Chapter 242: After Wedding

The first thing Ernest Teucher did as a married man was veer toward the vestry door.

Eleanor’s gloved hand caught his sleeve before his second pace landed. "The carriage is in the opposite direction, husband."

Ernest halted, glancing from the small arched doorway he had nearly walked through to the central aisle paved in stone. "A minor course correction."

"Naturally."

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

He looked at her, the veil pinned behind her hair, white freesias still gathered in her hand. "By you."

The dry amusement in Eleanor’s gray eyes softened, her fingers tightening around his arm. "An acceptable justification. Try not to lead us into the coal cellar."

They turned together. For the first time, Ernest saw the chapel as she must have seen it on her approach. Every bench was occupied. Family, foundry foremen, board members, cabinet ministers, and King Edward himself stood in the dappled amber light filtering through the leaded glass, the chapel ringing with applause.

Ernest’s shoulders went rigid.

Eleanor matched his stride, her voice low. "Too late to retreat."

"I was not planning a retreat."

"You were walking toward the vestry."

"Navigational oversight."

"A surveyor suffering a navigational oversight?"

"Have some charity," he murmured.

She laughed quietly, and together they stepped past the iron latch into the bright midday sun.

Anna met them on the gravel. She did not bother with formal protocol; she gathered Eleanor into a fierce, rustling embrace of embroidered silk before either could reach the stone steps.

"My daughter," Anna said, her voice trembling.

"Anna," Eleanor began, returning the hug.

"None of that," Anna cut in, holding her tighter. "My daughter."

Ernest stood on the flagstone threshold. "Statistically speaking, daughter-in-law."

Anna peered over Eleanor’s shoulder with a dangerous squint. "Do not begin with definitions, Ernest."

Before he could mount a defense, Victor caught his shoulder, turning him with surprising strength, and pulled him into a solid, unyielding embrace. It was not the restrained clasp typical of the older nobility. It smelled of bay rum and fresh linen.

"Well done, son," Victor said into his collar.

"Thank you, Father."

Victor stepped back, clearing his throat, his eyes bright with unshed moisture. When Ernest looked directly at him, Victor gestured toward the driveway. "Do not inspect my countenance, Ernest. Go attend to your in-laws."

Adrian was waiting beside Cecilia, who was dabbing a lace handkerchief beneath her lashes. The older lord extended a hand. When Ernest took it, Adrian ignored the grip and hauled him forward into a brief, heavy clasp.

"Guard her well," Adrian said.

"I will."

"And remember our agreement in the orchard."

Ernest offered a faint, acknowledging smile. "I will permit her to manage me."

Eleanor stepped up beside them, taking Ernest’s elbow. "I have every intention of doing so."

"May heaven help you both," Adrian laughed.

Then came the brothers. Thomas offered disciplined, formal congratulations. Henry stepped forward with his hands behind his back, his sharp eyes surveying Ernest with measuring gravity.

"Well, Baron," Henry said.

"Henry."

"You are officially bound to this family."

"It appears so."

"A daunting proposition for both parties." Henry extended his hand, his grip hard and dry. "Guard her well. Father said it, and now I am establishing the legal precedent."

"Understood."

Henry’s mouth curved in a genuine, unreserved smile. "Welcome, Ernest."

Lucas elbowed through the knot of adults, his hair unruly and his boots dusty from the lawn. He planted himself before Ernest with folded arms. "So. You are my brother now."

"Brother-in-law, under common law."

Lucas dismissed the distinction with a wave. "Does this alter the licensing timeline for Belfast Number One?"

"It does not," Ernest said. "Sixteen remains the minimum age for riding the footplate."

"I shall be fifteen in four months. That is functionally sixteen."

"That is basic numerical falsehood, Lucas."

Lucas turned toward Eleanor with theatrical despair. "Your husband is an autocrat."

Eleanor pressed her cheek against Ernest’s shoulder. "He is an engineer. It is considerably worse."

"Can you order him?"

"Constantly," she said.

"A formidable coalition," Ernest murmured.

"Chairman!"

Ernest shut his eyes. "Arthur."

Arthur Pendelton parted the knot of guests, balancing two flutes of champagne with practiced ease. He bowed with theatrical flair to Eleanor, handing her a glass. "Lady Teucher."

The name hung in the cool spring air. Eleanor paused, her fingers curling around the crystal stem, her eyes darting to Ernest. He was watching her, an expression of profound, quiet pride written across his face.

"Lady Eleanor Teucher," Arthur repeated with a grin. "It rolls off the tongue with immense commercial weight."

"I am adjusting to the title," Eleanor smiled, looking down at the platinum band beside her diamond.

"And you, Chairman," Arthur said, turning to Ernest. "I owe Samuel twenty sovereigns."

Ernest scowled. "You wagered on my betrothal?"

"Certainly not. We wagered on whether you could endure the exchange of vows without challenging the rector on ecclesiastical history."

Eleanor broke into clear, unrestrained laughter.

"I am not in the habit of interrupting divine services," Ernest said.

"You corrected the presiding vicar during your cousin’s confirmation regarding the date of the revised prayer book," Arthur pointed out.

"The man misquoted the year by sixteen months," Ernest countered. "Historical precision is not an offense."

"Drink your wine, Chairman," Arthur laughed, raising his glass. "To the bride—and to the monumental task of organizing her husband’s domestic life."

"Depart, Arthur."

"With pleasure."

The crowd parted further, revealing Hollen standing near the stone balustrade. The old ironmaster had remained several paces back, waiting his turn with uncharacteristic stillness.

Eleanor saw him first, gently tapping Ernest’s cuff. "Go."

Ernest crossed the gravel. The two men stood facing one another beneath the shade of the ancient oak. Hollen was still trapped in the silk waistcoat, the mother-of-pearl buttons gleaming in the midday sun.

"Well," Hollen said gruffly.

"Well."

"You didn’t drop the platinum."

"My thumb slipped," Ernest admitted. "Kinematic recovery was executed within two inches."

"Nearly dropped it," Hollen snorted. "Nearly doesn’t count in a machine shop, lad."

He looked past Ernest toward Eleanor, who was speaking with Anna near the carriage line. "Happy?"

"Completely," Ernest said without hesitation.

Hollen gave a slow, measured nod. "Good."

Silence fell between them. Ernest looked at the old man’s weathered face, lined with decades of foundry soot, furnace burns, and long nights over calculation sheets. He remembered being seven years old, coughing in the sulfur smoke while Hollen taught him how to draw a fire with dry coke.

Without warning, Ernest stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the old smith.

Hollen stiffened in pure, unadulterated shock. His heavy hands hovered in the air for a second before coming down firmly on Ernest’s back, a rough, calloused grip that nearly knocked the wind from the young Baron’s chest.

"Thank you," Ernest said quietly against his collar.

"For what?"

"For giving me iron when I had no sense. For everything."

Hollen cleared his throat with a sound like grinding ballast stone. "Stop that. You’ll wrinkle the silk."

"Too late."

They parted. Hollen’s eyes were unusually bright, though his chin was thrust out with ferocious stubbornness.

Eleanor stepped up to them, her gown rustling softly on the grass. "Am I interrupting a corporate conference?"

"Aye," Hollen said, blinking rapidly. "The Chairman is neglecting his duties."

He took Eleanor’s hand, resting it squarely over Ernest’s palm. "Take him, lass. He’s officially your liability."

Eleanor smiled, leaning up to kiss the old man’s scarred cheek. "I accept the transfer of assets, Hollen."

Hollen touched his cheek where her lips had brushed, looked wildly about the lawn, and muttered, "Where in the name of the seven provinces did Victor hide the whiskey?"