turn a disconcerting shade of pink, Miss Matty thought to steer the conversation in another direction. "It seems an age since we were all here at Hanbury on Twelfth Night. Such a merry evening we had then!"

"It was indeed a happy time. I'll not forget that night," said Dr. Marshland, uncharacteristically subdued, as Mary blushed more deeply.

"Though today is of course an even more joyous occasion," said Miss Matty quickly. "And we may see Hanbury to its best advantage, as her ladyship would say."

"Perhaps you do not know, Dr. Marshland," said Mary, "that in years past Lady Ludlow hosted a summer garden party. I was fortunate enough to attend the last --"

She checked herself, perhaps fearing that event held too many sad associations for the Jenkyns family. Miss Matty, touched by her tender concern, effected a rescue.

"So you did, Mary, dear," she said gently, "in that first summer you spent with us."

At that Peter took up the theme, saying to Dr. Marshland, "My sister tells me it was always quite the social event of the season."

"That was certainly true," said Miss Matty, managing a chuckle. "There was music, and there were games for the children, and of course there were the most incomparable refreshments -- even ice cream."

"It sounds grand," said Dr. Marshland.

"It was," said Miss Matty, sighing. "And indeed Hanbury is always at its loveliest in late summer, though I dare say we shall enjoy it quite as much today." She added, with a smile at Dr. Marshland, "You must take a turn around the grounds -- that is, if you are not too fatigued from your journey."

He understood her immediately. "Not in the least, Miss Matty, and I'd like nothing better than a walk just now. Perhaps Miss Smith would accompany me; she knows the estate better than I do."

"Mary, dear," said Miss Matty conversationally, "I do hope you will show Dr. Marshland the little bridge." She turned once again to the Irishman and added, with gentle enthusiasm, "One can enjoy such an exquisite prospect from there."

"Perhaps we could go now," said Dr. Marshland brightly, looking at Mary. "If you'd like," he added, with unexpected deference.

"Of course."

With that Dr. Marshland turned again to the Jenkynses. "Miss Matty. Mr. Jenkyns," he said, bowing and smiling most charmingly.

Mary, casting one last, anxious look at Miss Matty, bobbed a curtsy herself before setting off at Dr. Marshland's side.

"Well, Matilda," said Peter when Mary and her young man had gone. "That was swiftly done, though I dare say Dr. Marshland is not the sort of man who requires much encouragement."

"Oh, Peter," said Miss Matty softly. "It was not Dr. Marshland I was attempting to encourage."

"Jack, I am sorry," said Mary as soon as they were out of earshot of Miss Matty and Mr. Jenkyns.

"And why should you be sorry?" said Jack tersely.

"That you were summoned to defend your profession and prospects," said Mary, "at my stepmother's instigation, and my father's bidding."

"And where's the harm in that, Mary?"

"It cannot have been been easy for you to submit to a private interview with my father, and given his profession, I can well imagine the sort of questions he put to you."

At that Jack stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Sweet Jesus, Mary, do you think he's going to let me walk out with his daughter and not try to learn what sort of man I am? My own father would have put the fear of God into any fellow who cast a sheep's eye at one of my sisters, and I'd do as much for a daughter of mine."

"I believe you would!" said Mary. It was very much a novelty for Jack to show indignation, or indeed anger of any kind.

"And it would be a poor sort of fellow who couldn't defend himself before his -- well, give a good account of himself to another man."

"I had only hoped we might be left alone, at least for a little while longer. But not everyone is so discreet as Miss Matty and Mr. Jenkyns."

"Discreet? What are we hiding, Mary?"

"We are hiding nothing," she said. "It is just that I do not appreciate that my stepmother discusses your person and manners and profession in such a speculative fashion."

At that Jack actually chuckled. "As though she were buying a horse! Well, you may tell her I'm a grand worker, and my teeth are sound enough."

"You laugh, but I do not find her impertinence amusing."

"I'd call it curiosity, Mary, as much as anything. Mind you," he added, looking away, "she'd have an easier time of it if you'd at least written of me in one of your letters. I'd thought you liked me well enough for that."

"Liked you!" Mary stopped in mid-stride. "Jack, I thought you knew --"

He took a step closer to her and said softly, "Knew what, Mary?"

