Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
“Just a bit more here, Ellie,” a maid, Sarah, who had worked alongside Eliza just days ago, caught herself, flushing. “I mean, Your Grace. If I could just adjust the veil?”
The wedding dress was beautiful. Eliza stood in front of the mirror in the guest room, her room for the past three days, and barely recognized herself.
The gown was ivory silk with delicate lace sleeves, elegant in its simplicity.
Imogen had arranged for it, working some miracle to have it altered to fit Eliza perfectly in less than seventy-two hours.
“Of course,” Eliza said softly.
The awkwardness was palpable. Sarah kept her eyes downcast, her movements careful, as though Eliza had transformed into something fragile and untouchable.
Which, Eliza supposed, she had. Three days ago, they’d been peers, servants in the same household, sharing the same quarters, eating the same meals.
Now Eliza was about to become a duchess.
It felt surreal. Like a dream she might wake from at any moment.
A knock at the door interrupted the uncomfortable silence.
“Come in,” Eliza called.
The door opened to reveal Imogen, resplendent in a gown of deep blue that complemented her complexion perfectly. Her face lit up when she saw Eliza.
“Oh, my dear,” she breathed. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
Sarah curtsied quickly. “I’ll give you privacy, Your Grace.” She fled the room before either woman could respond.
Imogen closed the door gently behind her, then crossed to Eliza, taking both her hands.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes warm with concern.
“Terrified,” Eliza admitted. “My entire life has been upended in three days. And I’ve dragged Morgan into this mess with me. What if…what if I’ve ruined everything for him? What if…”
“Stop.” Imogen squeezed her hands. “You haven’t ruined anything. If anything, I suspect you may have saved him.”
Eliza blinked. “What?”
“Morgan is a good man. One of the best I know, actually. But he’s been…
adrift for a long time. Going through the motions of life without really living it.
Relying on humor to make it through…” Imogen’s smile was gentle.
“And from what Arthur and Philip have told me, in excruciating detail, I might add, you’re cut from the same cloth.
Kind. Brave. Someone who cares for others even when it costs you. ”
“I don’t feel very brave right now.”
“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s moving forward despite it.” Imogen released one of her hands to adjust a curl that had escaped from Eliza’s elaborate hairstyle. “You and Morgan will figure this out together. I have faith in that.”
Together? How can that be? Even with this marriage and matters seemingly settled, there is so much to overcome. Our dishonest beginnings and not to mention I do not have the slightest idea of how to make a marriage work, let alone be a duchess…
Eliza’s throat tightened, as she resolved to keep her reservations to herself. “Thank you. For everything…for being…”
“For being your friend?” Imogen’s eyes sparkled with warmth. “That’s what friends do.”
Friends.
The word settled around Eliza’s heart like a benediction. She hadn’t realized how desperately she’d needed one until this moment. How she wished Abigail could be here to see her so happy. Yet the guilt gnawed at her. Morgan was marrying her out of obligation. Out of some misguided sense of honor.
And she was letting him, because the alternative was unthinkable.
And Abigail. How can I be at peace, knowing that the man who killed my best friend walks the streets as a free man? Even with the protection of a Duke, how can I be sure I will not suffer a similar fate for crossing such a man? The thought made her shiver.
“It’s time,” Imogen said gently, as though reading her thoughts. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Eliza lied.
St. Anselm’s Chapel was smaller than Eliza had expected.
Intimate, even. Morgan had kept the guest list minimal, just family and close friends, he’d said.
Though Eliza suspected it was more to minimize the scandal than out of any preference for privacy.
Her father waited for her at the entrance, dressed in his finest coat, his expression carefully neutral.
Looking at him now, Eliza wished desperately that things were different. That she could feel excitement at having her father walk her down the aisle. That there could be tears of joy instead of this hollow ache in her chest. But Lord Ramersby made his choices. And she had made hers.
“You look well,” he said stiffly.
“Thank you, Father.”
He offered his arm. She took it, her hand trembling slightly.
The doors opened. The small gathering inside turned to look at her.
Eliza’s eyes found Morgan immediately. He stood at the altar in a dark coat, his expression unreadable, his emerald eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
She began the long walk down the aisle and the quartet played a lovely tune as she held her breath.
“Even though you’ve made things… difficult for your mother and me,” her father whispered, his voice so low only she could hear, “I suppose we should be grateful. The debts are paid. And we’re connected to a duke now. That’s worth something, at least.”
No apology. No acknowledgment of what they’d tried to do to her. Just cold calculation of what they’d gained from the wreckage. Eliza said nothing. There was nothing to say. They reached the altar. Her father placed her hand in Morgan’s without ceremony, then stepped back.
Morgan’s fingers closed around hers, warm, steady, real.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear, and she nearly melted then and there.
