Chapter 37

Chapter 37

It was the perfect morning of a perfect day. The sun streamed softly through the gauzy curtains of the chamber, dappling walls papered with a delicate floral pattern. Vivianne was standing before the large looking glass, her heart aflutter. It was indeed a perfect day, for it was her wedding day.

Her bridal gown, an exquisite creation of white silk with a high waist and delicate lace trim, fit smoothly over her slender frame. The fine fabric whispered softly with her every movement. Her hair, a cascade of honey-colored curls, had been artfully arranged by her maid, a few soft tendrils left to frame her face, and adorned with small pearl pins that gleamed faintly in the morning light.

“You look like an angel,” Aurelia gushed from behind her. She stepped forward to adjust the sleeves of Vivianne’s gown, smoothing the fabric with a careful hand. “Truly, I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

Vivianne tried to smile at her reflection, but the expression trembled at the corners. She reached up, lightly touching the string of pearls around her neck—her mother’s, given to her as something old and something borrowed. Her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface of each pearl, a reassuring anchor in the tide of her emotions.

“Thank you, my dear,” she replied, locking eyes with her sister in the looking glass.

“Are you nervous?” Aurelia inquired.

“No,” Vivianne replied without a second thought. “I feel… happy, hopeful.” She turned slightly, looking back at her sister, whose face mirrored her own feelings. “Today feels like the beginning of something wonderful.”

“And it is,” Aurelia assured her. “Are you ready?”

Vivianne inhaled deeply, then nodded. “Yes.”

The sisters walked out of the room hand in hand, their footsteps soft on the polished wooden floor. The corridor stretched before them, beckoning them to continue, to reach the destination Vivianne had been yearning for. The comforting warmth of her sister’s hand was a steady anchor as they continued to walk.

As they descended the grand staircase, the soft murmur of conversation from the guests gathered below reached their ears. The scent of freshly cut flowers filled the air—roses, lilies, and jasmine arranged in beautiful bouquets that adorned the banisters and tabletops. Each step brought them closer to the day’s great event, closer to the future that awaited.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Vivianne saw her father, standing tall and proud in his formal coat, stepping forward to meet her. His eyes were filled with love as he reached out a hand.

“May I have the honor?” he asked quietly. His voice sounded on the verge of breaking with unspoken sentiment.

She felt a rush of warmth fill her chest as she nodded, slipping her hand into his. It felt comforting, reassuring. She would always be her father’s daughter, but now, she was a woman who was to have another man in her life, a man to honor and respect, a man to love and cherish.

Together with her father, she opened the door, revealing the ballroom of Chesterfield Manor where the ceremony was to be held. Heads turned and a hush fell over the crowd as they stepped inside. Vivianne’s breath caught in her throat at the sight before her.

The room was decorated with delicate white flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the fresh, crisp scent of the summer morning. A white carpet ran the length of the room, leading to an archway draped with ivy and blossoms, beneath which her future husband stood.

There were so many people in attendance, and yet, she could see only one. Her eyes were fixed on Edward, taking in every detail—the way his posture was relaxed, yet confident as he waited, the gentle yet playful smile on his lips, and the warmth in his gaze that was meant solely for her. Time seemed to slow down as she watched him, each second stretching into infinity.

She was utterly mesmerized, captivated by the quiet strength that he exuded, the tenderness in his eyes, the unspoken connection that bound them together. That man was ready to die for her, and at that thought, she felt a rush of emotions: love, gratitude, awe.

Her father gently took her arm, and together they stepped forward, moving slowly toward her husband. Each step felt like a lifetime, filled with emotion and anticipation. She glanced up at her father, who gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes glistening with pride and love. When they reached the end of the aisle, her father brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“I am so proud of you, my love,” he told her, the words breaking at the seams, almost as if the emotions were too strong to convey in words. She knew that feeling well.

“I love you, Father,” she gushed, embracing him, only to let go of him and turn to Edward.

