Epilogue
The warm mid-August sun filtered through the arched church windows at Oxford Chapel.
The organ music floated to the vaulted ceiling, accompanied by the voices of the parishioners.
To Susanna’s left, Aunt Blackwall’s high soprano rang out.
To her right, Ambrose was singing in a quiet tenor.
Susanna glanced at him. His lip turned up as he sang, the only indication that he noticed her attention.
When she suggested they attend church together, she had not anticipated the torment of sitting beside him while not being able to touch or speak. It had been nearly two months since they became betrothed, but it felt like much longer.
They had stayed at Brentmere Park through July, long after the other guests had departed. There they spent each day together under the watchful and permissive gazes of Grace and Henry. It was a dream to spend those days getting to better know the man she would spend her life with.
Unfortunately, the earl had called Ambrose back to London. Susanna had followed, reentering her aunt’s house completely unprepared for the separation. Though he visited every day, it was hardly the same, and Susanna soon chafed under the restrictions placed upon them by her aunt and Society.
When Susanna complained, Aunt Blackwall reminded her they need simply marry to end their suffering. Aunt did not understand why they were postponing their vows, and by mid-August Susanna wasn’t sure either.
She had thought it terribly chivalrous when Ambrose pledged he would wait until his last friend married.
It was the proof she had needed to feel truly secure in his affections.
She had never dreamed that Mr. Leonard Stanton would be completely uninterested in marriage.
At times she feared he would remain single forever.
As the weeks stretched on, Susanna had hoped that Ambrose would change his mind.
And while he asked her what home she wished to live in, consulted her on the route of their tour of Europe, and discussed who they would invite to the breakfast, he never asked her to choose a wedding date.
Despite his passionate kisses and lingering goodbyes, he seemed dedicated to his plan of waiting.
So it fell to Susanna to make her own plan.
She had written letters to loved ones and spoken with the curate. It helped immensely that Ambrose now lived in the Marylebone parish and that Aunt Blackwall was well respected there. All was arranged, she only needed for the service to end for her plan to be revealed.
It seemed the curate would never cease his sermon. Susanna’s eyes continued to dart to Ambrose. He seemed to sense her apprehension and smiled affectionately each time their eyes met. Finally, the curate finished and looked down at his pulpit. He shuffled some papers. Susanna sat up straighter.
With a smile, the curate began.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Mr. Ambrose Hartley of Marylebone, London, and of Miss Susanna Fenton of Marylebone, London.”
Beside her, Ambrose stiffened. Susanna glanced at him, allowing herself a triumphant smile. He shook his head as if he didn’t quite believe what he had heard. Boldly, Susanna slipped her hand into his.
The curate, ignorant of the astonishment he had created, continued.
“This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”
Murmurs followed his pronouncement but no objections. Aunt Blackwall nudged Susanna, and they shared broad grins. She felt as if she would float away.
Though Susanna had known for weeks that she was to become Mrs. Hartley, there was something different about having it declared across the pulpit to her friends and neighbors. It was no longer a plan, it would soon be her reality.
Ambrose leaned toward her and whispered, “I suppose this was your doing?”
She shrugged and smiled back.
He shook his head, his lips twitching.
When the meeting finally ended, they were inundated with well-wishers. They smiled and answered questions as they slowly made their way to the doors. As Susanna clung to his arm, she imagined walking this same path as husband and wife. She only had to wait two more weeks!
Once in the churchyard, they were finally free to speak.
“The plan was to wait until after Leonard married,” Ambrose chided quietly.
Susanna shrugged. “That was a horrible plan. One of your worst.”
Ambrose chuckled. “As I recall, you heartily approved at the time.”
“And do you approve of this new plan?” she asked.
“I do.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Though I wish you had told me privately so I could show you the extent of my approval.”
Heat bloomed in her chest; Susanna ached to be alone with him and not surrounded by people. He was Ambrose Hartley, honorable, quick-witted, and utterly hers.
Only two more weeks. Then they would have a lifetime together.
She swatted his arm. “Behave,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “So what is the plan for our marriage?”
“Well, Mr. Hartley, I plan to be obnoxiously happy.”
“How very strange, that is precisely my plan as well.”