Epilogue

EPILOGUE

One Month Later…

“You look beautiful, my dear girl,” Emma’s father said, somewhat tearfully, as the carriage rattled down the road, toward the gates of the church.

They had already had to wait four weeks longer than Emma and Silas had wanted, after everything that happened, as there was enough scandal involved the first time around. But the day had come, at last.

Emma beamed. “I could not sit still all morning. Mama and Lydia were fussing, trying to get me to have my hair this way and that way, and the lady’s maid very nearly lost her temper, but none of it matters, Father. I could arrive in a potato sack, and he would love me and marry me all the same.”

“Well,” her father pulled a face, “I, for one, am glad you did not decide upon the potato sack. I doubt the scandal sheets would think kindly of such attire.”

Emma shot her father a disapproving look. “I could not care less what the scandal sheets think of me, Father. I could not care less what society thinks, though they have been groveling to us this past month with their tails between their legs. Is it not obscene that everyone and their mothers was clamoring for an invitation to our wedding when, not so long ago, they were close to grabbing their torches and pitchforks?”

“It is… annoying,” her father said carefully. “Nevertheless, I cannot say I am not pleased by the outcome. It will make your lives so much easier.”

Emma took a breath and scratched between Snowy’s ears, refusing to let anything dampen her joyous mood. The puppy, now much larger than he had been when she found him in the thorn bush, thumped his foot as Emma scratched just the right spot.

Despite every protest from Augusta and even her own mother, Snowy was wearing his tailcoat and cravat, and had the most sought after thing in society’s recent history: an invitation to the wedding of Silas and Emma.

“Did you really have to bring the dog?” her father asked, reaching over to tickle Snowy under his chin.

“Yes, I did.”

Her father laughed. “Good. I was secretly hoping you would. He will be a welcome distraction from your mother’s sobbing.” He held out his hands and Emma passed the puppy to him. “How furious was your mother when she heard he would be attending?”

“A contained sort of livid.” Emma grinned. “However, I think my actually getting married should be balm enough for forgiveness.”

It had been a strange month, in the aftermath of everything that had happened on that fateful wedding day. Luke had received his punishment from the magistrate and was now holed up in the dowager house for no less than three years, before he took possession of whatever country pile Silas deigned to purchase, to go with his marquisate.

The dowager visited Luke every other day, and invited Silas to join her, but he had thus far refused. Apologies had been given, and while Emma could understand what had driven Luke to do what he did, she was not yet ready to forgive. Nor, it seemed, was Silas.

As for Mr. Goldsmith, he did not have the luxury of being a duke’s second son. He was serving his sentence in jail, although his sickly accomplice had been offered greater leniency. The boy now served at the dowager house, where a physician had been summoned. It turned out that he had a chronic illness, and though Silas had wanted him to see out his punishment in jail, Emma had insisted on him being shown some mercy. Being contained with Luke was that mercy.

In the meantime, someone had sent a story to the scandal sheets that sounded very like the story that Silas had suggested telling when their betrothal was a mere fraud.

The moment the epic, romantic tale entered society’s breakfast rooms, opinion of Emma—and, of course, Silas—switched in an instant. Letters began arriving, invitations abounded, and it was as if Emma had never been a scorned woman, and Silas had never had a reputation.

Naturally, they had responded to none of the letters or invitations, deciding to let society drive itself mad with unsated curiosity instead. They would re-enter society when they were good and ready, and not a moment before.

“I… am sorry,” her father said suddenly, shifting Snowy in his lap.

Emma blinked. “Pardon?”

“I am sorry,” he said more firmly. “I never paused to ask what you wanted, nor did I stop to think of why you might have fled from those first two wedding days. I assumed you simply wished to be disobedient. Not once did I consider that you were running because it was not right. Then, I see you with the duke, and… I understand that I was mistaken. I am sorry for that.”

Emma’s lips stretched into a fresh smile. “That is all I have ever wanted to hear you say.”

“I am forgiven?”

Emma nodded. “You were forgiven the moment you stumbled back to Hudson Manor with your head cracked open like an egg, desperate to save me. Still, I am grateful for the apology.” She hesitated. “And I am glad that I can make you happy, at last. Less despairing, at least.”

He chuckled. “As am I.”

“It is my belief that all women should be smiling on their wedding day. If they are not, they should not proceed with it,” she said. “All I have to do now is get the rest of society to agree.”

Her father sighed. “You should ask Eliza to help.” He puffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Goodness, she would make a fortune if she was to become a matchmaker. One daughter, two nieces, and now a goddaughter—all duchesses!”

“She is a terrible chaperone, but there is some magic about her; that is for certain,” Emma agreed, as the carriage came to a halt beside the gates of the church.

