Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Oh, Phoebe,” Genevieve whispered, her voice almost breathless, “you look positively radiant. I cannot believe this is happening! You’re actually going to be the Duchess of Talwyn!”
Phoebe clung to her cousin, a mixture of nerves and joy swirling in her chest. “I can hardly believe it myself,” she admitted softly. “It feels… like stepping into a story.”
“Better than any story,” Genevieve said firmly, pulling back to examine her face. “You deserve every bit of happiness this world can offer. I’ve watched you struggle, and now, now it’s your turn to have it all.”
Phoebe smiled through her tears, drawing a shaky breath. “Thank you… for always being there.”
From the side of the room, Vincent, the Duke of Ravenwood stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a quiet strength that belied his years in service, he gave Phoebe a gentle, encouraging smile.
He offered her his arm. “If you’ll allow me the honor; I would be privileged to walk you down the aisle.”
Phoebe’s chest tightened with gratitude. Her parents, uninvited and absent, could not claim their place here today. Yet Vincent’s presence brought comfort. He was Sebastian’s friend and confidant, and his strong hand was there to guide her forward.
“Thank you,” she said, slipping her hand into his.
Genevieve squeezed her once more, whispering, “Enjoy this moment. And remember, he loves you as you are.”
As Phoebe and her escort, the Duke of Ravenwood, moved toward the altar; the hush of the chapel settled around them. Verity and Percy, the Duke and Duchess of Whitestone, sat near the front, exchanging small smiles of approval.
At the altar, Sebastian waited. His emerald eyes swept the room before finally resting on Phoebe. He straightened as she approached.
The smallest flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, and just the sight of him made Phoebe’s heart thrum with anticipation. The soft gleam of candlelight reflected in his hair and eyes, illuminating the man she had come to know, beyond the title, beyond the masks, entirely his own.
Vincent handed her to Sebastian, who clutched her fingertips gently.
As Phoebe and Sebastian turned to the officiant, the clergyman began in a solemn tone. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
Phoebe glanced up at Sebastian, and he gave her a small, reassuring nod.
The vows were recited as per custom, formal yet deeply meaningful:
“I, Sebastian Halshore, take thee, Phoebe Webb, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith. ”
Sebastian’s voice was steady, yet low and intimate as it carried across the chapel. Phoebe’s eyes glistened as she answered:
“I, Phoebe Webb, take thee, Sebastian Halshore, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith. ”
The officiant smiled gently. “By the authority vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Sebastian lifted her hand, pressing a tender, reverent kiss to her knuckles before leaning forward and wrapping her in a warm, solid embrace.
Phoebe melted into it. Her arms wound around him as the chapel erupted in polite applause.
Phoebe’s eyes found Sebastian’s, and the corners of his mouth tilted into a small smirk, teasing her silently.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low, just for her.
“And you are mine,” she replied, feeling the strength of her words and the spirit of that promise settling deep within her soul...
With the ceremony over, the guests followed the newlyweds to Sebastian’s townhouse for the wedding breakfast. The room was filled with the warm glow of morning sunlight streaming through tall windows, illuminating the delicate floral arrangements and polished silver on the long table.
The scent of fresh pastries and spiced meats mingled with the faint perfume of flowers, creating a heady, celebratory atmosphere.
Phoebe took her seat beside Sebastian, her hand resting lightly on his arm. His eyes found hers, and a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
Across from them, Genevieve practically sparkled with excitement, fidgeting in her chair as she leaned forward to whisper: “I tell you again, Cousin,” she murmured, voice barely containing her thrill, “you look elated. I am too, for you got your happy ending at last.”
Phoebe laughed softly, cheeks flushed. “I can hardly believe it myself. It feels… unreal.”
“It is real, my dear,” Sebastian chimed in, taking Phoebe’s hand and kissing it. “We are together at last.”
Phoebe beamed as Genevieve’s gaze shifted to Sebastian. “I have to ask… what about the masquerades, Your Grace?” she whispered. “Will they continue?”
“They will,” he said. “But not under my direction.”
Genevieve blinked. “Not under—? You mean to step back? You are retiring and giving up your role as…” she paused and cast a quick look around to make sure that no one outside of their table was listening. “You will no longer let Lord Spencer take credit for your soirees?”
