June 19, 1891 - Church of St. Fergus, Irvingly @ the Delaney Darrow Wedding

Evander Darrow

Christianne had assured her daughter that it was perfectly normal to feel nervous on one's wedding day - not that Caroline had particularly believed her. Any doubts in her choice of a husband had vanished during the ordeal at sea and her return to his arms. There was no doubt in Caroline's mind that they would be a good match, they would even each other out perfectly. And while it may not be the adventerous life she had once dreamed of, she was far more convinced now that adventures of the variety she had once wanted were rather overrated. This said she was surprised to find that she was indeed nervous on the morning of her wedding. Not of the wedding or the marriage itself, but rather of the wedding night - something that struck her as odd. It wasn't as if she were a green girl who never been kissed. She had been kissed and she had been kissed quite thoroughly - but never to the point where her virtue had been at risk. And yet she was nervous of what was to come when Evander and herself arrived at their honeymoon suite.

Looking in the mirror Caroline was quite certain that it did not show in her face. Indeed, her pale skin (magical potions having restored it from the tan that had appeared from her sunburn) looked luminscent. Her dark hair was piled elegantly under the long trailing veil, the gauze edged in embroidered flowers - enchanted to look almost real, lifting and swaying from the edges, and pooling into a garden on the floor behind her, pearls and diamonds at the center of each. Her gown echoed the motif, with Flanders lace imported from Paris accenting the white silk. She would have gone with stars for the gown had she not wished to accent the theme of Evander's ring - flowers. Yet looking at herself Caroline thought she could see, despite the finery, a very small nervous edge to her eyes.

She had her something new (a diamond and pearl necklace), her something old (pearl earrings that her mother's mother's mother had worn at her own wedding), her something borrowed (Nimiane's carefully embroidered handkerchief tucked into Caroline's corset), and her something blue (a blue ribbon sewn into her silk white garter, holding up enchanted Flemish lace stockings). These were to bring her luck, but luck to what - her marriage or her marital duties? She should not have been as nervous as she were, but the moment her mother had left her side to check on the church was the moment Caroline could no longer admit that she was not plagued by nerves. Left to look at herself she could see the swallow of her throat and the fractures of the brave facade she had put on. She was sure there was a small tremble in her hands as well.

Then there was no more time to be nervous. She was led to the doors of the church, her arm placed in her father's, her veil pulled over her face, a bouquet of white gardenias, periwinkles, peonies, snapdragons, and hyacinths, placed in her hand, and then the doors opened. There before her was a church full of family, both her old and her new. They all looked at her and perhaps they gasped, or perhaps they stared in awed silence, Caroline wouldn't have known. She had eyes only for Evander. He was even more handsome than she remembered him, standing there at the end of the aisle.

When her father handed her to Evander she gave him a tentative smile, she had meant to reassure him, but somehow she found she needed his support as well. Her fingers on his arm trembled ever so slightly and she knew there was no way to hide her nerves from him. But he was here and that alone made everything better.

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   Elsie Kirke, Evander Darrow

Evander had his doubts about this.

But then, Evander Darrow had his doubts about almost everything. In fact, he thought he would have felt far worse standing here today at the front of a church with no doubts whatsoever about what he was undertaking, because then he would known he was out of his mind.

And his doubts were mostly the old doubts, had been refined and fermented, preserved and parcelled away to be kept just like the list he’d made of them. (He was too old for this; she was too young; too outgoing; too American; too much out of his league; and he was not made for marriage anyway. The positives were not so easily expressed as those, but he had been practical about those too and they had outweighed the fears, that was why he was here.) He was aware of the doubts in the back of his mind - was content enough to let them live there - and besides, Evander had committed to this anyway. That had to mean something.

The new doubts, meanwhile, were very much regarding the wedding night and the travelling and the rest of the honeymoon and the wildly different course of the rest of his life, but he was resolutely not thinking about any of that until he had at least managed to survive the reception. Conservation of vital mental energy, that was all. Best shut down the system now before it buckled under the pressure. Keep on topic.

So he - felt a little blank, really, like his brain was a vast shapeless wasteland and like he was not currently in possession of his own limbs - he flexed his fingers and couldn’t feel them - and everything was so deadened and calm in him that he almost began to feel good; panic just felt too out of place. (Evander imagined this sort of floating sensation was perhaps why people became opium addicts.)

