Epilogue

"Whoever decided that weddings have to be boring?" Amanda groused as she watched her twin exit the church with her new husband to the customary polite smattering of applause. "If I were organizing things, they'd be a great deal more fun."

"Rose had a nice time as did Mr. Cartwright. By the by, remind me to be present for every single second of your wedding planning," Emily remarked mildly as she beamed at her little sister, who practically glowed with happiness.

Amanda (who was at least offering some light clapping of her own) snorted.

"Don't hold your breath. I have no intention of following you and Rosie down the aisle anytime soon, no matter how much the two of you look so sickeningly happy all the time."

"I wouldn't call it ‘sickening,'" Emily retorted as the guests at the very rear of the church began to shuffle about, gathering their possessions and preparing to leave. As family to the bride, she, Amanda, and Benedict were in the frontmost pew and would not have room to depart for some time yet. Emily wasn't worried; even if Rose and the besotted Mr. Cartwright beat them to Moore Manor, where the wedding breakfast was set to be held, the staff had everything well in hand.

"I would," Amanda returned with feeling. "The other day, when Rosie and I were over to tea, and you were all—" She affected a high falsetto that Emily felt was not an authentic representation. "‘Benedict is so wonderful; he's such a good husband; I adore him so much.'" She gave a full body shudder. "Repulsive."

Benedict, who towered easily over Amanda, stuck his head into the conversation. "I'd love to hear more of this, little sister; please, go on."

Of all the things that Emily had not expected from her marriage, top of the list was perhaps the quick rapport that had blossomed between her husband and her most mischievous sister. Given the way Emily and Benedict had come together, this could have been a situation rife with jealousy or awkwardness, but instead, the two had fallen into such an easy sibling relationship that it was hard to imagine they'd ever interacted in any other capacity.

Or, rather, it would have been hard to imagine if Amanda didn't remind Benedict of it endlessly, hoping to make him flustered. It had worked once or twice, but once he'd figured out her game, he'd started merely giving her an imperious, arched eyebrow in response.

Amanda found this perfectly hilarious.

"Pff, no," Amanda told him dismissively. "Your ego is quite big enough, thank you very much. You don't need any help from me."

He frowned at Emily. "I think my ego is fine."

"It is," she reassured him.

"That," Amanda said, pointing at Emily, "is why your ego is outsized. You've got this one eternally puffing you up."

Benedict gave her an indulgent look. "I'm sorry; weren't you talking about how you plan to have an unconventionally fun wedding? Apologies for distracting you from that fascinating topic."

Emily glared. You traitor, she said silently.

His eyes grew wide. It's every man for himself with your sister, he replied, also without words.

"No," Amanda corrected, rolling her eyes with fond exasperation. "We were talking about how I don't intend to get married for quite some time as I plan to have all sort of other kinds of fun, first."

"As your elder sister, I am not remotely comforted by this notion," Emily murmured.

But she was smiling. Amanda often reminded her of Grace, a comparison that was less painful now that they finally knew the whole truth behind Grace's disappearance. Thinking of Amanda that way also helped Emily remain calm in the face of some of her sister's more creative antics.

Whatever response Amanda opened her mouth to make (which would no doubt make Emily nervous, especially to hear it uttered while they were in church) was cut short by their opportunity to shuffle out into the late spring sunshine. They hurried to return to Moore Manor for the wedding breakfast which was a delightful, lighthearted affair despite the way Emily's father kept grumbling about Mr. Cartwright's lack of title.

Lord Drowton ignored his eldest daughter's covert efforts to get him to stop with this line of conversation—it was hardly appropriate anywhere, let alone at the couple's wedding celebration—but was not nearly so dismissive of whatever his son-in-law said to him in a quiet, aside moment.

"Thank you," Emily whispered when her husband returned to her side.

Benedict gave her a tight-lipped smile. "You're welcome, my love. I can't say I care for the fact that your father won't listen to you without me having to interfere, but you know I am always happy to stand at your side whenever I'm needed."

Emily didn't have anything to say that Amanda wouldn't have categorized as nauseating, so she merely slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. That said all she really needed to say, anyway.

Benedict, in any case, was gazing placidly out at the center of the party where Rose was talking happily with an attendee and Lionel, at her side, was gazing at his new wife with naked adoration.

"Besides, Cartwright might not have a title, but he's far from insolvent. Beneath that bookish exterior is a brilliant mind for business. Not to mention that he clearly would throw down his life for your sister. I'm not sure I've ever seen the man smile before today, and now, he can't seem to stop," Benedict observed.

"And Rosie seems so happy, too," Emily said in agreement. Marriage had offered a bit of maturity to her sister…

Though, she noted as she saw the twins exchange a glance that spoke of mischief, it had not erased Rosie's spirited personality. The Terror Twins would continue their reign, apparently.

Emily could not be sorry about it.

"And you, Lady Moore?" Benedict asked, pulling Emily from her thoughts about how dearly she loved her sisters.

"And me?"

"Are you very happy?"

She scarcely had to tilt her head back to look up at him, something she'd come to love. "I daresay Amanda is right, and you are getting quite an ego if you're fishing for compliments that transparently," she teased. "But I shall indulge you. Yes, I am wretchedly happy. You see, I once bumped into this simply awful man on a ballroom floor?—"

Her joking recitation was cut off with a laugh as Benedict stepped around her and tugged her by the hand out onto this room's dance floor just as the musicians started to play.

"Dance with me now," he ordered. "Tell the rest of the story later. After all, I already suspect it has a happy ending."

"It does indeed," she murmured and let herself be folded lovingly into his embrace.

The End?