She could feel her face burning, and all at once courage deserted her. "That I would never -- that I could not bear to see you hurt in any fashion." She spoke her words tenderly enough, and yet she regretted them as soon as she saw the disappointment in Jack's face. For a moment he stood silent, then managed to summon up a smile, and said to her, as lightly as he could, "Now then, Mary, where's this bridge we're to see?"

Very deliberately she took his arm, hoping to make up for her reticence. "Not far, Jack. We're almost there."

Laurentia was patiently listening to an elderly guest -- Edward was no longer certain of her name, let alone her relation to them -- and clasping her hand. It was very nearly perverse, he thought, that on the very day a wife promised herself wholly to her husband, she should have to spend a great deal of time greeting people, accepting their good wishes and perhaps embraces, all while her new spouse stood by, smiling blandly and receiving congratulations himself and biding his time until he might draw her away. But it was always thus, and complaining should have done no good.

And why should he complain? He had lived to see this day. Indeed he was grateful to have lived to see any day at all.

And today had already been so remarkable. Laurie's little love-note was resting still in his breast pocket, and if he'd been alone he'd have relished taking it out and reading it again, but really, there was no need. It was as though his memory had already captured every word she'd written to him, and would keep it always.

And then she had come to him herself, meeting him outside the church, and at that moment, at least, there had been no need to speak; the expression in her eyes was eloquence enough. But he had at last taken her into the church and, as he spoke his vows to her, willed that she would understand how deeply he meant each word. Judging by the firmness of her own replies, the sweet smiles she gave to him, and the touch of her hand on his during the ceremony, they understood each other very well indeed.

And hadn't Harry done them proud in his reading of the Psalm! He'd so wanted to be part of the wedding, and they had brought that about as well. Letting the boy assume one of the duties of Reverend Hutton's clerk would no doubt excite comment in the village, perhaps controversy, but at the moment Edward minded not a bit, and maybe it was all to the good if someone paid Harry Gregson a bit of notice.

As for Laurie, she was unused to this degree of attention herself, though she had also shown an astonishing talent at performing the duties of a bride, greeting their guests with such warmth and grace that Edward's heart was as filled with pride as it was tenderness.

He looked back at the new Mrs. Carter, who was as yet nodding and smiling as the elderly lady held forth and clung to her hand. Why was it that some women could not so much as say good morning without seizing another lady's hand and holding on for dear life?

He had very nearly formed a resolution to rescue his bride and was mulling over various believable pretexts for whisking her away when he remembered at last that the old lady had been friends with the Galindos, and now was a widow and had traveled some distance to attend dear Laurentia's wedding. In an instant he had a glimpse of a troubling vision -- coming from he knew not where -- and saw Laurie herself, eyes tightly closed, fighting back tears as Lady Ludlow clasped her hand in shared grief. Dear God, she had been so much alone, and she might well have remained alone if he had --

He shook off all dark thoughts, and glanced over at his wife, who was now saying something to her elderly friend, making her laugh. It would be better, he thought, to leave Laurie to comfort and cheer her. She'd know what to do and say. She always did.

And she knew it was a day be generous. He had not been surprised that she had decided to present each unmarried female guest with a flower upon her departure, rather than tossing the bridal bouquet or making a keepsake of it. She was by no means superstitious, she had told him, and he had approved her plan, indeed preferred it.

And he knew, as Laurie did not, that there would be yet another bouquet awaiting her, one he'd carefully placed this morning in their bedchamber at home. When at last she closed her eyes that night, the scent of flowers should surround her. Of that he was determined.

It had been warm of late, quite warm, and the air was perfumed with the scent of roses. If she closed her eyes, she could very nearly imagine it was the height of summer.

And with the sound of happy voices drifting across the lawn towards her, she could also imagine she was hosting one of her fetes of former years, and even that Septimus, smiling wryly and most charmingly, would come striding across the grass towards her.

She opened her eyes. There was no Septimus, of course; he was now abroad, though she cherished the hope he might return this time, this summer.

However, at this moment there was indeed a man striding across the grass towards her: Sir Charles Maulver, whom she was not particularly eager to see, on this day or any other.

"Charles," said Lady Ludlow, nodding her head gravely as he approached.

"Lady Ludlow." He bowed to her most correctly, and smiled in a fashion that ought to have seemed boyishly charming, had she not known him so well.

"It has proven a glorious day," she said, gazing across the lawn. "And a most joyous one."

"Indeed it has, my lady," said Sir Charles.

"Dear Laurentia!" sighed Lady Ludlow. "It was always my wish to see her married."

