Epilogue

Time often seemed to crawl by too slowly for Cecilia’s liking. Not the last three months, however. They had flashed by in the blink of an eye, and had been a metamorphosis unlike anything she could have imagined.

Where once Alistair had been an immovable, intimidating force— a duke whose very reputation could silence a room— she now understood the profound complexity beneath his carefully maintained exterior.

Their initial antagonism had been a delicate dance of misunderstandings, of two fiercely independent souls reluctant to concede ground.

The transformation had not been instantaneous. It had been a gradual unraveling, like carefully picking apart an intricate knot, each thread of their connection revealing something unexpected.

Cecilia reflected over the last three months, and all the choices that had gotten her and Alistair to this point. It still felt surreal most times, like she was in a dream and everything happening around her was too good to be true.

The faint sound of bells drifted through the chapel, their sweet melody a gentle herald of the day’s joy. The small, sunlit chapel at Holloway Estate was a sanctuary of beauty, its simplicity lending an intimacy to the occasion that no grand cathedral could replicate.

The winter light streaming through the stained-glass windows bathed everything in hues of gold and rose, a fitting backdrop for a ceremony that celebrated love and new beginnings.

Cecilia sat near the front, her gloved hands resting lightly in her lap, though her heart felt anything but calm. Her brother, Nathaniel, stood at the altar, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him as he waited.

He wore his finest coat of midnight blue, but it was his face that drew her attention —the mix of pride, anticipation, and love etched there made her chest tighten.

The soft strains of the organ filled the air, and every guest rose to their feet as Evangeline entered the chapel. Cecilia’s breath caught at the sight of her.

Evie’s gown was a vision of elegance, its pale ivory fabric flowing like water with each step. The delicate lace trim of the veil framed her face, and though she looked every bit the duchess-to-be, it was the joy in her expression that made her truly radiant.

She clutched a bouquet of winter roses in trembling hands, and as her gaze found Nathaniel at the altar, her smile deepened, soft and certain.

Cecilia glanced to her side, where Tristan stood with an uncharacteristically subdued expression. For all his rakish tendencies and biting wit, even he seemed moved by the sight of their younger brother’s bride walking down the aisle.

Beside her, Lydia Wexford sat with quiet dignity, her hands clasped tightly over a lace handkerchief. Cecilia had come to respect the dowager duchess in the months since they had first met.

Though Lydia was sometimes difficult to read, there was no denying the pride and love shining in her eyes as she watched her daughter approach the altar.

Evie’s steps slowed as she reached Nathaniel, who moved to meet her with a hand extended. When their fingers intertwined, the moment seemed to freeze, the chapel holding its collective breath. Nathaniel leaned in slightly, his words inaudible to Cecilia but evidently meant to reassure his bride.

The vicar began the ceremony, his voice steady and solemn as he guided the couple through their vows. Cecilia found herself clinging to every word, her gaze shifting between Nathaniel and Evie as they pledged their lives to one another.

“I, Nathaniel Everton, take thee, Evangeline Wexford, to be my wedded wife…”

Nathaniel’s voice was clear and unwavering, though Cecilia could see the emotion flickering in his eyes as he spoke.

When it was Evie’s turn, her voice faltered slightly at first, but she quickly found her strength, her words soft but full of conviction.

“…to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse…”

Cecilia’s eyes stung, though she refused to let tears fall. It was not sadness that overwhelmed her but the sheer beauty of the moment. She had not thought it possible to witness something so pure, so perfect.

“By the power vested in me,” the vicar intoned, his voice warm with quiet authority, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Nathaniel hesitated for the briefest of moments, as though he wished to savor this juncture in time. Then, he leaned forward, his hand gently brushing Evie’s cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

The guests erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the small chapel like a celebration of everything the day represented.

Cecilia clapped with the rest of them, though her hands slowed as she took in the way Nathaniel and Evie lingered, their foreheads touching even after they had parted. It was as though they had forgotten everyone else, lost in a moment meant only for them.

The newlyweds turned to face the guests, and Evie’s gaze swept across the room, her face glowing with happiness. When her eyes met Cecilia’s, she gave the faintest of nods, her silent gratitude unmistakable.

