Epilogue

EPILOGUE

" I zzie, you are going to be late," Prudence said drily from Isolde's bed, where she had been lounging all morning, being no help at all.

It had taken Vincent physically carrying Prudence out of the room to get her to put on her own dress for the wedding, though she had threatened to wear a pair of trousers that she had stolen from one of Vincent's old wardrobes.

"I am hurrying as fast as I can!" Isolde said, clasping a hand to her chest, comforted by the exhilarated flutter of her heart. It surely meant that she was, at last, marrying the right man.

Isolde's mother strode in at that moment, hands on hips. "Isolde, you are going to be late. You cannot be late. There are two-hundred guests waiting!"

"What?" Isolde gasped, whirling around on the vanity chair to stare at her mother in horror.

"I might have been somewhat… enthusiastic with the invitations," her mother replied, looking a little sheepish. "But can you blame me, darling? I have been saying forever that you and Edmund would make a perfect match, and now it is finally going to happen. Of course I got carried away!"

Teresa tutted from the window seat, where she had her nose buried in a book. "Edmund and Izzie asked for a quiet ceremony, Mama. You should not have done that. You are exposing them to gossip that they do not need, considering they emerged unscathed from the broken betrothal. You should not tempt fate."

"For goodness' sake, am I not allowed to take pride in my daughter's wedding? At least I am not like the Duchess of Farnaby's mother—she invited a thousand guests and insisted on the wedding taking place at Westminster Cathedral. I am not that bad," their mother grumbled, stalking back out of the room.

In her absence, Teresa slid down off the window seat and walked over to stand behind Isolde. She rested her hands on her older sister's shoulders and smiled, looking very pretty herself, with flowers in her hair and wearing a dress of beautiful purple muslin.

"Are you excited?" Teresa asked.

Isolde nodded. "I cannot wait."

"Are you glad that I made you go into Madame Versailles' shop instead of wandering off to the tea rooms?"

Isolde chuckled. "Certainly, I am, though I do wish I had not been the last to know of the deception. I thought it was very peculiar that you were the one insisting on accompanying me, when you loathe such things. Then again, such a clever scheme undoubtedly required the cleverest mind, so I suppose you had to be part of it."

"I think Vincent was very rude, telling me I could not come," Prudence chimed in, shuffling off the end of the bed. "I would not have spilled the secret. Indeed, I am a master of keeping my mouth shut when there is a trick afoot."

It had been two weeks since that fateful visit to the modiste, and though it was customary to wait longer to marry, Vincent had managed to acquire a special license for Edmund and Isolde.

There had been some rumor and speculation, of course, and the scandal sheets had mentioned them several times, but it was Noah himself who had spoken out in favor of the couple. He had explained that he was the one who had severed the engagement, knowing that Isolde loved someone else and was loved by them in return. He had made it clear that she had been willing to marry him, being the dutiful lady that she was, but he could not allow her to do it.

"I am relieved, to be honest," Noah had said, when Isolde and Edmund had gone to break the news to him. "I am very fond of you, Lady Isolde, but it is a platonic fondness. When I am with you, it is like I am with a cousin or a sister. I suppose it is what made me doubt our match, so I am pleased you have found a better love. Why, I suspected His Grace was in love with you at the dinner party, but you did not seem to notice, so I thought I was mistaken."

According to Valery and Amelia, Noah had recently been seen dancing at a ball with a pleasant young woman called Lady Catherine Armistead, and did not appear to be suffering any ill effects from the broken betrothal.

"The carriage is here!" Vincent's voice boomed from downstairs. "Everyone out!"

Isolde took a breath, assessed her reflection in the mirror one last time, and smiled in the knowledge that, very soon, she would be the Duchess of Davenport, married to the man of her wildest dreams. A man she had once unjustly hated, but now adored with everything she possessed.

"Come on, my cherubs," she cheered, taking her sisters by the hand. "After all this to-do, Mama is right—I simply cannot be late."

Edmund fidgeted with his cravat as he waited impatiently by the altar, glancing over his shoulder every couple of seconds to check if his bride had arrived yet. The smallest sound snapped his attention to the church doors, and every time he was left disappointed, his agitation rising.

"What if she does not come?" he whispered to Lionel, who stood at his side.

Lionel cast his friend a withering look. "Be serious, Edmund. If she does not attend this wedding, I shall eat my hat. Heavens, I shall eat every hat in this church."

"Of course, you are right," Edmund mumbled, drawing his pocket watch out for the hundredth time, just to torture himself with the passage of time.

He straightened up and attempted to look calm, but his nerves soon got the better of him again. He glanced at Lionel, ready to ask another inane question, when he noticed his friend's attention had been distracted elsewhere.

Following Lionel's gaze, Edmund raised a curious eyebrow as he realized where his friend was looking. His curiosity, it seemed, had been captured by a familiar young woman, seated beside an equally familiar, irritatingly pompous gentleman.

"Seeking a bride of your own?" Edmund teased.

Lionel jumped as if he had been pinched. "What? Certainly not. My mother has threatened marriage often enough, but I am not yet ready for such a thing. Perhaps, I never shall be. I like my peace and quiet too much."

"And I think you are protesting too much," Edmund replied with a sly grin, discreetly pointing his chin in the direction of the young woman. "Miss Thorne."

"Pardon?" Lionel croaked.

