“You’re getting married?”

Rip thought the look of shock and amazement on Nancy’s face when they returned home to tell her the news was priceless.

He and Blair discussed marriage on the way home in the cab, like two business partners agreeing to a union.

In fact, Blair assured him, that was often the way marriages worked at her level of society. Two people decided they rather liked one another and that it behooved both to be legally wed.

She asked him how it worked on his world.

“Well, to be honest, I did not get married. But from what I know of it, the way it works is, two people fall in love and decide to get hitched.”

She blinked and frowned.

“Oh. What happens when people fall out of love? Seems flimsy to base a lifelong commitment on so fragile an emotion.”

“Well, you’ve got a point. Couples work on staying in love, though. Divorce sucks.”

“It seems to me, love comes after the commitment is made in our society.”

And with that, she rested her head on his shoulder most of the way home.

“You’re getting married! I knew it! I knew this would happen! I have so many people to tell. There are so many things to be done! Are we going back to Ravenwick for the ceremony? I’ve got to—”

“Nancy.”

The maid stopped, about to hyperventilate, and locked eyes with Blair.

“This is partly . . . well, mostly a marriage of convenience. I will lose control of the company in tomorrow’s board meeting, unless I am married and my husband can assume ownership of the controlling shares in Brooke & Company. Rip will also inherit Brooke Manor and the entire family fortune, but that’s of lesser concern right now. We need the company, and this is the way to keep it.”

Nancy blinked, the words Blair said seemingly vying for attention with all the other thoughts racing through her head.

“Do you understand, Nancy? There will be no public displays. There will be no parties. We need to have a sailor’s wedding as soon as possible. Will you help us find a magistrate or a vicar to perform the ceremony? It’s vitally important we bypass the waiting period after securing a license.”

“Oh, absolutely, dear. Absolutely. I know just the vicar. He’s in Chelmsford, you see, and I knew his wife growing up. Such a delight! She—”

“Just do it, Nancy. We need it today.”

“Oh, well you’re not likely to get a marriage license today, dear. It’s already the afternoon, now. No, if you want to get into one of the cozy little cubicles where those bureaucrats wield power in their little paper fiefdoms, you’ll need to queue up first thing in the morning. But you must be married before noon, tomorrow. That’s the law. All marriages must take place between eight in the morning and noon. It’s been that way forever.”

Blair traded a glance with Rip and said, “She’s right.”

A hint of resignation seeped through her voice.

He shrugged and said, “Secure us a vicar for the morning. We’ll try to get a license today. If we can’t, we’ll do both tomorrow.”

“And once the vicar signs off that he has performed the ceremony, you’ll need to stand in line again to have it properly registered. Now, if it’s a sailor’s wedding, the wife often does by herself that on account of the fellow is out to sea by then, but it doesn’t really matter who files the completed form, so long as it is filed. The man behind the counter will then give you a certificate of marriage and it’s all official-like, and recorded in the church records, you see.”

An hour later, Rip and Blair stepped from a cabbie and stood in front of a large gray stone building near St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“So . . . church offices are big enough to warrant their own building?”

“Sure. How does it work on your world?”

“I dunno. I wasn’t Episcopalian, uh . . . Anglican.”

“Well, you are now. Come along.”

They walked up broad white steps and through big double doors into a wide open lobby, only to be met by signs pointing in different directions. Following the one marked “Marriage Licenses,” they found themselves at the end of a line with about eight people standing in it waiting for their turn with a man behind a desk.

“That doesn’t look too bad,” Rip said. “Excuse me, how long have you been waiting?”

“Me?” the fellow in front of them said, turning. “Two hours. Not sure I’m going to make it today. They close at five, you know.”

Rip and Blair exchanged a glance. A large clock above the wall sounded off four chimes, marking the top of the hour.

Blair’s face dropped and her shoulders slumped. He winked at her and made a motion with his head to follow.

Rip reached into his wallet and pulled out a coin. He handed it to the man, whose eyes bulged.

“A crown? What’s this for?”

Rip just smiled at him and walked beside the next man in line. He handed him another coin.

“What’s this? Say, aren’t you that otherworlder? I seen your picture in the paper.”

Rip nodded, smiling, and went to the next people in line, a young couple. He gave them each a coin.

“Thankee, governer! What’s this for?”

So it went until they came to the last person at the front of the line.

Rip smiled at the man, an older fellow, and held out a guinea. Whereas the crowns were worth five shillings, a guinea was worth 21 shillings in this archaic monetary system.

The man looked down at the big coin and up at Rip and Blair. Then he turned and glanced at the giant clock on the wall with realization dawning on his face.

He nodded, and took the proffered coin then stepped back, letting Rip and Blair take his place in line.

The clerk behind the desk bid good day to the couple in front of him. They left at the same moment, and he saw Rip and Blair take the old fellow’s place.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in line, like all the rest, sir.”

“Oh, I think this gentleman is okay with us taking his place. Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Absolutely. He may have my turn.”

“It’s not fair to all the others in line. Please go to the back.”

Rip said, “I think everybody else is okay with us going now. What do you all say?”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Let them go.”

“He has my leave. That’s the otherworlder! Really nice chap.”

The expression on the clerk’s face softened into a smile. He made a motion for them to approach.

“I’m not sure how you did that, but well done. What can I do for you?”

“We would like a sailor’s marriage license, I think it’s called.”

“Ah, the colloquial. It’s called a special marriage license. Traditionally, in olden times, it was granted by the Archbishop of Canterbury solely to the nobility. These days, we allow it for anybody, provided they are willing to pay. That’s the catch. And I’m not sure many sailors are willing to foot the bill, despite the colloquial expression.”

He cleared his throat.

“Are you willing to pay? The fee is 20 guineas, plus an additional five for the stamp.”

Rip blinked. That seemed exorbitant, and he thought he was being generous by paying off everyone to cut in line.

However, under the circumstances . . .

He reached into his wallet and pulled out several more coins.

The church official took his money and smiled.

He pulled out a ledger, two reference books and a very expensive scroll bound by a red ribbon.

“Very good. Now, let’s get to work, shall we?”