"Yes," said Sir Charles. "And I dare say her parents -- God rest their souls -- no doubt expressed the same sentiment."

"I hope I have honored their memory suitably, and done for Laurentia what they might have wished to do themselves."

"I am sure you have, my lady, in all things," said Sir Charles. "Though the match itself is perhaps not quite what they would have expected, or hoped for."

"Unexpected it may be, Charles," replied Lady Ludlow coolly. "But I dare say it might have fulfilled all their hopes."

"Forgive me, my lady. Carter is a good fellow, and I imagine Laurentia will be tolerably content --"

But Lady Ludlow had ceased to hear, and had fixed her eyes on a tall, lean youth who stood a short distance away, cap in hand, looking at her shyly yet expectantly. "Pray excuse me, Charles. There is a matter to which I must attend directly."

"James Greenfield?"

"Yes, my lady," said the boy, bowing.

"Is all in readiness?"

"Oh, yes, madam."

"Are there flowers enough? I mean not just for the sitting-room, of course, but throughout the house, indeed each room Mr. and Mrs. Carter will inhabit."

"If you please, my lady, my mother has seen to it all," said Jim Greenfield. "And when we'd done, she laughed and clapped her hands and said the mistress would surely be well pleased."

"Did she indeed?" said Lady Ludlow, a smile softening her imperious gaze.

"And she says the master doesn't know anything of it," added Jim boldly, at last allowing himself a smile of uncommon pride.

She'd taken his arm, as she had done so many times before, yet the gesture brought on shyness rather than ease, and for a moment Mary and Jack walked on in awkward silence, which she at last broke.

"I am glad that you came today, Jack."

"I gave my word, Mary, and I'd not have let anything stop me from keeping it."

"Of course not," said Mary, smiling, remembering how he'd announced his willingness to crawl on his hands and knees to return to Cranford. It was well that Miss Matty was of such a mild and accommodating disposition, given the sort of things Jack was wont to say. She could only imagine how discomfited Deborah might have been, had she been subjected to Jack's free and easy manners alongside Captain Brown's. Indeed it might have proven more than she could endure.

"Besides, I wouldn't have missed this day," Jack was saying now. "Not when I might behold a miracle for myself."

"A miracle!" Mary raised her eyebrows, amused. "Do you think it a miracle that Mr. Carter should want to marry Miss Galindo?"

"Not at all. Any man with two eyes in his head can see her worth."

"So perhaps the miracle is that Miss Galindo should want to marry Mr. Carter," said Mary speculatively.

"Well," said Jack, "he's not the sort of man I'd imagine she'd like."

Mary again smiled to herself, thinking of Miss Galindo's hard-won wisdom on the subject of lovers. "Perhaps not at first, Jack, but I dare say that once she knew him better, she found him wonderful, in his own way. And moreover the ladies in Cranford are by no means blind to his excellent qualities, and perhaps envy the new Mrs. Carter, though they dare not reveal as much."

"The ladies all held their peace, didn't they, when the rector asked for objections to the marriage," said Jack, chuckling as he saw the look that crossed Mary's face.

"You are too ungenerous to Mr. Carter," she said primly.

"Not at all. I think him a better man than myself."

"A better man?" said Mary. Now he had truly sparked her curiosity.

"Or perhaps a cleverer."

"Cleverer! Mr. Carter is a very intelligent man, Jack, but surely his abilities are by no means superior to your own."

"No?" said Jack, glancing at her. Looking away again, he added, "And yet he found the words, didn't he, to make Miss Galindo accept him."

"I do not think it was because of his words," said Mary, very softly.

"No?"

"No. Mr. Carter is a very plain-spoken man, Jack, not the hero of a romance. And I think Miss Galindo -- or Mrs. Carter, rather; I must accustom myself to saying her new name -- prefers him so."

"Does she now?"

"You sound astonished."

"I am," he said. "But then why should a fellow like me know what pleases a lady?"

"Do you think that is such a great secret?" asked Mary, a little smile crossing her lips.

"Isn't it?"

She and Jack had come to the bridge, and as if by unspoken agreement, both of them sat down to rest on the stonework.

"You are not enjoying the 'exquisite prospect,' Dr. Marshland," she said demurely, realizing that his eyes were as yet fixed on her face.

"On the contrary," he said, beaming back at her. "I've not seen a sight to equal it in my life.

"But we were talking of secrets, Miss Smith."

"Were we?"

