Epilogue

Bernadette looked up from her copy of the Gazette where it rested on the low wooden table near the bench. She smiled up at Nicholas, who leaned back, eyes closing contentedly in the warm late spring sunshine.

"You know, I find it makes no difference," Bernadette said slowly. It was a revelation, but one she found to be absolutely true.

"I am of exactly that opinion," Nicholas agreed warmly. "I couldn't care less what they think, and I am sure you don't, now, either. Not that I think you ever did," he added with a smile.

Bernadette tilted her head on one side, thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not sure of that," she answered rather slowly. "I think I did care, before. But now that I know you, I couldn't care less for what anyone else thinks of us."

Nicholas chuckled. "I agree with you entirely."

Bernadette felt her heart race as he enfolded her hand in his. She smiled, cheeks blazing with delicious warmth. She knew that she should have become used to his close contact by now, but, strangely, her tingles of longing and excitement had only intensified in the weeks since they were wed. She could barely look into his eyes without her body flooding with warmth.

"I always admired that in you," Nicholas said slowly as they sat there. "Your ability to look away from them, to turn your back on society and hold your head high. I noticed that from when we met, you know."

"You did?" Bernadette blinked at him in surprise.

"Yes. You were never like everyone else. You didn't judge me, ever. Even when all those around you did. You are not one for following popular opinion."

"You too," Bernadette teased him gently.

"Yes. I suppose," Nicholas agreed slowly. He tilted his head. "Though I think I always cared what people thought. Their judgement of my looks always hurt."

"You are a beautiful man," Bernadette said firmly, delighting in her chance to tell him. She'd longed to tell him from shortly after they met, but the first time she'd said it she'd almost died of shame. Now, she looked into his eyes and felt her heart lift anew with the joy of being able to say those words aloud.

"You are a dear woman," Nicholas said warmly, reaching up and resting a hand on her soft brown hair. "A dear and beautiful one, if I may say so. Most lovely and beautiful." He pulled her close, his lips finding hers. Bernadette felt her body flood with heat, cheeks blazing with desire and shy joy in the magic of his kiss.

She leaned back as he moved back too, her breath gasping in her throat.

"Did they mention the coach too?" Nicholas asked as she folded the newspaper where it lay beside her on the chair. She frowned.

"I didn't notice. Let's see it again." She lifted the newspaper, shaking it and turning to the page where the long one-page article about their wedding was printed.

"Here. Here it is," Nicholas said, grinning. He read the words. "They refused the offer of the Lockwood coach, preferring the small, simple one emblazoned with the Blackburne arms."

Bernadette giggled. It was strange, reading about oneself in the paper. Strange, but not horrible, which was what she'd expected. After the criticism in the scandal sheets, she'd dreaded the response in the papers to their abrupt change of plan. But it was just amusing.

"And they say that my suit was old-fashioned! The cheek." Nicholas grinned, pretending to be affronted. "But then, they say the whole venue was old-fashioned, so if Lord Glover's chapel wasn't offended, nor am I."

Bernadette smiled warmly. "Me, too," she agreed.

They had flouted Grandmother's plans for a society wedding, choosing instead to hold a modest ceremony in the chapel belonging to the uncle of Nicholas' friend. Bernadette had worn a white gown with lace embellishments that she borrowed from a friend, and Nicholas had worn his favorite velvet jacket and shirt. The ceremony was brief and personal, and afterwards they had taken Nicholas' coach to a place society was unlikely to follow them.

"So, you were right," Bernadette murmured, looking around the little cottage parlor where they sat. "Your family did own one."

"Yes. I'm amazed Grandfather let me borrow it. I think he only let us use it because he'd forgotten we own it." He chuckled.

They sat silently for a while, Bernadette's thoughts wandering. Bernadette's parents had been upset by the lack of a spectacle for the Ton, but then they had been very quiet lately, and their objections had been minor and carefully expressed. They had not attended—only Andrew, Nicholas' best friend, his mother and Henry, his sisters, Viola and Judy had—but they had chosen to host a modest dinner afterwards for them and the guests, and Bernadette was thankful for that.

At least they were on good terms.

Nicholas had not mentioned if his grandparents had spoken to him, but she felt sure that they would do so again. For all that they were difficult people, their care for their grandson—their only grandson—had to outweigh their pride and rage at having their own control thwarted. She prayed that soon they would see good sense and come to terms with them again.

The scent of warm earth and fresh grass wafted through the open window and Bernadette breathed deeply, her thoughts returning to the moment. She smiled at Nicholas, a big, peaceful, sleepy smile. The day was deliciously warm, the countryside so tranquil she felt well-rested and at peace.

"Shall we go for a walk, soon?" Nicholas asked. "Perhaps along the river. It's cooler there."

"Yes, indeed," Bernadette agreed. "Let's go for a walk."

They stood and Nicholas fetched his hat and coat, while Bernadette tied on a simple bonnet and her favorite white cloak. They walked slowly down the street, the spring breeze that blew in over the river cooling them deliciously.

"You had news of the donation?" Bernadette asked as they walked.

"Yes," Nicholas said with a grin. "Mrs. Brookham said she'd put it to good use, refurbishing the upstairs rooms of the boarding house. I hope she spends some of it on herself too."

"Yes," Bernadette said with a fond smile. "So do I."

A sizeable donation from the Blackburne accounts had made its way to Mrs. Brookham's house. Nicholas had agreed with Bernadette wholeheartedly that the brave, kind boarding-house owner should receive a token of their appreciation. Bernadette smiled to herself, recalling how the older woman had so bravely defended her. She hoped she was thriving.

They both walked on, lost in thought.

"So," Bernadette murmured as they walked towards the water, "Marcia and Clarissa are enjoying London still?"

"They are," Nicholas agreed with a smile. "I'm glad Judy's cousin could act as a chaperone for them. With Judy and her cousin to watch them, I'm sure they'll be safe in society."

"Or not," Bernadette said with a grin. "But they will be happy."

"Yes," Nicholas agreed, linking his arm through hers. "They will." He paused as they walked along the river together, the pavement cool stone, the railing along the water's edge a sturdy one of wrought iron. "They will if they have courage to face down society and its expectations. It seems that is necessary if one is to find happiness."

Bernadette began to nod, then tilted her head, thinking. "Mayhap," she agreed slowly. "But when you love someone, it is much easier to be brave. Being brave about loving you was easy."

Nicholas smiled, his blue eyes sparkling bright, a few shades darker than the turquoise backdrop between the clouds above them. "Well, then I must have been very, very brave too, because I love you very much. More than I can say."

Bernadette beamed at him, her heart flooding with love. "I love you too, Nicholas," she murmured, her throat too tight for words. "I love you too."

They walked along the river, arm in arm, and the afternoon sunshine, glowing on the water, was like the road ahead of them—broad, and shining, full of love.

The End