“I mean,” Sebastian replied evenly, “that I have resigned my commission. Entirely.”
Phoebe felt the quiet weight of the words settle around them.
He had told her privately, of course, that he would no longer serve the Crown as a spy or continue employing Lord Spencer, but hearing him say it here, openly, before those who knew the truth of his former life, made it real in an entirely different way.
Vincent studied him. “You are certain?”
“Yes.” Sebastian did not hesitate. “I have given my final report to the Crown. My involvement in operations has concluded. Permanently.”
Percy leaned back slowly. “You astonish me.”
“I astonish myself,” Sebastian admitted, though his tone held no regret. His gaze slid to Phoebe, full of warmth, steadiness, and certainty. “But I find I prefer my battles domestic.”
“Learmonth must be quite disappointed,” Vincent murmured.
“Perhaps,” Percy responded. “The three of us have done plenty for him already. We have a right to live our own lives now.”
“Indeed,” Sebastian chimed in, and he smiled at Phoebe.
Then, Genevieve leaned in. “And the masquerades?”
“A different matter,” Sebastian said. “They were always more than cover. They are useful socially and politically. I trust others to handle the subtleties of such affairs now.”
Genevieve leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Oh! You mean I could get involved?”
Sebastian laughed. “Are you hoping to become the next Lord Spencer?”
Genevieve’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Perhaps not Lord Spencer, but Lady Spencer has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”
Sebastian gifted her with what Phoebe thought of as his most dashing and disarming smile. “Even if I said no, would that deter you?”
“No,” Genevieve replied with the widest grin.
“I thought so,” Sebastian replied, his tone teasing “But you must prove capable of managing the secrecy… and the charm.”
Phoebe glanced at Sebastian with worry. “Don’t fret, my wife,” he whispered to her, “I’ll have people keep an eye on her.”
With that, Phoebe was soothed.
Vincent, seated nearby, raised a brow at the exchange. “It seems you are encouraging her rather too eagerly,” he said dryly.
Sebastian turned his gaze on Vincent, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “It would seem that way, yes. But I trust that Lady Genevieve knows what she’s about. She will serve as Lady Spencer for a spell, then settle down and marry.”
“I shall drink to that.” Genevieve lifted her glass, saluted the bride and groom, then drank a large gulp of champagne.
Phoebe snuggled closer to Sebastian’s side as he continued to contemplate his friend.
Sebastian murmured, “Dear Vincent, I believe you are the last one left unmarried, aside from the fair Lady Genevieve. Percy and I are both taken. The next tale, it seems, will belong to you.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened slightly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a long time to see that.”
Sebastian smirked. “I thought so about myself, too, and here I am.”
Phoebe felt warmth bloom in her chest at the gentle teasing, her gaze softening as she glanced at Sebastian. Even amidst the chatter and laughter, he remained entirely attentive to her.
As the breakfast concluded and the guests took their leave, Verity leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Phoebe’s temple.
“I am so happy for you both,” she said. “Truly.”
Vincent gave a small bow of acknowledgment to the newlyweds. “I wish you both every happiness. Sebastian, you’ve chosen wisely.”
Sebastian’s hand found Phoebe’s beneath the table. His fingers intertwined with hers.
“We both have,” he said softly, low enough that only she could hear.
Once the last guest departed, the house fell into a comfortable, intimate quiet.
Phoebe turned to Sebastian, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Will you… play and sing for me?” she asked.
Sebastian’s lips curved into a small smile as he led her to the grand piano in the corner of the room. He seated himself, gesturing for her to sit nearby.
When his fingers touched the keys, the room was filled with a rich, melodic warmth. As he sang, Phoebe watched him, awe and pride filling her chest. Each note carried the depth of his soul, the steady cadence of the man who had haunted her dreams and now stood wholly before her.
When the last notes lingered in the air, Phoebe clapped softly, her gaze shining. “You should perform more often,” she murmured, voice thick with admiration.
He leaned toward her, brushing a strand of hair away her face. “Only for you,” he said, voice low, teasing, yet sincere.