Chapter Twenty

The day of the wedding dawned cool and crisp. As they did every year, the leaves had changed colors seemingly overnight, offering a breathtaking backdrop of orange and red and a blue sky so bright and so clear it was as if it had been taken straight from one of Brynne's paintings.

Rosemary and Lady Ellinwood had come to Hawkridge Manor five days prior, giving them the opportunity to settle in before the guests–nearly fifty in total–began to arrive. Happily, Claire and Ruth Thorncroft had made it to England just in time and were part of that guest list. Consumed with last minute preparations and Evie's daunting to-do list, Rosemary hadn't had much of a chance to sit down and converse with her cousin or Mrs. Thorncroft, but what little interactions they'd been able to have thus far had been nothing short of wonderful. Not a great surprise, given how well she had gotten on with Joanna and Evie.

What was a surprise was the immediate friendship that had kindled between Lady Ellinwood and Mrs. Thorncroft. The two elderly matriarchs were nigh on inseparable, and it was heartwarming for Rosemary to see her grandmother so happy after so many years of bitterness.

It also gave her one less thing to be concerned about, as she had worried what Lady Ellinwood would do when she married Sterling and moved in with him. He had (grudgingly) invited her grandmother to come live with them at his townhouse in Mayfair which was where they'd chosen to spend the winter, but Lady Ellinwood had been adamant that she remain in her own home.

Now, as fate would have it, she'd be living there with Mrs. Thorncroft, who had already announced that she intended to remain on this side of the Atlantic until after her first great-grandchild was born. Claire, seeking some independence, would stay with Evie and Weston at Hawkridge Manor. Come Christmas, everyone would once again gather at the estate to celebrate the holiday together.

Joanna and Kincaid.

Evie and Weston.

Brynne and Lachlan.

Lady Ellinwood and Mrs. Thorncroft.

Claire.

And the newly married Duke and Duchess of Hanover.

So many lives intertwined. So many destinies changed for the better. Rosemary was honored to be a part of it. A part of the story. A part of the love and the trust and the faith that bound them all together.

They'd crossed a literal ocean to be here, in this moment. They'd set aside their fears. They'd opened their hearts. And they'd fallen in love. With the men of their dreams, with each other, and with themselves.

As she stood in her bedchamber waiting for notice that the carriage had arrived to ferry her off to the village church, Rosemary was pleased to note that she had never felt this sure of herself. Never been so comfortable in her own skin. Never been filled with such conviction that no matter what obstacles came to stand in her way, she'd have the strength and the ability to topple each and every one.

"How far we've come, Sir Reginald," she whispered, slipping a hazelnut into the covered basket she carried on her right arm. Anyone looking at it would assume it held her most cherished possessions. Satin gloves from her mother, or perhaps an embroidered handkerchief from a beloved aunt. Only those who knew her best would guess that the basket actually did contain a cherished possession–or in this case, a cherished pet.

Carrying a squirrel down the aisle instead of flowers was unconventional at best. But then, Sterling had already made it clear that her peculiarity was one of the things he loved best about her.

As she thought of the handsome duke that awaited her at the church, butterflies danced in her belly. She was glad they were getting married. As Brynne had said, a short engagement did have several benefits. And the wedding night was certainly one of them.

In just a few hours, she would be wrapped in Sterling's arms in the private guest house that Evie and Weston had generously allowed them to have for the duration of their stay at Hawkridge Manor. There was no place on earth she'd rather be. No person she'd rather be with. If only she could figure out a way to jump straight over the wedding ceremony and the formal breakfast to be followed by an evening ball, she'd be happy as…well, she'd be as happy as Sir Reginald with a hazelnut!

A knock at the door caused her to turn in anticipation as the butterflies took flight. This was it! The carriage was ready. The pews were filled. Sterling was waiting.

Except he wasn't.

Because when she opened the door, there he was standing on the other side of it.

"You cannot be here," she gasped even as he sauntered past her into the room. A quick peek down the hallway to ensure no one had seen him enter, and she both turned the knob and locked it. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony. You have to leave before Evie finds out."

"I'm not afraid of her," Sterling scoffed, folding his arms.

She waited patiently.

"All right, maybe I'm a little afraid. But who wouldn't be? Your cousin is marching about out there like General Charles Cornwallis. Kings would do well to remove themselves from her path."

"Wasn't Cornwallis defeated by George Washington at Yorktown?"