And then there Caroline was, gliding in, a vision in white, and Evander was so slow to absorb even the sight of her that she had reached him before he had even found a single word to adequately describe her. He smiled back at her almost in spite of himself, at finding her touch for once less steady than his; he let out a breath and a burst of feeling came back in with the next inhale. But the ceremony was the straightforward bit and there was nothing for Caroline to be worried about here, there was nothing that could go wrong, he was not even thinking about things going wrong here, and - the first feeling in him was perhaps not nervousness at all. He covered her hand with his for a moment, quite unconscious of their audience to this, and caught himself, as he turned forwards, almost smiling again.

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   Caroline Darrow

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Years as a debutante had taught Caroline that there were always gazes trained to her and she had always been mindful of that - aware and acting in just the right way. But in this moment, arguably the most important in her life, she could hardly notice the audience. All she could think as Evander's gaze met her's was that if she had asked for reassurance it was there: in the ever gentle tilt at the corner of his lips and the gentle warmth of his hand as it covered her's.

To be honest it wasn't only the people she didn't notice. She hardly noticed the ceremony either. She met Evander's gaze before returning dutifully back to the parson's words, but she kept looking at Evander out of the corner of her eye. The distance between them was for once so close that she could feel the warmth of him, a reassuring presense. Evander and only Evander took up her whole attention during the ceremony. It wasn''t a terribly complicated ceremony and with such a preoccupation as Caroline had she remembered nothing of it beyond Evander beside her. If she were ever questioned about her thoughts during the ceremony or even to recall what had happened, she would have been woefully unable to answer.

And like that they were man and wife. That part Caroline would remember. The look on Evander's face as she turned to him for the unveiling and kiss. Her eyes met his, she was his and he was her's. She could not recall anything more promising in her life - nerves aside.

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   Angelica Selwyn

Married, then. Just like that, married. It ought not take much to process it - it had been certainly coming for long enough - but all the same Evander felt he didn’t have enough time to dwell on it, before the flurry began again. Noise and movement and being ushered back to his house, and then they were thrown out into the reception at the Delaney house, and there were an abundance of people - and this had not been entirely Evander’s choice, for he found even Uncle Hamish’s extended family a great deal to comprehend on any occasion, and this felt decidedly louder and busier. (Perhaps it was the Delaney relatives; perhaps Americans were not so much used to regulating their tone of voice, because they seemed, more than anything, loud.)

At least he had adequate time to meet Caroline’s family already, or he thought, amongst all the greetings and congratulations they were being issued here, he might have blacked out from taking it all in. Maybe it was merely the strong flowery smell of the house today. Or maybe the sensation was worse while he had gotten drawn away from her, because even in scanning the room Caroline was scarcely in view, always entertaining some guest or another, a little too far to reach; and someone had set a drink in his hand and Evander, supposing it would settle the sudden reappearance of nerves and the buzzing of the room in his ears, swallowed it down without much tasting it.

Thankfully, he was sat down at last, and his wife - his wife, Merlin, how strange - was sitting down beside him, and the nerves were a little more subdued. “Mrs. Darrow,” he said quietly, and his mouth quirked again in a smile though in truth it was a little terrifying to say, as if he had just somehow yoked her to his cursed existence, was going to drag her down with him to misery and loneliness, but... But no, that was the thing: she was beside him, they’d made it here, they were married, everything was going to be different now. Entirely different, entirely new. “Is it all going - well, do you think?” he murmured to her, nodding out at the rest of the room as if he cared about the day’s plans; but at the same time eyeing her sidelong, hoping to read her face and see - a little contentment there, at least.

(And hopefully no glaring regret.)

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The ceremony done, Caroline focused on Evander's hand as he held it - all the way to the fireplace. Then she was in the Delaney home and there were people, an endless press of people, and she found herself smiling, and laughing and chatting - and yet she barely knew what she was saying. She, who always knew what to say and how to act, simply had no clue as to what she was saying, because all she could think about was where Evander was. He was not holding her hand or by her side, but she felt his presense none the less. She knew where to look to see a glance of him and that was all she needed to smile and continue forward.

