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Benedict quoted Prince Florizel's final passage low and close to Sophie's ear as the sea first appeared upon the horizon.
Now, standing by the window of their lodgings, she could hear the rush of waves on the beach. The easy cadence of the verse returned to her with each gentle crash and retreat of the tide as her fingers twirled one of the last surviving roses Gregory and Mr. Crabtree wove onto the cabriolet.
Her husband originally argued for his trusty phaeton, predicting they would have no need of a hood. Rain spared their wedding day, but the journey stretched ahead of them still, and the unseasonably warm weather already convinced Sophie that some form of cover was a necessity.
They attempted to discuss Coleridge while descending into the modest coastal hamlet. The effort was been futile. The sea claiming all of Sophie's attention. As the carriage wound down towards their lodgings, gulls wheeled overhead, their cries carrying above them. Fishing boats bobbed lazily in the water, their masts swaying gently against the horizon. Sophie scarcely heard another word Benedict said.
Now she looked over her shoulder to find Benedict standing in the doorway of their rented rooms.
“Are you planning to hover there continuing to stare at me?”
He spent the better part of their three-month engagement organising the bridal tour in secret. As they departed Wiltshire following the wedding breakfast and exuberant send-off, Benedict finally revealed the itinerary: a leisurely journey along the coast ending at Clyvedon, where they would visit with the Duchess of Hastings.
Sophie knew of the planned visit to Benedicts sister and was aware to expect the seaside would feature at some point in their travels. What she did not anticipate was how many coastal towns they'd visit. At the pace Benedict conceived, Daphne's nursemaid might well be preparing to organise to hem the “short” dresses for Daphne's newest baby before they arrived.
“I am torn between two thoughts,” Benedict said, crossing the room. “Both entirely selfish.”
“Oh?”
“The first is to cancel the bridal tour and remain here while I paint your portrait in this very spot. The light is perfect.”
When they arrived at their lodgings, the late afternoon sky was awash in pale blues and windswept greys. Now the sinking sun transformed the horizon into a blaze of amber and gold. The last light spilled through the window and across Sophie's shoulders, catching in her hair until she appeared woven from the sunset itself.
“And the second?”
“Take you to bed.” He was behind her now, the words spoken low against her neck.
The sea breeze from the open window stirred the loose hair at her temples as he slipped his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. Her corset laces pressed into her back at an uncomfortable angle. She shifted slightly, only to find the movement worsened matters.
The fault lay mostly with Benedict. Or rather, with their inability to leave each other alone beneath a grove of budding beech trees shortly after noon. What begun as an innocent pause to enjoy the shade and stretch their legs ended with Sophie perched in his lap, skirts bunched about her waist, laughing breathlessly as he fumbled with her underdress.
His attempts to restore order afterwards was admirable, if wholly unsuccessful.
The second occasion took place some miles further along the road after they solemnly agreed to behave with greater restraint. The agreement survived less than a quarter of an hour with both of them conceding self-control was a deeply overrated virtue for newlyweds in love.
For the remainder of the journey Sophie's skirts refused to sit correctly, her stays shifted in ways that would alarm a maid if she had one and the laces at her back appeared to have been tied by a man working against both time and common sense. Not that she regretted any of it. Particularly when said husband currently looked at her as though he intended to create entirely new difficulties for her wardrobe before the evening was through.
Looking back, Sophie could not decide whether the greater miracle was that they reached their destination before sunset or that they managed to remain dressed respectively for most of the journey.
“I do not believe the second thought to be selfish,” Sophie said. “Indeed, I should consider it remarkably selfless.”
Benedict laughed softly.
“In fact, the first is also tempting.”
“...but.”
She smiled at his immediate understanding. “But it has been a long day, dear husband.” The new title earned precisely the reaction she expected, his smile felt against her temple. “And you require sustenance,” she continued. “While I do not mind being woken in the night by you, I would prefer it not be the result of hunger pains and stomach growls. Otherwise, there shall be consequences.”
His eyebrows rose in amusement. “Sustenance sounds exceedingly wise. Best to be prepared. After all you might be the one waking me with a craving.”
Sophie blushed knowingly.
“Less than a day into our marriage and already you are calling me wise.” She glanced towards the bed before looking back at him. “Quickly. Let us go to supper before I change my mind.”
The answering smile that spread across Benedict's face suggested he considered that a very real threat indeed.