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“I absolutely object!”
No one had noticed the tall man dressed in black leather, dusty from the road and wearing a stern expression, enter the small church—until he bellowed the three words.
Reverend Hankins had just reached the Declaration of Objections in the wedding rite, posing the question that so often passed unanswered. But not today. A collective gasp rippled through the crowded, festively decorated church.
“Really, this is—” Tom Parker began.
“Shut up, Tom!” The man strode determinedly up the aisle towards the bride and groom standing before the altar.
The groom squared his shoulders at last and joined the outrage. “Mr. Parker, you have nothi—”
The man immediately cut off his protest. “Mr. Stringer, you shut up too. Whilst you may believe this concerns you, I assure you – it truly does not.”
Reverend Hankins, never one to forgo decorum, attempted to intervene. “Mr. Parker, I must insist—”
The man muttered a curse beneath his breath before speaking over him. “Hankins, you shut up as well. There is but one person in this church whose opinion I am prepared to entertain.”
He had reached the bride and, with imposing presence, wedged himself between her and the groom. A low murmur swept through the congregation, a mixture of indignation, shock, and breathless curiosity. A wedding was a pleasure, but a wedding with a scandal was a feast indeed. He heard none of it, nor did she.
“Sidney,” she whispered.
“Charlotte,” he said aloud, firm and sure, taking her hands into his own. “Forgive the theatrics. I had meant to arrive yesterday, but I have been rather occupied extricating myself from an engagement whilst simultaneously keeping my brother out of debtor’s prison.”
At this, Mr. Tom Parker felt compelled to object once more. “Sidney, that is hardly a fair—”
His brother cut him off with crisp precision. “Quite right. The ruin of your ventures warrants far greater rebuke.”
Never once did he look away from Charlotte. “If marrying Mr. Stringer is truly your desire, I shall walk out of this church this very instant and leave England behind. I promise, you will never see me again. But if you love me still, as I love you, then I beg you – take my hand and come with me.”
“Charlotte...” Mr. Stringer said, attempting to move past Sidney to reach her, but he was effectively hemmed in between the altar rails and a man who was not only taller and stronger, but entirely resolute.
“No one has requested your opinion,” Sidney said sharply. “And I very much doubt they ever shall.”
“Sidney, have you lost your senses?” Charlotte asked, her voice hushed.
“No. I have regained them. I lost my wits when I once again made myself responsible for my brother’s chaos, to the detriment of my own happiness. I lost them further still the day I left you on that cursed road. But now, my beloved Charlotte, I declare I have never been more clear-headed.”
“Sidney!” his brother cried again, plainly feeling he had been unfairly blamed for rather too many things.
“Oh, do shut up, Tom.” This time, however, the command did not come from Sidney – but from Mary.
“You look very beautiful, by the way,” he said with a smile to the blushing bride.
And she did look enchanting in a white silk dress, the fabric catching the light with a soft sheen, delicate blue flowers embroidered along the bodice like scattered forget-me-nots in snow. The blossoms braided into her dark curls only served to highlight the golden flecks in her bright, brown eyes—eyes that sparkled with mischief and warmth. A soft blush coloured her cheeks, and the sea breeze played gently with a loose strand of hair, completing a picture so radiant and alive it might have stepped from the pages of a romantic novel.
“Thank you. You look...” She gave a soft laugh.
He looked like a wild man, his face rugged and unshaven, shadows of exhaustion etched beneath his eyes, his clothes layered in dust and the wear of the road. His shirt clung to him in places, damp with sweat, and his dark curls, flattened and tangled by wind and heat, framed his face in unruly defiance. And yet, there was something arrestingly magnetic about him. He was dangerously handsome, raw, untamed, and impossible to ignore.
“A mess, I know,” he grinned. “As I said, I was in somewhat of a hurry.”
The wedding party had fallen silent, hanging on every word. Someone had even opened a small bag of sweets and was passing it around the pews. Mr. Stringer had slumped onto one of the kneelers, his face buried in his hands.