Her father proceeded to place her hand in Edward’s, bringing them to each other. The ceremony began, the words of the officiant becoming a beautiful backdrop to the silent conversation between their eyes. She was barely listening to the words he was saying. All she could do was get lost in the sea of her husband’s eyes and the love she had found there.

***

“I still can’t believe it,” Edward said as the two of them twirled to the music. He watched as her gown swirled elegantly around her ankles with each step. His hand rested gently yet possessively on the small of her back, guiding her easily. Their eyes met, sparkling with mischief and affection, and a playful smile tugged at her lips.

“You can’t believe what?” she asked in a murmur meant only for him.

“That you think Sense and Sensibility is an absolutely riveting read,” he clarified, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he spoke. That wasn’t what he was going to say at all, but he couldn’t resist the chance to tease her.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Are you still mocking me for enjoying a bit of romance, dear? Just because it isn’t another one of your tedious war histories...”

He chuckled, spinning her around. “Tedious? I’ll have you know that my ‘tedious war histories’ are far more informative than a story about a woman who falls in love with her gardener.”

“No one falls in love with a gardener in that book, you silly thing.” She laughed. He loved it when she laughed like that, freely, without restraint.

“Well, most of those stories are about an unlikely romance,” he replied playfully.

She was still smiling, eyes dancing with amusement. “Perhaps, but my stories at least have a happy ending. Not every tale needs a battle, you know. Sometimes, a lady simply prefers gardens to war fields.”

He grinned, warm and teasing. “I would prefer your novels too if the protagonists spent as much time strategizing as they do staring longingly at each other.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Ah, but you see, strategy comes in many forms. Who’s to say a longing gaze isn’t a strategy of its own?”

He laughed again. “You always did know how to turn the tables. Perhaps I should read one of your novels, just to see what all the fuss is about.”

She leaned a little closer as they danced. “You might learn something, my dear. After all, a well-rounded mind appreciates both battles and ballrooms, don’t you think?”

“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll read your favorite book if you promise to read mine.”

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “It’s a deal. But if you start dreaming about flower gardens instead of battlefields, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The dance required him to pull her closer, and he seized the chance to whisper, “I only dream about you, my love… without any clothes on…”

“Edward!” she gasped, her cheeks turning a poppy red, but that smile of hers revealed how much she liked that idea, how much she had dreamed of it herself. It only fueled the fire burning inside of him.

His voice was low as he continued, revealing a hushed desire. “Every night, I think of how much I want you… how much I love you…” His words were a confession, a raw, unguarded truth he could no longer keep hidden. Her body pressed closer to his, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “How much I crave you every moment we’re apart?”

He could see the effect his words had on her—her eyes wide with surprise, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Her desire was mirrored in his own, a fierce, aching need that gripped him tighter than any hold. When she leaned in, her voice was a trembling whisper that sent a jolt of electricity through him.

“Then take me,” she breathed. “Show me how much you love me.”

His grip tightened on her waist, pulling her even closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to claim her, to show her just how deep his love and desire ran. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them, lost in the heat of the moment. The music, the crowd, everything else ceased to exist.

All that mattered was the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her breath on his lips, and the unspoken promise that he planned on keeping that very same evening.

“Tonight,” he whispered, and the music ceased.

They remained like that for a few moments longer, refusing to let go of each other, but then they smiled and seamlessly rejoined the swirling crowd of guests. They mingled effortlessly, their earlier intimacy now masked by the charm and grace expected of them. Edward smiled and engaged in pleasantries, his arm around Vivianne’s waist, but his thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the promise he had made.

As Vivianne laughed at a witty remark from a fellow guest, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her, his gaze lingering with a mixture of longing and affection.

He saw her eyes light up with joy, her smile radiant, and it only intensified his eagerness for the time alone that was soon to follow. The promise he had made, whispered in the heat of the dance, felt like a powerful bond that pulled him toward a future he could hardly wait to experience.