She flung open the door and stepped out before her father or the footman could offer assistance, her heart leaping with joy. There, she tilted her face up to the sun and counted her every blessing, for all of the steps and missteps that had led her to that moment: her last ever wedding day.

“Emma!” her father grumbled, clambering out of the carriage with Snowy in his arms. “That is not ladylike. A duchess would have waited.”

Emma shrugged. “Silas does not care that I am not very ladylike.”

Indeed, he had said, more than once, how pleased he was that she was anything but ladylike, particularly when it came to the bedchamber. But Emma could not tell her father that.

“And I shall be relieved about that until my dying day,” her father muttered, offering her his free arm. “I suppose you intend to have Snowy come down the aisle with us?”

Emma grinned. “As long as you are the one carrying him.”

“What is she like, hmm?” her father asked the puppy, who barked in reply.

With that, their arms linked, father and daughter made their way through the gate and down the curving path to the church. Chatter and laughter could be heard from inside, though Emma wondered how many had let themselves whisper, “do you think she will run this time?” when they thought no one was listening.

Her father opened the church doors, and everyone fell silent as the organist struck up a tune to accompany the blushing bride.

“Is that… the dog?” Emma heard Augusta rasp, somewhere near the front of the church.

She stifled a laugh and looked ahead, catching Silas’s eye. He looked just as handsome, and definitively more clothed than the last time she had seen him, a few hours before dawn. She had snuck down the hallway to his bedchamber in the dead of night, and had returned not ten minutes before her mother, sister, and Nora had burst in to begin preparations.

He winked at her. She winked back, her heart so full she feared it might burst. For the first time, being a bride, walking down the aisle toward her future husband felt wholly right. Indeed, she would have run to him if it had not been for her father’s arm looped tightly through hers.

“One minute early,” Silas said, as Emma’s father gave her away, placing her hand in that of her future husband. “And with my favorite furry companion in tow.”

Silas kissed the top of Snowy’s head, prompting him to wriggle and whine as Emma’s father carried him to the pew where the rest of Emma’s family and friends were sitting.

“Did I make you nervous?” Emma asked, giving Silas’s hand a squeeze.

He smiled. “Not after this morning.”

“Silas!” she hissed. “Someone might hear you.”

He shrugged. “And? In a matter of moments, we will be husband and wife. There will be nothing for anyone to complain about.”

“Still, I do not want my parents to hear.” She nudged him sharply in the ribs.

He leaned down to her ear. “Then, you will have to be very, very quiet when I get you alone tonight.”

“I am surprised you have not burst into flames, being in a church with such a wicked mouth,” she shot back, grinning.

“Oh, my love, only you know just how wicked it can be.”

The reverend cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, suggesting he had heard more than he cared to. Emma and Silas exchanged a look, eyes watering as they struggled not to laugh.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the congregation,” the reverend began, knocking some sense of seriousness into the happy couple.

They stilled and their smiles softened, their hands gripped tightly together as they listened to the reverend’s lilting words. And when it was time to say their vows, they turned to one another and repeated what the reverend said with all sincerity, their promises to each other echoing through the silent church and—with any luck—up to the heavens themselves.

“It is my great pleasure to pronounce you man and wife,” the reverend concluded with a fond smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the Duke and Duchess of Hudson.”

Emma and Silas turned, and with the vows behind her and life with him ahead of her, she finally took a moment to look at everyone present. All of those she cared about the most in one place, standing to honor her and her husband: her mother, her sister, her father, Nora, Snowy, Augusta, Eliza, Marina, Joanna, Nancy, and all of their husbands and children. And, of course, Duncan was standing at Silas’s right side, as always.

The Scotsman still refused to let Silas forget that he had sulked and drunk brandy in his study instead of heading out to search for Emma, and though Emma had forgiven Silas weeks ago, it still amused her to watch him squirm every time Duncan joked about it.

Just then, Emma caught sight of Lydia passing some coins to Nora.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked loudly, snatching their attention.

Nora held up the coins. “We had a bet that you would run away again. I said you would not, she said you might. Easiest money I have ever made in my life!”

“Lydia! I am appalled!” their mother snapped, clasping a hand to her chest.

Lydia blushed. “I am happy to lose the coin, if that helps?”

“Do not scold her so, Mama. She cannot be blamed for doubting.” Emma grinned. “The entire way to the church, even I was convinced the wheels were going to come off.”

The congregation chuckled, everyone in good spirits now that the happy couple were finally married.

“Did you think at all about running again?” Silas asked quietly, his arm slipping around Emma’s waist.

She peered up into his eyes, seeing her whole heart there in that handsome face. “Not once, my love.” She shook her head. “Never.”

For why would she ever run from the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the world? The one thing she had never hoped to have, but had been granted regardless. Indeed, why would anyone run from true love?

The End?