“I do,” she said at last. “I must be quite mad, but I do love you, Sidney. I never stopped.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she glanced around Sidney to where Stringer sat. “I am truly sorry, James. I hope you find happiness one day with someone who loves you as you deserve.”
Returning her gaze to Sidney, she smiled, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Now what?”
A wide grin lit his face. “We make a run for it!”
Both laughing, they turned and ran back down the aisle. Her veil caught on an ornamental hook and tore clean off, but she did not care.
Outside, Sidney vaulted onto his horse with elegant ease, then reached down and swept his runaway bride into his arms. With a jubilant “Hep!” they galloped off, soon reaching the road that led out of Sanditon, the road where all had once seemed to end, and where everything now began.
“Where are we going?” she asked, nestled against his chest.
“Gretna Green, of course. And from there... Wherever you wish to go, I shall take you,” he promised.
“I have always dreamt of Portugal,” she said.
“Then Portugal it shall be. I shall buy us a little cottage, with a private lagoon where we can bathe in peace, and I shall catch us lobster for our supper. And I shall make love to you.” The mere thought of Charlotte in his arms again made him gently urge the horse to greater speed.
“And I shall shoot us rabbit for dinner and whatever small game I can find. And I shall sit on your lap every evening in the one large armchair we’ll share by the fire, in our tiny library. I shall read to you. And I shall love you,” she said, dreaming aloud with him.
“We shall be happy,” he vowed.
“Impossibly happy,” she agreed.
One year later
“Lemonade?” Charlotte called out, carrying a tray down to the beach where Sidney had arranged a small table and a chaise longue beneath the generous shade of an absurdly large parasol—one he had very nearly driven off the road fetching home for her.
Every time she walked towards him, it felt like a dream. Barefoot and pregnant, dressed in a gauzy dress that moved softly around her legs, she made his breath hitch, and his heart skip a beat. Somehow, she grew more beautiful with each passing day.
“Yes, please.” He rose to meet her, drawing her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her lips. “And how are my two girls?” he asked, resting a warm hand on the gentle swell of her belly.
“Your son and wife are both very well,” she corrected him with a laugh, leaning into the familiar comfort of his touch.
He shook his head fondly. “The world is in desperate need of more Heywood women. Parker men are, more often than not, trouble.”
“That is true,” she replied, a smile playing on her lips. “But at least one of those Parker men has brought extraordinary joy to this particular Heywood woman.”
“You do not regret me kidnapping you from your wedding?” he asked. The question had become something of a playful ritual between them. Though the tone was light, Sidney never quite forgot how close he had been at losing her forever, nor the cost of their impulsive elopement. Her father still had not replied to her letters. In contrast, he received regular correspondence from Tom. Monthly ramblings, scribbled in atrocious grammar and worse spelling, always laying blame at Sidney’s feet.
Charlotte reached up to caress his cheek, her touch tender. Her voice unwavering and filled with love. “Never. I am impossibly happy.”
“As am I.”
He sat back on the chaise, pulling her gently into his lap. They shared a single glass of lemonade, passing it between them in easy rhythm, as the warm breeze rolled in from the sea.
After their breathless ride to Gretna Green, followed by several blissful days in bed as Mr and Mrs Parker, entirely unclothed and entirely content, they had withdrawn to Lady Susan’s London townhouse. It became their temporary haven, a quiet refuge from the disapproval of family and society, as they made preparations for a new life abroad. In the background, Sidney had moved discreetly, securing funds for Mary and each of the children, building what protection he could in the event Tom’s financial entanglements should collapse once more.
Then, as promised, he had done everything in his power to grant Charlotte her wish: a peaceful life in Portugal. Their home was slightly larger than first imagined, to accommodate the future brood they both anticipated. The small library featured only one large armchair, though. The cottage came with a private beach, a secluded lagoon, and fields with olives and oranges. Every corner whispered of contentment. The entire venture was sustained by a thriving business, one in which Charlotte was an equal partner.
The ritual had been fulfilled, but this time, Charlotte added more, her tone serious. “I would do it again in a heartbeat, Sidney. No matter the consequences.”
To that, he could only say the one truth that mattered above all else: “I love you.”
♥️ O Fim ♥️