"And how to please a lady."

Mary smiled to herself, and gazed across the water. "There is no secret there, Jack."

"Isn't there?"

"No indeed. You simply ask her what she wants."

There was no formal wedding breakfast as such, but refreshments were plentiful and varied, much as they had been in the days of Lady Ludlow's garden parties, though there was on this occasion no ice cream to be had. Privately Mr. Carter had assured Harry that with time and progress, ice cream should become as common as cheese, to be eaten very nearly as often. Harry, for his part, suspected too much happiness had muddled Mr. Carter's wits. Ice cream whenever they wanted! He'd never see that.

Ice cream or no ice cream, the guests were all very contented with the arrangements, and at length settled into small groups about the lawn and terraces.

Miss Matty grew steadily more anxious, however, when Mary and Dr. Marshland did not return from their walk. She understood very well that the two of them needed leisure and privacy enough to talk, and that there was nothing improper in their doing so, but it seemed most unkind to deny them the pleasure of such delightful refreshments, especially after Dr. Marshland's journey from Manchester that morning.

Leaving Peter deeply engaged in conversation with the bridegroom and Reverend Hutton, Miss Matty quietly set out across the lawn and towards the trees. She could not help but think of Lady Ludlow's last garden party, nearly two years ago now, and of the bustle and agitation of that day. The fete had in itself been most delightful -- indeed even Deborah had pronounced herself uncommonly well pleased with the refreshments -- but what had come afterward Miss Matty did not care to think about, and she again felt her sister's absence most keenly, and regretted that Deborah had not been there to greet Peter on his return home.

Now Miss Matty approached the trees and thought once more of the garden party, of the little children and their games, and especially of young Walter Hutton. "Thank you very much, Miss Matilda!" he'd said, looking up at her from beneath the brim of his cap, as she'd given him his prize. He'd been so innocently happy in that moment, and she couldn't have imagined what lay in store for him, and for Deborah, that very night.

Miss Matty stepped beneath the shade of the trees, and at once another image from that day entered her mind: Mr. Holbrook, hat in hand, walking slowly up to her. "Miss Matilda Jenkyns?" He'd reached out his hand to clasp hers, and for a moment they'd stood merely gazing at each other. Perhaps it had been on this very spot.

They had spoken of health and happiness, and of Deborah, as though the history of thirty years might be overtaken with a few inconsequential words. Then he had excused himself, bowing slightly, and turned and walked away from her, setting out towards the little bridge that lay --

The bridge. Matty looked over and now saw Mary perched on one side of it, and beside her was Dr. Marshland. They had not seen her, and she gathered it would be very wrong to disturb them at this moment. Dr. Marshland had his arm about Mary's waist, and Miss Matty immediately recalled May Day, and Miss Galindo and Mr. Carter in the sitting-room.

She turned around, meaning to proceed directly back towards the house, then decided instead to remain beneath the shade of the trees, the better to collect her thoughts before returning to Peter.

She had wished for this moment, indeed done her part to make it come about, and yet now, confronted with evidence of her success, she was overcome with loneliness, indeed fear.

Surely that was wrong. Mary ought to go to her own home and be happy, and not remain all her days with an old bachelor and spinster, receiving calls and tying up preserves and walking arm in arm to church of a Sunday. It would be selfish to keep her in Cranford.

For a moment Matty could not help but remember that she herself might have accepted Mr. Holbrook and lived out her days at Woodley, had she not been persuaded it would have been selfish to do so. Yet even now she knew that had she been able to return to her younger self and receive Mr. Holbrook's proposal a second time, her answer should have been just the same. It should not have been in her power to avert the heartbreak with Peter, or to will her mother strength enough to endure that sorrow alone, and it had been love, not coldness, that had formed her answer, for all that it had very nearly broken her own heart.

And she and Mr. Holbrook had met again. Oh, there had been such tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her, and an almost boyish delight in his eyes when he'd at last paid a call, bringing the primroses he knew would please her. They'd had those brief days, the memory of which she'd stored among the treasures of her heart, and she'd kept his letters and even his silhouette. She'd not forget him, and perhaps he would even be waiting for her when she closed her eyes the final time.

But never again would anyone bring her flowers, not till she lay beneath the sod in the churchyard at Cranford. Of that she was certain.

Edward was listening to Mr. Jenkyns give Reverend Hutton an account of Indian wedding customs when he saw Laurie out of the corner of his eye. She was exchanging a word or two with the little Hutton girls, and presenting them each with a flower, before turning to her elderly friend and selecting a rose from her bouquet to give to her.

