Chapter 18 #2
"Was it indeed so obvious?" Devon asked with slight embarrassment, though his arm remained firmly around his wife's waist in a gesture of unmistakable possession.
"To anyone with eyes to see," Lady Worthington interjected as she approached with her characteristic regal bearing.
"The way you looked at Miss Greystone—forgive me, Your Grace—was hardly that of a disinterested employer.
I confess myself curious about the extent of your investigation into Mr. Whitmore's character. "
"Quite extensive," Devon replied with grim satisfaction.
"Once I received confirmation of his debts, I employed the finest investigators in London to uncover every detail of his past conduct.
Miss Fitzwilliam's testimony was particularly enlightening, though it required considerable persuasion to convince her to speak publicly of her ordeal. "
"The poor creature," Arabella said with genuine sympathy, her gaze moving to where Catherine Fitzwilliam stood near the back of the church with obvious discomfort. "It must have taken enormous courage to face him again, particularly in such a public setting."
"Indeed," Devon agreed, his expression growing serious. "I have made arrangements for her and her family to travel abroad for an extended period, should they wish it. The scandal of Whitmore's exposure will inevitably reflect upon anyone associated with him, however innocently."
The thoughtful consideration for others affected by his scheme struck Arabella as entirely characteristic of the man she had married, and she felt her love for him deepen even further at this evidence of his essential goodness.
"Your Grace, Your Grace," Lord Richard approached with obvious emotion, his weathered face showing the strain of the morning's dramatic events.
"I must confess myself quite overwhelmed by.
.. by all of this. When I escorted my daughter to church this morning, I feared I was delivering her to a most unfortunate fate.
Instead, I find her elevated to the highest rank in society and, more importantly, clearly beloved by a gentleman of honor. "
"You need never doubt my devotion to your daughter, Lord Richard," Devon replied with quiet intensity. "She is more precious to me than my own life, and I swear to you upon my honour that she shall never want for anything within my power to provide."
"I can see that she shall not," Lord Richard said with obvious relief, his gaze moving between the couple with growing satisfaction. "Indeed, I begin to think that what appeared to be the greatest disaster of our family's history may prove to be its greatest blessing."
Lady Greystone approached with tears streaming down her face, her earlier anxiety transformed into overwhelming joy at her daughter's unexpected elevation.
"My dearest child," she sobbed, embracing Arabella with desperate enthusiasm, "I confess I have spent weeks fearing for your future happiness. To see you so obviously adored by such a gentleman... it is more than I dared hope for."
"Oh, Mama," Arabella replied with matching emotion, "if you could but know how much I have longed for this moment, how desperately I have hoped that somehow love might triumph over all the obstacles placed in our path."
"Love has indeed triumphed," Cordelia declared as she appeared at her sister's side, her romantic heart clearly overflowing with delight at witnessing such a fairy tale ending.
"I vow I have never seen anything half so romantic as His Grace's dramatic intervention.
It was like something from the finest novel! "
"Rather more nerve-wracking to live through than to read about, I assure you," Devon said with rueful humor. "There were several moments when I feared the entire scheme might collapse, leaving Arabella worse off than before."
"But it did not collapse," Arabella said firmly, reaching up to touch his face with gentle fingers. "Your faith in love proved stronger than every obstacle society placed in our path."
The tender exchange was interrupted by the approach of Lord Stanton, whose political acumen had proven so valuable in orchestrating Whitmore's downfall.
"Congratulations, Your Grace, Your Grace," he said with obvious satisfaction.
"I must confess that your wedding gift to your bride was one of the most satisfying pieces of political theater I have ever been privileged to witness.
Whitmore's exposure will serve as a salutary lesson to other fortune-hunters who might seek to prey upon vulnerable ladies. "
"It was hardly theater," Devon replied with a slight frown. "The evidence against Whitmore was entirely genuine, as was the threat he posed to my wife's safety and happiness."
"Of course, of course," Lord Stanton agreed hastily. "I merely meant that the timing and presentation were masterfully orchestrated. The impact upon society's attitude toward such predatory behaviour will be considerable."
