Epilogue

Ivy stood at the front of Clairvoir Castle’s chapel in a gown of green, trimmed with Irish lace, and holding a bouquet of flowers made up for her by Juniper and Betony. Never in her life had she felt so beautiful, yet she was quite certain she would have felt the same in even the plainest wool gown, given the way Teague looked down into her eyes. It was his love, his adoration, that made her feel like a fairy queen.

The little chapel only held their families. All the duke’s other guests had long since departed, and William and Fanny had returned for the ceremony the day before. Tomorrow, they would begin the journey to their home in Ireland, with Betony, Juniper, Fiona, and Máthair Frost, where they would stay until Parliament opened mid-winter.

Every day that had passed since Ivy’s confession in the garden, Teague had found a way to tell her he loved her. He had begun to list the things he loved about her, too.

“I love your laugh. It makes me want to tease it out of you at every turn. I love your thoughtful little frowns when you are reading. I love the way you speak of the books you read. I love that you treat everyone around you with respect.”

She never grew tired of hearing his declarations, as each one acted as a balm to her heart. When Fanny had criticized her wedding dress that morning, Ivy had laughed with true amusement, and found it a little sad that Fanny tried to spread misery rather than joy.

For Ivy’s part, she had endeavored to show Teague how she felt. Every day. She learned more Irish words from his sisters to surprise him, even by asking for silly things in his tongue, like passing the salt at the table. She winked when she caught him staring. She made a point of brushing his hand or arm when she passed near him. And she had whisked him away to private nooks and corners to surprise him with a kiss or two.

Her feelings for him grew, branching out like a tree reaching for the sunlight. She loved him with everything she had, yet startled herself by continuing to grow in that love.

She listened to the words of the vicar and spoke her vows with full feeling, her heart thrumming along happily in cadence with her voice.

“I, Ivy Amberton, take you, Teague Frost, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part….”

The love that shone in his eyes assured her, every time she saw it, that she had come home.

There had never beena prettier bride than Ivy, of that Juniper felt quite certain. Her sister looked lovely in her Irish lace and the deep green her new mother-in-law said was the perfect shade for an Irish bride. Truly, as Juniper watched her sister at the wedding breakfast the duke and duchess had provided, she felt as though her sister’s happiness was her own.

Yet after a time, with all the merriment and laughter, Juniper’s mind grew far too crowded to sit still amid the sea of voices and clatter of celebration. When the celebratory meal came to a close, she gave Betony a look that her sister knew how to interpret.

Betony raised her eyebrows in a question she needn’t voice aloud. Do you need company?

Juniper gave a subtle shake of her head, then slipped down a quiet circular stairwell. It led to the bottom of the ballroom stairs and out the doors to the stone terrace.

It was a great relief to know Fanny wouldn’t upbraid her for her disappearance later. Earlier that summer, her sister-in-law had proclaimed she had washed her hands of the Amberton sisters and their abilities to behave themselves in public. Truly, having Teague and Ivy take responsibility as guardians until Juniper and Betony wed had been a gift, one Juniper intended to take advantage of.

No more balls. No more hours spent in crowded sitting rooms during visiting days. She would do what Ivy asked her to, of course, but she knew Ivy would give her plenty of room and time spent away from all the noise and bustle of Society.

Truly, Juniper dreaded nothing so much as she did the exhaustion that inevitably followed too much time spent among noisy strangers.

She leaned her elbows on the balustrades, looking down into the tiered gardens, her eyes taking in the landscape she had come to love with true appreciation. She would miss Clairvoir Castle. It represented so much to her now—her freedom, her peace of mind, her tranquility of spirit. Hopefully, Dunmore House would become as dear to her in time. The way Ivy’s in-laws spoke of it, it was beautiful and serene.

They were so eager for her and Betony to love it. The sweetness of the Frosts would make up for any disappointments, were there any to be had, as would her already growing library of Gothic and adventure novels.

A small scrape of shoe on stone alerted her to the fact she was no longer alone. Juniper straightened her posture and looked over her shoulder, hoping it was not Fanny, nor anyone else who would demand an exuberant conversation.

It was one of the guardsmen. Sterling. The poor man was dressed in full livery for the wedding celebration, which included a rather stuffy looking white wig. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling, though she certainly had sympathy for him. September, while cooler than August had been, was not pleasant weather for warm head coverings.

Sometimes, she wondered why the duke did not simply let his guards be guards and his footmen be footmen, but apparently the secret of men like Sterling and their true abilities did not extend outside the family. Therein lay the only benefit Juniper could think of. If one wanted to attack the duke, one would not expect a footman—no matter how strapping and capable in appearance—to whip out a pistol or blade and counter the attack.

It was rather romantic, come to think of it. Certainly something a hero in a Gothic novel would do. Though the heroes usually dealt with brigands and villains themselves, the heroes were not usually dukes of three-score years.

She smiled at Sterling, but he only gave a slight bow and remained a dozen steps away from her.

“I wonder,” she said aloud, not certain if he would answer a direct question, “why a guard feels the need to follow me around when I am only distantly related to His Grace. Yet one of you has always been nearby when my sisters or I step out of doors.”

His expression remained stoic as ever, but he was looking at her rather than staring vacantly beyond her position. That was something.

“It is rather nice, of course, to know someone is near in case I should have some terrible emergency. Perhaps I will be attacked by a shrubbery.” She shivered in pretended horror.

He did not react at all.

A shame, really. He was quite handsome. When he had spoken a time or two, his words spare, he’d had a delightful voice. Low and even. Nothing about it could possibly agitate her, even after a long day of chatter.

“You are excellent company, Sterling,” she said, smiling a little. “Certainly my favorite among the guards. It will be strange to leave and not have a protective shadow hovering behind me when I take walks in gardens. Though I imagine you will be most relieved to have only His Grace’s immediate family to watch over.”

She turned away again and released a little sigh of contentment. “I will miss this place, though I hope to visit it again many times in future. Perhaps I will see you again. But on the chance that will not be the case, thank you for making me feel safe.”

For a long moment, she felt certain he would not answer. That was fine. Probably for the best, to be truthful. He was a guard. She was sister to an earl.

Then that low, comforting voice spoke softly. “You are most welcome, Lady Juniper.”

She smiled to herself, not turning around. Oh yes. She would look forward to future visits.

If only to hear that voice again.

Thankyou for reading Ivy and Teague’s story. I hope you’ve enjoyed it and that you are as excited as I am to return to Castle Clairvoir.