The sight of Laurie with her arms filled with roses filled him with affection and desire in nearly equal measure, and he decided then and there he must be alone with her. Taking advantage of a moment when Mr. Jenkyns finally drew a breath, Edward excused himself. "I must see to my bride."

He intercepted Laurie before she could wander away from him again. "Is something wrong, Edward?" she said as he slipped his hand beneath her elbow.

"Not at all," he said in a low voice. "Though I do think it odd we have hardly seen each other since we arrived at Hanbury."

"That is not in the least odd, Edward, given the attention we owe our guests, some of whom have come such a long way," she replied. "Though I will confess myself well pleased to be in your company. If I am not mistaken," she added, with an endearingly mischievous smile, "you are the gentleman I married this morning."

He chuckled. "I believe so."

"I thought you were; you are fully as handsome as he."

"Beckett will be grateful that his efforts were not in vain. And Harry confided to me that he thought you would like me very much."

"Harry was right about that. But then, isn't Harry right about nearly everything? Though I should say the word 'like' is too modest in these circumstances.

"Where are we going, Edward?"

"I thought we might take a turn around the grounds, have a moment to ourselves." And there was no other way he might get a proper kiss.

"I fear I am neglecting our guests, Edward."

"Not if you are obeying your husband."

It was cool in the shade of the trees, but there was no place for them to sit. He had not thought far enough ahead. Ah, well, there was always the bridge.

But as they came to the edge of the grove of trees a surprise awaited them.

"Damnation." The word escaped his lips almost before he knew it, and he felt his face burning as he turned to Laurie. "I had thought we would be safely alone."

Laurie glanced towards the bridge, where Miss Smith and Dr. Marshland were sitting side by side, evidently deep in conversation, and looked back at Edward. "You must admit it is as fine place as any for sweethearts to meet."

"That was precisely what I thought!" He placed a hand in the small of her back and guided her towards the trees, away from the brook.

Laurie giggled. "Do not begrudge Miss Smith and Dr. Marshland their meeting place. Indeed I hope it brings them fully as much good fortune as it has us."

"I thought you were not superstitious."

"Not in the least. It is only that I am uncommonly fond of that bridge. Do you not recall that day in February when you called out to me as I was leaving Hanbury?"

"I remember everything."

"Your voice reached me just as I was crossing the bridge, and in that moment my fate was sealed."

"Hm." He paused under a tree and turned to look at her. "Not in my office, then?"

"Your office?" She blushed prettily, for all that she was still smiling, and he took her by the shoulders and drew her towards him.

"On that Sunday afternoon," he murmured, looking into her uptilted face. "You told me I was very persuasive --"

"Oh!"

At the unexpected cry both Carters looked around. Miss Matty Jenkyns, one hand raised to her lips, had stumbled upon their new trysting place, and at that moment it should have proved a challenge to determine which of the three of them was blushing the most furiously.

"Do forgive me," she said, chuckling with embarrassment. "I had thought to look for -- that is, I had meant to take a walk through the grove. It is such a pleasant day," she added unnecessarily.

"It is indeed a most beautiful day," said Laurie, smiling sweetly, as though Miss Matty had not interrupted her first proper embrace with her husband.

"And a most joyous one," said Miss Matty warmly.

"It is that," said Edward, nodding politely.

"Yes," said Laurie, stepping towards Miss Matty. "I dare say my husband and I are grateful that so many good friends have come to share in it." She removed a white rose from her bouquet. "Would you accept this from us, in honor of the day?"

"Oh!" said Miss Matty softly, taking the flower in her hand. She gazed at it for a moment, and Edward saw there were tears in her eyes. But she smiled as she looked up again at them. "Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I do wish you both every --"

But she never completed her wish, for at that moment the three of them were joined by Miss Smith and Dr. Marshland, both them so energetic, and in such a good humor, that Miss Matty quite forgot what she had been saying. But she no doubt saw, as Edward did, that Miss Smith held tightly to the Irishman's arm, and he had placed his other hand over hers, as though determined to keep her by his side.

As they all walked back towards the house, Edward deliberately slowed his pace, the better to allow Dr. Marshland, Miss Smith, and Miss Matty to go a little ahead of them.

Laurie, for her part, took his arm and murmured, "It is always so, even on our wedding day."