"Precisely why I'm hiding in here. And so that I can do this, of course." Two strides, and he was kissing her. A soft, caring, frustratingly brief kiss that left her yearning for their wedding night more than ever. He pressed his mouth to the middle of her temple, then rocked back onto his heels. "Not a bow or a ruffle in sight. I suppose we have the brunette devil downstairs to thank for that."

"This dress was supposed to be Evie's," Rosemary admitted, stroking a hand across the pale blue skirt. Snug across the arms and bodice, it fell away at the waist into a cascading spill of silk and chiffon. The gown was intended to be worn with a full crinoline and padded bustle, but she'd opted for a simpler, more comfortable version.

"I like it better on you." His teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. "I'll like taking it off even more. Do you think anyone will notice if we don't go to the church?"

"Only five dozen or so," she said ruefully.

"Head up, my little hawfinch." He nudged her chin with his finger. "You'll have me all to yourself soon enough."

Little hawfinch .

He'd taken to calling her that since the Royal Gala. She vastly preferred it to Rebecca, Renee, and all the other litany of names he used to tease her with. Especially when he had shared the special meaning it held for him.

"I love you," she said.

"How strange. I snuck up here, risking life and limb, to tell you exactly the same thing." He kissed her again. Lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. "I love you, Rosemary. I wanted to say that before–is Sir Reginald in your basket?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, she quickly tucked her arm behind her. "What basket?"

"The one you put behind your back with a squirrel in it."

"Oh, that basket."

"Yes. That basket." The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Just make sure he doesn't bite anyone."

"Sir Reginald would never," she said, aghast that Sterling would suggest otherwise.

"He bit me ."

"As I said before, that was a misunderstanding. Now go," she ordered, pointing at the door. "Before Evie really does find you in here and puts both of us in the stocks."

"Misunderstanding my arse," Sterling grumbled with a glare at the basket. "He knows what he did."

But with a final kiss, he did leave and, soon after, Rebecca came rushing in to tell Rosemary that the carriage was ready.

The wedding ceremony was a blurred stream of colors and music and emotions. Sitting in the front pew, Evie and Claire wept openly, while Joanna and Brynne watched on with pride. From the other side of the aisle, even Lady Ellinwood could be seen dashing away a tear, although when questioned later she blamed the dust.

Rosemary couldn't recall the vows she had spoken by the time she left the church in a shower of rice and well wishes, but she knew that she would never forget the way Sterling had gazed at her as they stood facing each other.

It was the same way the songbirds looked at the sunrise after a night spent in the dark. Or a horse looked at its warm stall after a day of hard work. Or parched, thirsty flowers looked up at the rain as the first drops fell.

It was comfort. It was home. It was love.

Sterling boosted her into the decorated carriage that would take them back to Hawkridge Manor and didn't miss an opportunity to squeeze her bottom. Falling into the seat on a helpless laugh, she was already kissing him before the door had closed. A kiss that rapidly turned into something decidedly more heated which made them late for their own receiving breakfast…much to her chagrin and her husband's wicked amusement.

They dined outside beneath the pavilions where Evie had truly outdone herself. White linens blew lightly in the breeze, sunny bouquets of sunflowers adorned every table, and a quartet of violinists played on a raised stage littered with fallen leaves.

When breakfast was over, everyone retired to their rooms to rest and change for the evening ball. After ensuring that her grandmother was comfortably resting, Rosemary sought her own chamber where she fell upon the mattress with a sigh and a happy smile. Sir Reginald jumped up on the windowsill beside the bed, the remnants of a hazelnut clutched possessively in his tiny paws, and kept watch while she read the most recent edition of Gardner's Chronicle .

"Listen to this," she said excitedly as she sat up on her elbow. "It says that Darwin is proposing a fourth theory of evolution. Something he is calling natural selection. After concluding his study of iguanas during his most recent journey to the Galápagos Islands, he found that–"

She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Assuming it was Sterling returned from the celebratory cigar he'd taken with Weston, Kincaid, and Lachlan, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and bounced to her feet just as the door opened.

"I was wondering when… you're not Sterling ." Ice seeped into her veins when a stranger entered her room. A stranger that she vaguely recognized from the church. Or maybe the Royal Gala? Whoever they were, wherever she'd first seen them, they did not look well. In the dappled afternoon sunlight their eyes held a metallic, shiny sort of glint. Their face was beaded with sweat. Their breathing was short and uneven.

"No, I'm not," the stranger said in a deceptively calm, pleasant tone. "But you are going to come with me nevertheless. You're not going to scream. You're not going to make any noise at all. We're going to have some time alone, you and I. Just the two of us. Nod if you understand."

Rosemary looked at the pistol aimed straight at her heart.

And then she nodded.