The Earl's Convenient Wife

‘Before I let you go...’ he was beaming as if he’d personally played matchmaker, and happy families was just beginning ‘...I wish to say a few words. I’ve known our Jeanie since the time she turned from a twinkle in her father’s eye into a pretty wee bairn. I’ve watched her grow into the fine young woman she is today. I know the Lady Eileen felt the same pleasure and pride in her that I do, and I feel the Lady Eileen is looking down right now, giving these two her blessing.’

Okay, Jeanie thought. That’ll do. Stop now. But this was the Reverend Angus and she knew he wouldn’t.

‘But it’s been my sorrow to see the tragedies that have befallen our Jeanie,’ the minister continued, his beam dipping for a moment. ‘She was devoted to her Rory from the time she was a wee lass, she was a fine wife and when the marriage ended in tragedy we were all heartbroken for her. That she was brave enough to try again with her Alan was a testament to her courage—and, dare I say, it was also a testament to the Lady Eileen’s encouragement? I dare say there’s not an islander on Duncairn whose heart didn’t break with her when she came home after such trouble.’

‘Angus...’ Jeanie hissed, appalled, but Angus’s beam was back on high and there was no stopping him.

‘And now it’s three,’ he said happily. ‘Third-time lucky. I hear the Lady Eileen has her fingers in the pie this time, too, but she assured me before she died that this one would be a happy ever after.’

‘She told you?’ Alasdair asked, sounding incredulous.

‘She was a conniving lass, your grandmother.’ Angus beamed some more. ‘And here it is, the results of that conniving, and the islanders couldn’t be happier for you. Jeanie, lass, may third time be more than lucky. May your third time be forever.’

* * *

Somehow they made it outside, to the steps of the kirk. The church sat on the headland looking over Duncairn Bay. The sun was shining. The fishing fleet was out, but a few smaller boats were tied on swing moorings. Gulls were wheeling overhead, the church grounds were a mass of wild honeysuckle and roses, and the photographer for the island’s monthly newsletter was asking them to look their way.

‘Smile for the camera... You look so handsome, the pair of you.’

This would make the front cover of the Duncairn Chronicle, she knew—Local Lass Weds Heir to Duncairn.

Her father would be down in the pub now, she thought, already drinking in anticipation of profits he’d think he could wheedle from her.

‘This is the third time?’ Alasdair sounded incredulous.

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