Epilogue
One Month Later
“Papa, please, do not look at me like that,” Ophelia implored.
Ophelia was standing in his bedroom, all of her friends by her side as they all presented Ophelia’s wedding gown to her father.
Since she’d returned from the nasty business concerning Abraham, she had not felt too inclined to leave the house and her father was all too happy to have her by his side.
Thankfully, though, her favorite dressmaker, Mrs. Tate, made house calls.
“I cannot help it,” John said, his voice cracking with emotion as he brought his kerchief to his eyes. “It is not every day you see your only daughter in a wedding gown.”
He swept his eyes down the ivory gown of silk and the lace veil, and his face began to crumble once more with emotion.
“You look you so beautiful!” He sobbed.
“Oh, Papa, please do not cry!” Ophelia begged.
She quickly lifted her veil and went to his side, hugging his shoulders as he remained in his rolling chair.
She looked toward her friends as she embraced him, not at all sure what to do.
However she found that Seraphina, Theo, Amelia, and Rose were all looking back at her with that same, sappy, teary-eyed smile her father had worn when she’d first walked in.
“Why is everyone crying?!” Ophelia asked, growing exasperated.
“We are just happy for you is all,” Theo replied, then sniffled.
“And you do look beautiful,” Rose’s voice quivered as she brought her kerchief to her eye.
“So very beautiful,” Seraphina all but whimpered.
“The most beautiful bride of us all,” Amelia softly cried.
Ophelia rolled her eyes, not at all comfortable with this mushy business.
“You are not doing this at the ceremony tomorrow, are you?” She asked, looking around at all of them.
“Of course not,” John sniffled, as if trying to gain his composure, “All smiles and no tears tomorrow. That is why we must get them out today.”
Ophelia felt the urge to roll her eyes again as her friends offered their agreement, but she was smiling from ear.
“Let us speak on tomorrow’s plans,” she suggested, “draw your minds away from all of this emotion.”
“Very well,” John said, wiping his kerchief once more over his cheeks.
“Your lovely friends will be spending the evening here with us so that we may start early tomorrow morning,” John began, waving an arm toward her friends.
“Your groom and his groomsmen will be arriving at half past seven. The priest will be arriving at a quarter til eight. Our ceremony begins at nine in the parlor-”
“And will be over at twenty past nine since you want a simple exchange of vows,” Theo said, taking over as John’s voice began to quiver again. “Hooray, Hoorah, we have ourselves a lovely toast to the newly wedded couple, then we partake in a wedding breakfast precisely at ten a.m.”
“At thirty past eleven you and Tristan will be traveling as newlyweds to the Darlington country estate, where we will all be joining you the next afternoon,” Rose picked up where Theo left off.
“Theo and Alistsair will be accompanying your father for the journey,” Amelia added.
“And we will spend the Christmas month all together,” Seraphina finished.
“Very good,” Ophelia praised, beaming at her friends. She bounced a little on her feet, more excited than the she ever thought she could for her own wedding day. There would be no pomp or circumstance, no gossiping whispers. Just her family, friends, and the love of her life.
A knock on her father's door came, followed by Mr. Potter’s entry.
“Pardon, Miss Wexley- my you look beautiful!” Their loyal butler exclaimed.
Ophelia smiled warmly as she felt her father tighten his hold on her hand; as if silently urging her to believe it was true.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Ophelia replied, “What were you about to say?”
“Oh!” The butler startled, as if he’d completely forgotten the reason he’d come into the room in the first place. “Yes, forgive me. The Earl of Darlington is here, Miss Wexley, and he requests to have a private audience with you.”
Excitement jolted through Ophelia’s veins, and without a word, she stepped toward the door. She knew well what he had been doing today and want very much to know how business had went.
“Wait a moment!” Theo exclaimed with a laugh as she and Rose grabbed her arms with surprising strength.
“What for?” Ophelia laughed, looking at them as if they were crazed.
“Your gown!” Seraphina exclaimed, “He cannot see you in it until tomorrow! It is bad luck otherwise.”
Ophelia let out a groan of annoyance, but allowed her friends to hurry her back to her room. They helped her out of her wedding gown with quick but gentle hands, then she drew on her favorite long-sleeved, dusky blue day gown.
She raced down the stairs, not waiting for her friends or caring about pretense.