"The lady you were looking at. She is Miss Thorne and, unfortunately, that is her brother, Martin Thorne. Quite the most disagreeable gentleman I have ever had the misfortune of meeting," Edmund explained.

Lionel frowned. "Why are you telling me that?"

"In case you get any notions." Edmund smirked, feeling much lighter for the distraction. "To get the lady, you have to go through the wretched brother."

Lionel sniffed and pulled his shoulders back. "Yes, well, it is lucky I have no interest then. Indeed, you should worry less about me and more about where your bride is. She is late."

A tremor of unease rippled through Edmund once more, as he gaped at his friend, unable to believe the casual betrayal. Lionel was standing at his side as a source of encouragement and comfort, not to make him fret all over again. Evidently, Edmund had touched a raw nerve.

Just then, and not a moment too soon, the church doors shrieked open, and the organist leaped into action. Resonant music thrummed across the packed congregation, who stood as one to welcome in the beautiful bride. In the front pew, Valery and Amelia held handkerchiefs to their eyes, already sobbing with joy. They were joined by Julianna, who was weeping openly; Teresa, who had the brightest smile on her face, and Prudence who seemed to be fighting against teary eyes.

"Goodness me," Lionel gasped. "You really ought to turn now, Edmund."

Slowly, Edmund did just that… and was rewarded with the ethereal sight of his beloved bride, striding elegantly toward him in a gown of cream silk, overlaid with gauzy lace and embellished with a sea of gleaming seed pearls. She held onto her brother's arm, her radiant smile brighter than the hazy sunlight that streamed in through the stained glass windows.

The instant she met Edmund's eyes, that smile widened, her eyes shining with joy, brushing away and lingering nerves in his veins. In its place, an eager smile of his own.

Soon enough, she was at the altar, and Vincent was placing her hand in Edmund's.

"Take care of her, Edmund," Vincent said, his voice catching. "She is more precious than I can describe, and… I pray that you are as happy together as it is possible to be. So, please, do not make me have to threaten a duel again. Ever."

Edmund laughed, taking both of Isolde's hands in both of his. "I shall never give you or Isolde a reason to raise a pistol at me, and if anyone is going to do so, we both know it would be her before you."

"I have not the faintest idea what you mean," Isolde interjected, grinning. "I am a demure young lady. I would never so much as raise my voice to a gentleman, much less my husband."

Edmund smiled back at her, overwhelmed with a joy that no longer made him feel guilty. Instead, there was an ember of hope and faith that his family were looking down on his happiness with joy of their own. His only regret was that they could not be there, physically, to share in what would undoubtedly become one of his favorite memories.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the reverend began, opening out his arms to the congregation.

Edmund barely heard anything else the reverend said, finding greater divinity in the warmth of Isolde's eyes. The rest of the church faded around them, leaving them in a bubble of their own, holding hands as they pledged their loyalty, fidelity, and future to each other, trusting without a doubt that they were both making vows that would never be broken.

"It is my privilege to pronounce you man and wife!" the reverend concluded. "Please, be upstanding for the Duke and Duchess of Davenport."

The congregation rose in a flurry, awaiting the happy couple's return up the aisle to begin their new lives together. But before he took a single step, Edmund could not resist lifting his wife's hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her silky glove.

Isolde blushed furiously. "Everyone is watching!"

"Let them," he replied, grinning.

The pink lingered in her cheeks as Edmund weaved her arm through his and led her up to the aisle and out into the warm, sunlit world. If ever there was a sign that they were about to have a very happy, very bright future together, that was it—even the weather was smiling down on them.

"Did you arrive late on purpose?" he teased, approaching the waiting carriage.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I would delight in making you stew awhile?"

"I think you would delight in raising the anticipation," he replied, helping her up into the open carriage.

She smiled a sultry smile, leaning into him as he sat down beside her. His arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her.

"Did you think I was not coming?" she whispered, peering up.

He shrugged. "For a moment, then I realized how silly that was. For if you had not arrived, I would have ridden to you and thrown you over my shoulder." He curved his hand around her chin, smiling down at her. "I love you. My darling wife, how I love you."

"As I love you, dear husband," she replied giddily, her eyes flaring with joy.

"To think I was ever afraid of that blissful word," he purred, stroking his thumb along her jaw. "To think I might have missed the privilege of being able to call you my wife."

Her hand came to rest on his chest, her lips parting slightly. "Are you still afraid to be happy?"

"Not at all, my love. Indeed, I am eager to discover just how happy I can be, when I am already happier than I have ever been in my life," he told her, unable to resist any longer.

He did not care if the congregation came out and saw, for what could the scandal sheets do to them now that they were married?

Slowly, tenderly, he kissed his wife and pulled her further into his arms, holding her with a silent promise to never let her go. Her hand smoothed up his chest and followed the column of his throat, coming to rest at the side of his face as she kissed him back in kind, every brush of her lips igniting a spark of bliss.

Still locked in that fond embrace, kissing her more deeply, Edmund thumped on the side of the carriage. Taking his signal, the driver snapped the reins and the carriage pulled away from the church, carrying them toward the townhouse that was now both of theirs. A house that he hoped would become a true home, the hallways and rooms filled with joy and laughter once more.

And, one day, perhaps there would be a new family— their family—to quieten and delight any ghosts that still lingered. But one thing was for certain: as long as he had her, as long as he loved her and was loved by her, he would live the happy life he had never dared to dream of.

The End?