Talking and happy the nerves seemed to at least take a backseat - at least until she was pressed to eat. The women of her family pressed food on her like it was their sworn duties, telling her she'd need it for later, but such inuendos and reminders of her original nerves and Caroline found her appitite disappearing each plate waved in from of her.

Somehow admist it all, Caroline found her way back to Evander. She supposed that was the way it would be now. Flitting around the room chatting and laughing and then returning to her rock. It might not matter exactly where he was so long as she could return home to him at the end of the day. She turned her warm gaze on him and smiled at the name. Mrs. Darrow. She supposed she was now, and the thought of that sent shivers down her spine. Mrs. Darrow. A grin crossed her lips. "Mr. Darrow." She greeted him, her smile almost mischevious in her joy, as if this were something forbidden.

"Very well, I think." She said absently as she glanced around the room at him. It was, the brunch was going well and surely it would be the talk of town with the amount of people and the smiles and laughter. It was as if Caroline's own happiness had bubbled over the whole crowd like the Hogsmeade fog, filling them with the same cheer as herself. How could it not be the talk of town. And yet - and yet, all Caroline wanted to do was to turn to Evander and forget the rest of the world entirely.

"I must admit," She started, lowering her voice and tilting her head next to his ear, "That I shall be glad when we make our exit." Then it would just be them, together. No faking smile, no bubbling laughter, just them. Alone with their happiness for the first time in their lives.

  

Caroline was grinning at him; Evander did not grin back, because grown men did not grin, not if they had any dignity; but he felt a bubble of something in his chest that was perhaps the temptation to. Because she seemed happy. And if she was happy, he must be doing something right.

And she was even looking forward to making their exit. His ears went a little red at that; in nerves, mostly. Otherwise, admittedly, he too was looking forward to making their exit, just to be out of the crowd of people – whom he felt were watching his every move, in spite of his also being quite sure everyone here had far better things to do than that. And Caroline’s company had been perfectly pleasant, perfectly comfortable to be in their whole courtship, so really being married ought not to impair that, should it? The rest of the evening, the rest of the honeymoon, should come quite naturally.

“I’m sure you know I feel much the same,” Evander murmured back to her, trying to sound more confident than he felt – he reached for his glass again, finding that it had been refilled without him so much as noticing. Really what he wanted to do was check his pocketwatch, but it would probably be rude if he were spotted doing so at his own wedding. And perhaps it was a little too early yet to start worrying about being late for the prearranged portkey to the first stop in Paris. They were probably not going to miss it, with roughly another three hours yet to go.

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His voice was low, a mere murmur through the crowd, but Caroline did not miss his words and felt her pale cheeks growing warm. She lowered her eyes demurely to her gloved hands before peeking back up at him. "I am glad for that." She admitted.

Then, as if shaking it away, Caroline straightened every so slowly and met his gaze. "And I am very happy." She told him, meaning every word. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I suppose I should see to the guests." The thought drawing a sigh to her lips. Normally she loved crowds and parties but right now she rather hoped the remaining hours of the reception would last. Besides, the longer she remained here the sooner they would speak to Evander and while she loved crowds she was quite well aware her husband (husband!) did not. Likely he'd flinch if trapped in a conversation with Mr. Kirke and herself.

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   Evander Darrow

He wanted to protest about her leaving him to go speak to the guests again, but he knew he couldn’t, so instead he clung to the squeeze of her hand and that sigh she’d offered at the thought for the rest of the reception.

And soon enough it was over, or at least for them: a flurry of farewells later, and the Portkey had glowed blue, and they had been spun away to the first city of their European tour – with just enough travel between cities to satisfy Caroline, and little enough to spare him. And absolutely no cruises.

Frankly, Evander thought he would have preferred just to return home immediately, but – well, maybe it was for the best to be alone, truly alone, at least at first. Charity was about the brightest and most sober child he could have wished for, but she was – well, perhaps an acquired taste, when one was not so used to her. And there would be adjustment enough, Evander supposed, in being husband and wife. Better use this fortnight to become accustomed to it all, before there were household spectators to it.

So here they were in Paris, taking a carriage through the city to their hotel. Evander was fairly certain he held no affection for Paris, or for that matter any other city in France, because – well, there was an odd smell to the Seine and the cab-drivers had no regard for safety and the traffic was proving terrible and, all in all, the French were a particularly rude species, he thought. But here they were – finally alone – but still stuck in the carriage somewhere in the dusk-lit city, and Caroline might be finding enjoyment in the ride, but Evander had other things on his mind.