Her smile grew as she saw Tristan waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and she leaped from third step to the last and into his arms. Tristan chuckled as he caught her, whirled her around, and gave her a dizzying kiss.
“There is my beautiful bride-to-be,” he said, stroking her cheek lovingly.
“Enough praises,” she insisted, stroking her hands down the front of his jacket, “Tell me how it went!”
Tristan glanced behind her, his smile still firmly in place.
“Theo?” He called.
Ophelia turned, and found all of her friends on the stairs, smiling like mad women.
“Yes, brother?” She asked quickly, taking another step down toward them.
“I wish to show my future wife something. It will take a few hours. Would you be so kind as to make an excuse for our absence?”
“Unchaperoned?” Theo asked, appearing offended as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Why brother, would you have allowed me to take a day unchaperoned with my husband-to-be the day before my wedding?”
Tristan and Ophelia both gave her a glaring look, and she giggled.
“Go,” she said, shooing her hand toward them. “I shall tell Lord Whitebridge something or other. Just have her back by dinner. We are all supposed to eat with him, remember?”
“I promise,” Tristan replied.
Ophelia threw her friend a thankful glance before she slipped her hand into Tristan’s, and the two of them hurried outside toward his carriage as snow started to fall.
“Tell me!” She insisted the moment they were alone.
“Christopher purchased everything,” Tristan stated, sparing no time.
“The guest list, the decor. He took the hired women under his wing and is keeping all of the guards. The only things I would not sell him were your paintings. They are far too precious to me. Other than that, the Devil’s Masquerade is officially no longer mine. ”
“However,” he added with a growing smirk, “All ten of us have a free life-time open invitation, and we are allowed to attend whenever we wish, if we so wish.”
Ophelia let out a happy squeal as she climbed into his lap and kissed him.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” She asked. It was the hundredth time she’d asked since he’d told her his plan, but still, she wanted him to be completely certain.
“I am positive,” Tristan stated, stroking his hand up her outer thigh as he held her closer, “The allure of it is gone for me. All I want now is you.”
Ophelia sighed as he drew a hand around her throat and kissed her again; both of them losing track of time as the carriage drove through the mid-morning snow.
Their kissing soon grew into heavy petting, and neither thought to stop their wandering hands until a bang atop the carriage ceiling interrupted them.
Ophelia drew back from Tristan’s kisses, heated and dazed, and looked out the window.
To her surprise, she saw a beautiful, quaint, sea-blue painted cottage sitting atop a snow-covered cliff.
“Where have you brought me?” She asked, sliding out of Tristan’s lap.
Tristan smirked as he bundled her up in a hooded fur cloak, then opened the carriage door. Together they hurried up the small, snow-covered walk. To Ophelia’s surprise, a wave of delicious heat curled around them as Tristan brought her inside, and she shivered at the contrast in temperature.
“Welcome, Lord Darlington, Lady Darlington,” A cheerful male voice boomed from the left.
“Harry,” Tristan greeted the man as Ophelia turned to the voice.
She was greeted by the sight of a hefty man in a heavy black coat and matching boots.
His gray and white curls poked through the edges of his black newsboy cap and blended into his large, matching beard that sat just below rosy cheeks and glittering brown eyes.
“This is my wife, Lady Darlington,” Tristan said, waving toward Ophelia. “Ophelia, this is your new groundskeeper, Harry. He will be here at your beck and call any time you want to come here.”
Ophelia felt a spark of excitement through her confusion as she heard Tristan call her Lady Darlington, and she smiled wide as she bowed her head toward Harry.
“It is pleasure to meet you, Harry,” she replied as he took off his cap and bowed toward her, “Though I am confused.”
Harry chuckled as he put his cap back on.
“I lit the fires as your requested, my lord,” he said to Tristan, “But for now I believe I should take me leave.”
“Thank you, Harry,” Tristan replied politely.
Ophelia pulled her hood back as she took a moment to take in the cottage.
It had a small wooden staircase to the right, but to the left, was a massive open space.
Its dark wood floors were covered with fine, dark blue and beige Persian rugs.
Plush, dark blue couches and chaises sat atop the rugs, and thick, heavy navy blue brocade curtains stretched along the opposite wall from one side to the other.
To the left sat a beautifully handcrafted mantle and fireplace, which was already filled with burning wood and warm flames. The walls of the place were stark white, and on either side of the fireplace sat two tables, riddled with pots of paint, brushes, and rolled up canvases.