"What is always so?" he asked quietly.

"That we should be interrupted," she whispered, with mock annoyance.

He chuckled at that, and rolled his eyes. It would not always be so. Of that he was determined.

"You will not say anything?" said Mary to Miss Matty, sotto voce, as soon as they were safely out of earshot of the Carters.

"Of course not, Mary, dear," replied Miss Matty, though she looked uncertain as to just what she was promising.

"It's just that Mary wanted you to be the first to know," began Jack.

"Oh!" cried Miss Matty. "Do you mean --"

Mary slipped her free arm through Miss Matty's, the better to keep her from stopping in her tracks, and inadvertently revealing all to the Carters. "Yes, we are engaged." At that Matty gave a little gasp of delight, for all that she was holding back tears.

"Oh, Mary, dear --"

"But you will understand why I wish no one else to know of it, not even Mr. Jenkyns," said Mary. "I owe that deference to Miss Galindo -- I mean Mrs. Carter."

"Of course," said Matty.

"There will be time enough to speak freely of it on another day."

"Yes," said Miss Matty happily. "Yes. There will."

She had never before embraced Lady Ludlow, not truly, and Laurentia was at once conscious of lace tickling at her cheek, the cameo brooch at her ladyship's throat, and a delicate scent to which she could give no name.

"Oh, my dear," said Lady Ludlow, drawing back, her hands still on Laurentia's shoulders. "God bless you."

At that Laurentia could make no reply, but impulsively hugged her friend once more before turning to Edward. He was looking boyishly shy once again, and she gave him an affectionate smile as he reached out a hand to her as she stepped into the carriage.

They must go home by carriage, and not in the gig. Her ladyship had insisted.

At that moment Laurentia, happy though she was, again felt unequal to the duties of a bride, for there was one more ceremony they must face as the Hanbury staff and many of the remaining guests gathered round the carriage, and Mr. Hopkins, who had a pleasant baritone voice, led them all in song. He'd written the verse himself, and set it to an old Welsh tune, a song Edward might have whistled from memory, and that she had not known at all until this day.

"May you always live contented,

May your hearts be filled with joy --"

Laurie smiled as brightly as she was able, though she felt herself blushing, and clung to Edward's arm. He placed a comforting hand over hers and smiled back at her, and then at his staff. He was proud of them, she knew, and grateful for the kindness and warmth with which they'd been treated.

And then, as the last notes of the song faded, there was the briefest pause before a cheer went up, and the carriage lurched forward. They were on their way home at last.

She had given away all of her blooms, and yet there in Edward's lapel was the little pink rosebud she had placed there this morning, the rose Lady Ludlow had given to her and she in turn had given to Edward. The last of her flowers. She reached out her hand and gently touched the little rose.

Laurie felt his fingers close over hers, and she looked up into his eyes, which gleamed at her like gemstones, and she impulsively leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. There was, after all, no one to interrupt them here, and the coachman faced resolutely towards the road.

As they rode home, the sky began to open, the rain coming on gradually, and Laurentia felt the droplets tickling her nose and cheeks.

"It is well you are not superstitious," Edward murmured in her ear. He slipped his arm about her shoulders.

"Not at all," said Laurie. "Indeed the rain seems a blessing!" She joyously tilted her face up to the sky, shutting her eyes tightly and welcoming the raindrops against her face.

But she only sat thus for a moment, for in very little time they were home, and Edward was stepping down from the carriage. He still cut quite a dashing figure in his wedding clothes, and Laurie had to smile to herself, remembering her mother's entirely sensible advice on suitors, and thought how Mama's most cherished notions concerning love and marriage ought to have been confounded by the very existence of Edward Carter.

"Mrs. Carter," Edward was saying now, reaching out a hand to her as she stepped down from the carriage. The rain was at last falling in earnest, and they both moved quickly into the house, where Mrs. Greenfield, the housekeeper, made them welcome and promised them tea in the sitting-room, as soon as they should make themselves at home.

Edward opened the door of the sitting-room and Laurie drew her breath in sharply. All about them were bouquets of the most exquisite flowers -- above all, Hanbury roses, in myriad colors -- and their scent perfumed the room.

She whirled around to face her husband. "Edward, it is like a paradise," she said, smiling with delight.

He was standing there, fully as astonished as she, and gazing about the room. "Welcome home, Mrs. Carter," he said at last, slipping his arms about her. "Welcome home."

To be continued...