“And you’re quite sure we – brought all our luggage?” he asked, possibly not for the first time. He didn’t know if it was the haze of all that drink he’d downed that afternoon or a general mistrust of the French cabs, but he was not entirely certain that their suitcases had made it from the Portkey travel to the rack of this carriage, or that they would not fall off or be stolen somehow before they reached their rooms, and he was having visions of the rest of the trip made a nightmare without them.

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   Angelica Selwyn

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And finally they were on their way. Caroline had hugged her relations, waved at her friends, and clutched Evander's hand as they left the reception. Then they were in Paris. It was exciting, thrilling, exhilarating. She loved the the difference of it, the way she had to use the French she had learned as a young girl to hear snatches of conversation. She looked about them in the carriage, moving rather slowly, to the streets around them, a grin on her face. It wasn't just that it was somewhere different, it was that she was here with Evander. Evander who was sitting beside her, alone, in their carriage. She had left her hand with in a grabbable reach for Evander on the cushion of the carriage but he was looking anxiously out the window instead. She tried to focus on his words instead of her own nerves.

"Quite sure." Caroline nodded, her mother had made sure it would make it with them through the portkey. Evander had watched the coach driver put them up and she trusted him to know if something was missing. Besides, she too had looked before she had been handed into the carriage.

For a moment Caroline found herself wondering what she should say for it was evident she needed to distract Evander. "I am glad to be here." She told him, finally giving up on him taking her hand and instead reached for his hand with a smile. "Even if the luggage gets lost." She tried to assure him. "Just so long as I don't lose you." Her tone was playful.

  

Well, at least her answer was reassuring. Evander was not remotely reassured – naturally – but nonetheless he appreciated her trying. But just imagine, if they did manage to lose them: a fortnight’s worth of clothes and money and the papers upon which held all the arrangements for the next portkey locations and the other hotels they had booked and the addresses of every foreign Ministry. Not to mention a detailed itinerary.

What would they do all fortnight without an itinerary?

But until they got there and unloaded their suitcases Evander would have to trust that she was right, and these worries were not yet necessary. Though – if they were stuck in traffic – perhaps he should get out and check...?

Evander might have, but she had already taken up his hand and was being – happy, and perfectly content, and perfectly careless, and whatnot.

“I should think it very difficult to lose anyone in a carriage this size,” Evander said, with a little wryness in his mouth as a corner of it twitched. He intertwined her hand better with his where she had hold of it, and as if to prove the thesis another bump in the (terribly-maintained) Parisian street sent him jolting sideways towards her, even closer. He put his other hand to her shoulder briefly in apology, and did his best to straighten back up in his seat. “But perhaps at the hotel,” he joked, as if there was any danger in it; though this too was tinged with complaint, “if we ever make it there.”

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Caroline's laugh tinkled in the carriage, she loved that tone, his wry humor. "Are you quite sure?" She rejoined, her eyes twinkling merrily.

A lurch in the carriage sent him into her, his solid weight pressing against her in a way it never had before - except perhaps for a few stolen kisses and even those hadn't been quite the same. She was overly aware of everywhere they touched, of his hand twined tight in her own, of his face only inches away. "And what shall we do until then?" She found herself asking, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

  

“I am fairly certain,” Evander returned, feigning a glance around at the enclosed space as if there was any doubt.

And what shall we do until then, she asked, and Evander might have had any number of answers to this, if she had not said it in that suggestive tone, with that look on her face. He couldn’t even pretend to have missed it; his throat had bobbed before he could help himself, and she was already too close beside him, and she must know what she was doing. Exactly what she was doing.

“I don’t know, look at the city sights,” Evander said, in the same dry tone as before, not even bothering to glance out the window. Complain about the French – worry some more about things beyond my control – have a little patience. Or a little bloody decorum, maybe.

Or, you know, not. Instead, resting his hand on her shoulder again, he tilted his chin down towards her until his mouth met hers.