As more well-wishers approached to offer their congratulations, Arabella found herself marveling at the complete transformation of her circumstances.
This morning she had awakened as a ruined woman about to be sacrificed to a fortune-hunter's greed; now she stood as the Duchess of Ravenshollow, beloved wife of one of England's most powerful men.
Yet it was not the elevation in rank that filled her with such overwhelming joy, but rather the knowledge that she was finally free to love and be loved without restraint or concealment.
The man beside her had proven his devotion through actions rather than mere words, risking his own reputation and position to ensure her safety and happiness.
"My dear Duke and Duchess," Reverend Thornfield approached with the sort of benevolent satisfaction that marked him as a man well-pleased with his morning's work, "might I suggest that we adjourn to sign the register?
The legal formalities must be completed before you can begin your new life together. "
"An excellent suggestion," Devon agreed, though his arm tightened possessively around Arabella's waist. "Though I confess myself eager to have all such formalities behind us."
As they made their way to the small office room where the marriage register awaited their signatures, Arabella caught sight of her reflection in one of the church's ancient mirrors.
The woman staring back at her bore little resemblance to the desperate creature who had stood at this same altar less than an hour before.
Gone was the hollow desperation, replaced by a radiance that seemed to emanate from within.
"You are beautiful," Devon murmured as he followed her gaze, his voice rough with emotion. "So beautiful it takes my breath away."
"I am happy," she replied simply. "For the first time in months, I am truly, completely happy."
"As am I," Devon said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as they reached the office room. "As am I, my beloved wife."
The signing of the register was accomplished with due ceremony, their signatures marking the legal completion of their union.
As Devon's bold script settled beside her more delicate hand, Arabella felt the last of her fears finally fade away.
She was truly, legally, permanently his, just as he was irrevocably hers.
"And now," Devon said as they emerged from the office room to face the still-crowded church, "I believe it is customary for the bride and groom to make their exit through a shower of rose petals and well-wishes."
"How very traditional of you," Arabella jested, though her eyes sparkled with happiness at the prospect of beginning their public life as man and wife.
"I find myself surprisingly fond of certain traditions," Devon replied with matching humor, "particularly those that involve displaying my claim upon the most beautiful woman in England."
As they made their way down the aisle, arm in arm, the congregation erupted in celebration. Rose petals did indeed rain down upon them, thrown by guests who had been caught up in the genuine romance of their union despite the scandalous circumstances that had brought it about.
The church doors opened to reveal a crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered upon hearing rumors of the morning's dramatic events. News of Whitmore's arrest and the Duke of Ravenshollow's surprise marriage had spread through London with the speed that only truly sensational gossip could achieve.
"Your Grace! Your Grace!" called out several members of the ton who had not been fortunate enough to secure invitations to the original ceremony. "Is it true that you prevented Miss Greystone's marriage through exposing her intended as a fortune-hunter?"
"It is true that I prevented a grave injustice," Devon replied with the sort of diplomatic precision that had served him well in political circles. "Miss Greystone—now the Duchess of Ravenshollow—deserved far better than to be deceived into marriage with a man of corrupt character."
"And you, Your Grace?" another voice called out, this time directed at Arabella. "How do you find yourself elevated from paid companion to duchess in the space of a single morning?"
"I find myself," Arabella replied with quiet dignity, "exactly where I belong. In the arms of a man whose love I treasure above all worldly honours."
The romantic declaration sent a sigh of satisfaction through the assembled crowd, many of whom had been following the scandalous details of her association with the Duke's household for months.
To see such a story conclude with genuine love triumphant rather than mere social destruction was deeply satisfying to even the most cynical observers.
"The carriage awaits, Your Grace," Devon murmured as they reached the church steps, gesturing toward the magnificent vehicle that bore his ducal arms upon its doors.
"Our carriage," Arabella corrected with a smile that transformed her entire face. "I find I must grow accustomed to thinking in terms of 'ours' rather than 'yours' and 'mine.'"