The chapel doors opened, and Nathaniel and Evie stepped out first, hand in hand, into the crisp winter air. The guests followed, the cold biting at Cecilia’s cheeks as she exited with Tristan at her side.

“Quite the spectacle, wasn’t it?” he remarked, though there was no edge to his words.

Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “A spectacle, perhaps, but a beautiful one. Even you can’t deny that.”

Tristan gave her a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t dare. It’s not every day you see our dear Nathaniel so utterly undone.”

Cecilia glanced back toward the chapel steps, where Nathaniel was helping Evie adjust her veil against the breeze. His hand lingered on hers, his expression still one of quiet awe.

“Undone, perhaps,” Cecilia said softly, “but in the best possible way.

An hour later at the wedding breakfast, Cecilia, seated at the grand table reserved for the bride's and groom's closest family, marveled at the radiance of her brother and his new wife.

She sipped lightly from a crystal glass filled with sparkling punch, the flavor sweet but fleeting, and listened as laughter and conversation swirled around her.

At her side sat Alistair, now no longer the gruff and impenetrable Duke of Holloway in her eyes but the man with whom her future lay.

They had spent the last few weeks navigating their own plans, their future as entwined as the ivy climbing the manor walls, yet the thought still occasionally unsettled her.

Marriage had always been a practical arrangement in her world— a merger of families, of estates, of social standing. But their connection was something more. Something deeper.

Alistair leaned closer, his baritone voice low enough to keep their discussion private amidst the clamor. "Have you settled on a date for our nuptials, or shall I resign myself to an eternity of waiting, my dear?"

Cecilia chuckled softly, her green eyes darting to him with feigned indignation. "An eternity of waiting may suit you well, Your Grace, if you insist on making light of everything I say."

"I would never dare," he replied, though the smirk tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.

"It must be summer," Cecilia said after a moment. "The gardens at Windgrave Estate are at their most splendid then. I refuse to wed under skies that do not match the blue of your eyes."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "A poetess as well as a botanist? I fear I am marrying a woman of such talents that I shall appear woefully inadequate by comparison."

"Then I shall endeavor to keep my talents modest," she teased, though her cheeks warmed at the earnestness in his gaze.

Before she could add more, a footman approached to refill her glass, and the moment passed. Cecilia suddenly felt the need for air, the joyful but stifling closeness of the room pressing upon her. She placed her napkin gently upon the table.

"If you will excuse me," she said lightly, "I believe the gardens are calling."

Alistair's eyes flicked to her, his expression momentarily inscrutable. Then, with a polite inclination of his head, he allowed her to depart. Cecilia stepped into the cool embrace of the late winter afternoon. The gardens offered a serenity that contrasted sharply with the lively celebration inside.

She meandered along the stone paths, her fingertips brushing the heads of roses that bloomed unseasonably, their petals delicate beneath her touch. Her mind wandered to the journey that had brought her to this moment. The roses reminded her of her own path— unexpected, resilient, blooming despite the odds.

Her relationship with Alistair had been much the same. Where others might have seen only conflict, they had discovered a profound connection.

As she walked, memories of their tumultuous beginning flickered through her mind. Their first encounters had been nothing short of volcanic— sharp words, cutting remarks, a battle of wills that seemed insurmountable.

Yet somewhere amid those heated exchanges, something had changed. Respect had emerged from their conflict, then something deeper, more tender.

A sudden movement interrupted her reverie. Before she could react, a pair of firm hands grasped her by the shoulders and gently pulled her into the shadow of a tall yew tree.

"Alistair!" she exclaimed, her voice low but startled as she turned to face him. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I might ask the same of you," he replied, though the corners of his mouth quirked upward. "You disappeared from the table so suddenly that I feared you were fleeing the estate entirely."

The intimacy of the moment was not lost on her. Here they were, in the shade of the trees , far from the watchful eyes of society. It was improper, scandalous even— and yet, she found she did not care.

"And so you decided to accost me in the garden?" she retorted, though her heart betrayed her words by skipping a beat at his nearness.