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That tone again, Caroline giggled. The way he was looking at her made her feel as if she might be one of those sights, face tilted toward her, she began to blush. But really, it was the first time they were completely alone in such a secluded place. It wasn't like when they'd accidently abandoned Nimiane in the rain or when Hope had looked away after Evander proposed. No, they were completely and entirely alone in the back of an enclosed carriage. The thought had been at the front of her mind as they settled into the carriage but then Evander had been preoccupied by the luggage and Caroline by the city sights, now though it was so completely there. He was there. And there was no more events to attend. Surely he wouldn't want to have their wedding night in a carriage, Caroline found herself thinking. But what harm was there in kisses?

She knew kisses, had had more than her fair share of them as an innocent. But a kiss with a husband, a kiss where she didn't have to worry about her reputation or stopping? It sounded perfect. Well, it would have if they weren't confined to a carriage for a while. She knew where the stopping went with kissing, it led right to her wedding night which she was still nervous about. Kissing would definitely make her less nervous, right?

Evander's warm lips were on hers, gentle. Caroline kissed him back, allowing her free hand to snake around his neck. It was perfect, no it would lead to perfection, because now that he was kissing her she just wanted him to keep kissing her. She pressed slightly closer to him sighing into the kiss.

  

He had meant for the kiss to be fleeting as well – just a moment, just enough to whet one’s appetite, or to stave off the nervousness and impatience for later – but she had kissed him back with such ease, her hand already around his neck, that maybe – well, he could allow just a moment more.

And then the carriage trundled forwards again, by all of half a yard. Evander’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. (Merlin, damned Paris was worse than London, he should have made sure the portkey arrived right to the hotel, what had he been thinking?) So he had pulled away a little at the movement; but since they were already motionless again, and the temptation was abruptly too much to resist, he loosed his hand from where she had been clasping it to put both of his around her waist instead, tugging her closer against him than she had been before and keeping his hands on her, his kiss deeper and more fervent now.

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Caroline tilted up to his kiss, but when they started again they both moved away. But then he was back again, his hands around her waist, his mouth hungry against her own. This was nothing like the stolen kisses of their courtship. Or rather it was in that he was kissing her and she could feel his love in it, but the hunger was something he had always held back. She was greedy, wanting that hungry, enjoying the feel of being wanted, the warmth of his hands through the fabric was slight, but the pressure was there.

And so it went until they reached the hotel, kissing and a carriage that moved a few yards at a time. By the time Caroline and Evander had arrived she was disheveled and much less nervous about their wedding night. She gave him a sheepish smile as the carriage ground to a stop in front of the hotel and a footman stepped up to the door. "Well, that was one way to pass the time." She teased him, her cheeks warm, as well as other unmentionable parts of her. The thought of that made her blush and try to sit up more primly. But surely she could be given some leniency, it was her wedding after all and they were in Paris of all places. That said, she still patted her hair to make sure she was somewhat presentable for the walk to their rooms.

  

“Mmhm,” Evander agreed somewhat stiffly, too embarrassed by himself and by the necessity of stepping out to the hotel now, looking more dishevelled than anyone ought to be, to verbally express that that had not been part of the plan.

He was sure she was quite aware. Thankfully, of course, they knew no one here and no one was particularly liable to comment upon it. Not that Evander wasn’t frightfully self-conscious of everyone they passed as they made their way up to their rooms – but perhaps that was for the best, because he was too busy avoiding strangers’ gazes to think about what came next until they were alone in their rooms, their luggage unloaded intact (he had immediately made certain of that), and his eyes had fallen upon Caroline’s face, still a little rosy in the cheeks.

“Well,” Evander said, suddenly awkward again. “Would you like supper? Or, er, anything else? Or...?” He trailed off, trying to keep his gaze focused anywhere but her – or the bed, for that matter. It was late, and between the portkey and the meal at their London reception and the leftover effects of the drink swirling around in him, Evander no longer had any appetite. (Appetite for supper, that was.) They would have an early day tomorrow, if Caroline wanted to see anything of the city before they moved on to the next stop of the European tour – but, well, hopefully she was not too tired yet?

He was abruptly more nervous than he had been all day. Ridiculous, really; ridiculous. It had all seemed perfectly natural a moment ago. Maybe the room was too big. Too much air in here. Or not enough air. Perhaps he should open the window. Or perhaps not; there had been a terrible stench from the Seine that he could do without.

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