Eliza’s eyes burned with unshed tears, looking at her handsome husband, her savior. “Thank you.”
The vicar began to speak, and the ceremony passed in a blur.
Eliza heard herself making vows, to honor, to cherish, in sickness and health, and wondered if Morgan heard the tremor in her voice. If he knew how terrified she was. How grateful. How guilty.
“I do,” she whispered when asked.
“I do,” Morgan echoed, his voice steady and sure.
And then he was sliding a ring onto her finger, a simple gold band that fit perfectly, and the vicar was pronouncing them man and wife.
“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said.
Morgan hesitated for just a moment. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was chaste, brief, and somehow still managed to send heat flooding through her entire body.
When he pulled back, his eyes held a question. A promise.
Later, they seemed to say. We’ll figure this out later.
Eliza nodded almost imperceptibly.
After they had exited the chapel and were in the vestibule, the small group of guests descended upon them immediately.
“Aunt Ellie! Aunt Ellie!”
Arthur and Philip pushed through the adults, their faces alight with joy. They threw themselves at Eliza, wrapping their arms around her waist.
“We’re so happy!” Philip declared. “Now you’re Uncle Morgan’s wife!”
“Can we call you Aunt Ellie—I mean Aunt Eliza?” Arthur asked, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “Since we call Uncle Morgan uncle?”
“I would be honored,” she said, her voice thick. “Absolutely honored.”
“Uncle Morgan!” Philip turned to Morgan, suddenly serious. “You have to take care of her. She’s very important.”
“The most important,” Arthur agreed solemnly.
Morgan’s expression softened in a way Eliza had never seen before. “I will. You have my word, boys.”
The boys hugged her once more, then were gently shepherded away by Miss Winslow. Imogen and Ambrose approached next, both beaming.
“Congratulations,” Ambrose said warmly, shaking Morgan’s hand. “To both of you.”
“Thank you,” Morgan replied.
“I wish you every happiness,” Imogen added, embracing Eliza carefully so as not to crush her dress. “And remember what I told you,” she whispered in Eliza’s ear. “You’re not alone in this.”
Eliza nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Miss Winslow was next.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying to Eliza. “Congratulations on your marriage.”
“Miss Winslow,” Eliza said quickly. “I want to apologize. For keeping my identity secret. I know it must have seemed…”
“You’ve been nothing but helpful to me,” Miss Winslow interrupted gently. “With the boys, with everything. Whatever your reasons for hiding, I’m certain they were good ones. No hard feelings, truly.”
Relief flooded through Eliza. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
And then, inevitably, her parents approached.
“Your Grace!” Lady Ramersby’s voice was honey sweet as she addressed Morgan. “What a beautiful ceremony. So elegant, so tasteful. We couldn’t be more delighted!”
“Indeed,” Lord Ramersby added, bowing obsequiously. “We’re honored to welcome you into our family, Your Grace.”
Morgan’s smile was polite but cold. “Thank you.”
Lady Ramersby turned to Eliza, pulling her into a perfunctory embrace. Up close, her mother’s voice dropped to a hiss.
“Behave yourself. Don’t cause any more scandals. You’ve already embarrassed us enough.”
Her father’s hug was equally brief, equally venomous. “Remember who you are. And don’t make us regret this arrangement.”
Eliza pulled back, her expression carefully blank. “Goodbye, Mother. Father.”
Morgan stepped closer to Eliza, his hand settling protectively on the small of her back. “Lord Ramersby, I trust everything is arranged for your departure from London?”
“Yes, yes,” her father muttered, clearly uncomfortable. “We leave tomorrow for the country estate.”
“Excellent. Safe travels.”
With final, stiff bows, they retreated.
“Come,” Morgan said quietly to Eliza. “The carriage is waiting, wife.”
Eliza leaned back against the plush velvet seats, watching London roll past the windows. The city where she’d grown up. The city she’d fled. The city she was now leaving behind, at least for a while.
“We’re going to Kirkhammer Hall,” Morgan said, breaking the silence. “I thought… the country would be more peaceful. For our honeymoon.”
Honeymoon. The word sent a flutter through Eliza’s stomach.
“That sounds lovely,” she managed.
Morgan was watching her, his expression thoughtful.
“I know we need to talk,” she said quickly. “About everything. About what happens now. I just…” She swallowed hard. “Can we wait until we get to Kirkhammer? I don’t think I can… I can’t process anything else right now.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Rest. We have a long journey ahead. And the rest of our lives for that matter,” he smiled.
Eliza nodded, grateful beyond words. She turned back to the window, watching as London gave way to countryside, the buildings growing smaller and farther apart.
She was married. To a duke. To Morgan. The man who’d saved her. The man who’d kissed her. The man who was now her husband.
And she had absolutely no idea what came next.