He held up a small folded note, the wax seal broken. "To defend my honor, I should like to point out that you received my invitation."

Cecilia stared at the note in his hand, her brows knitting together. "This? I thought it was from Evie. Had I known it was you, I would have ignored it entirely."

"Liar," he said softly, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "You'd have come regardless. Admit it."

Cecilia tried to summon a cutting reply, but his deep blue eyes, glinting in the fading light, robbed her of words. "You are impossibly presumptuous, Alistair," she finally managed. "And inappropriate. A duke passing notes like a schoolboy? What would the ton say?"

Alistair's expression softened, his teasing replaced with a quiet intensity that made her breath catch. "Before I met you, Cecilia, I'd never have dreamed of such impropriety. But you... you have turned my life into something delightfully unrecognizable."

The weight of his words settled over her like the evening's gentle embrace. "What is it you want, then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Surely you wouldn't risk my reputation simply to speak of the weather."

"No," he admitted, stepping closer. "I wanted to know what news you've been so eager to share these past few days. It has left you brighter than I have ever seen."

Her lips parted in surprise, though she quickly recovered. "If you must know, I have received word from the editor I've been corresponding with."

Alistair's brows rose. "And?"

"And," she said, a smile spreading across her face, "he has agreed to publish my first work. It shall appear in a small literary journal next month."

For a moment, Alistair simply stared at her, and Cecilia felt a flicker of uncertainty. The literary world was notoriously challenging for women writers.

Many were forced to publish anonymously, their true identities hidden behind male pseudonyms or initial-only signatures. She had fought so hard for this opportunity, navigating a landscape designed to suppress female voices.

Then he laughed— a rare, warm sound that lit his face with joy. It was a laugh that spoke of genuine happiness, of pride, of complete acceptance.

"Cecilia," he said, pulling her into an embrace so sudden that she gasped. "That is extraordinary! You must be terribly proud."

She felt the strength of his arms around her, his happiness almost overwhelming. "I am," she admitted softly. "But I feared you might not approve. A duchess publishing her own writing is hardly conventional."

"Conventionality be damned," he replied, pulling back to look into her eyes. "You are brilliant, Cecilia. The world deserves to know it."

The publishing of her work represented more than just a personal achievement. It was a small rebellion against the constraints that had long defined women's roles in society.

Before she could reply further, his lips found hers, and the world seemed to fade away. It was not the hesitant kiss they had shared in desperation months ago but something deeper, a meeting of two souls no longer at odds.

The moment shattered with a loud bark, and Cecilia laughed as Alistair's dog, Cerberus, bounded into view, his tail wagging furiously. The massive creature circled them, knocking into Alistair's legs and nearly toppling him.

"Cerberus!" Alistair growled, though his tone lacked true annoyance. "Must you interrupt every significant moment in my life?"

Cecilia knelt, scratching the dog's ears. "He's merely ensuring you do not grow too smug," she said, her laughter ringing out.

Cerberus had been another unexpected bridge between them. The massive dog, initially as intimidating as Alistair himself, had a personality that defied his imposing size. Where Alistair was controlled and strategic, Cerberus was all unbridled joy and spontaneity.

Alistair crouched beside her, his hand brushing hers as they both lavished attention on the overjoyed canine. Then, quietly, he said, "I love you, Cecilia."

She froze, her heart pounding, and met his gaze. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything they had overcome. Their journey from adversaries to lovers had been anything but conventional.

"And I love you, Alistair," she replied, her voice steady despite the emotion welling within her.

Cerberus barked again, as if approving, and Alistair laughed, his hand closing over hers. "Then let us not waste another moment," he said. "You and I have a great deal of living ahead of us."

As Cecilia gazed at Alistair, the garden fading into twilight around them, she felt, for the first time in months, entirely at peace. The future stretched before them —uncertain, vibrant, full of possibility.

Nathaniel and Evangeline's wedding celebration continued inside, the music and laughter a distant backdrop to this intimate moment. But here, in the quiet of the evening, Cecilia and Alistair had found something far more profound than any social celebration could capture.

A true meeting of souls. A love both unexpected and inevitable.

The End