Free The Memory of Your Kiss by Wilma Counts

feel about him? How did she feel about either of these men? Yes, there was this incredible chemistry between her and Zachary. That kiss in the park had shaken her to the very core of her being. She loved the fact they seemed to understand each other on some fundamental level she had never known with another human being.
    But she had known Zachary only a matter of weeks—less than amonth. With a seven-year age difference, she and Henry had never been close as children, but she had known him virtually her whole life. Yet what did she really know of this man she was to marry? She knew Zachary’s taste in art and what books he liked; they shared an interest in history, even if they did not always agree on who were the positive and who the negative players on history’s stage. Was Henry a reader? Did he even like literature—let alone was he able to quote well-known works?
    Oh, do stop , she told herself. This was an exercise in futility. There was no point in considering what might have been. She had given her word. Under no circumstances could this well-reared vicar’s daughter ever subject her intended husband, her father, her family, to scandal. Nor was it merely the threat of scandal that gave her pause. Henry could and would protect her, her father, Geoffrey and Marybeth—and he would do it now. Zachary was returning to the war for God alone knew how long. And only God knew how much time her papa had left.
    Thus ran Miss Sydney Waverly’s thoughts throughout the night before her wedding. By morning, she was sure she had gained firm control of herself and not only her future, but also those of Geoffrey and Marybeth.
    Then she saw Zachary standing next to Henry and she faltered, but only momentarily. He looked splendid; his impeccable red-coated military uniform was a stark contrast to the conservative civilian wear Henry wore. She tried to read his expression, but couldn’t. Her gaze shifted to Henry. She saw only friendly welcome in his eyes. Her hand trembled on her father’s arm and he placed his other hand over hers.
    “Courage, my love,” he whispered. “It will be fine. You’ll see.”
    And suddenly, it was. She repeated her vows in a strong voice and signed the registry with a steady hand, though she admitted to herself the familiar sensation she felt when her hand touched Zachary’s at the signing. In the carriage on the way to the Hall, refusing to let herself consider what the rest of the day and night held for her, she sought diversion in small talk with her brand new husband.
    With a gesture to the window, Henry said, “Happy the bride the sun shines on.”
    Was he nervous too? She smiled. “And the groom, I hope.”
    “We shall have decent weather for the drive and our stay at Tarrenton—perhapsit will even hold as we go on to the sea.” Sydney knew Tarrenton, a manor house with extensive acreage, was another Paxton property located thirty miles from Paxton Hall.
    “I shall enjoy it in whatever weather we find,” she said. “I love the sea, especially when it is stormy.”
    “My wife—the consummate rebel.” Henry took her hand in his and continued to hold it until the carriage swung into the driveway. Aware of and nervous also about the great changes the last hour had wrought in her life, Sydney clung to his hand, grateful for the reassuring contact.
    The wedding breakfast, about which Sydney had previously harbored a good deal of apprehension, turned out to be rather fun for her. Henry had been right: she knew these people and they not only wished the bridal couple well, but did so with gusto. There were many toasts, but later Sydney remembered only the first one. Zachary’s.
    “To my cousin Henry and his delightful bride. May their trust in each other and fidelity to the vows they took today see them safely through any turbulence in the sea of life. May neither of them ever be tempted in any way to alter the regard they have only for each other and the honesty and integrity with which