‘Yes,’ she whispered just in time.
Her father’s footsteps thundered into the drawing room followed by three beefy footmen to back up his chagrin. ‘Get out of my house,’ he bellowed. ‘And get away from my daughter you scoundrel. The next time, you won’t escape with only bruises, Heathridge’s nephew or not.’
‘That might be hard to do, sir. I have just proposed to her and she has accepted.’ Dashiell reached into his coat pocket. ‘I have a special license and I most cordially invite you to our wedding tomorrow morning.’
The women oohed and aahed and gasped by turns. This was both romantic and outrageous. The Graybourne at-home would be the most talked about event of the week, quite possibly of the Little Season.
‘Elisabeth?’ Her father turned his stony gaze in her direction, looking for confirmation.
‘Is this true?’
Elisabeth squared her shoulders and slid her hand in Dashiell’s, taking strength from his warm grip. For the second time in as many minutes, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘What’s this one here called?’ Dashiell backed away from the eyepiece of the great telescope at the royal observatory in Greenwich to give his wife of twelve hours a peek.
She laughed. ‘Not all the stars have names.’
He took her in his arms and she temporarily forgot the stars. Her whole universe was right in front of her. She’d married him that morning in a small ceremony at his uncle’s house, with only his uncle and her family in attendance. It wasn’t the wedding her mother had dreamt of, but it was what Elisabeth had wanted: quiet and devoid of fuss. All that mattered was that she was marrying a man who loved her.
There had been a wedding breakfast and shortly afterwards Dashiell had whisked her away to Greenwich for the first part of their wedding trip. He’d surprised her with a private visit to the royal observatory and the rest of their itinerary; their wedding trip would be as unconventional as their marriage. Instead of spending six months in Italy, they’d spend the year travelling from one observatory to the next. They’d stop in Dorpat and eventually end up on the Cape with John Hershel in hopes of seeing the comet one more time before it left on another seventy-six-year journey.
‘I have something for you.’ He let her go long enough to reach into the inner pocket of his coat and produce a small velvet box.
Elisabeth gave him a quizzical look. ‘I don’t need anything else. This is gift enough.’ She gestured to the great, empty room around them. He’d arranged to have the observatory at their disposal tonight. While everyone was at church or parties, they had the universe to themselves.
Dashiell flipped the small lid open to reveal a diamond studded pin inside.
‘A comet pin!’ Elisabeth exclaimed. She traced the diamond tail of the comet with the tip of her finger. ‘Oh, it’s perfect.’
‘Turn it over,’ Dashiell said. The pin had been fashioned to commemorate the return and there were several variations available but there was none quite like this one. On the back, etched in tiny letters were the words, ‘E and I always. 1835.’
‘I’ll never take it off,’ Elisabeth whispered, moved profoundly by her husband’s thoughtfulness.
‘I hope you will some of the time. If not, it could make certain things rather difficult.’
Dashiell gave her a knowing look that made her smile. They’d wasted no time in seeing their marriage consummated the moment they’d arrived in Greenwich that afternoon.
‘Speaking of ‘certain things,’ I think we’ve had enough looking at the universe. Why don’t we go back to the inn,’ Elisabeth suggested.
She slipped her hand through Dashiell’s arm and they headed out into the night for the short walk to the inn. ‘It’s a midnight clear,’ Elisabeth commented, breathing deep of the night air.
The evening was cold and clear, perfect for winter star-gazing. She cast a glance skyward, marvelling at the perfection of it all. ‘It’s a Christmas comet, you know. Edmund Halley predicted its return for late December, 1758 and he was right. Johann Palitzsch spotted it Christmas night that year.’
In the distance, church bells rang. ‘And the Bethlehem star?’ Dashiell queried. ‘Do you think your comet was the Christmas Star?’
Elisabeth shrugged, leaning against Dashiell’s shoulder as they walked. ‘Perhaps. The timelines suggest it would have been twelve years too early, but it’s possible. What’s twelve years to the stars? The universe counts time differently than mere mortals.’
Dashiell laughed and drew her to him for a kiss. ‘Merry Christmas, wife.’