Epilogue
“Oh, yes, there’ll be plenty in the scandal sheets about this wedding,” Letitia whispered to herself, with visible glee. “But with the guest list so small and intimate, none of those scribblers will be able to get to the wedding itself. It’ll drive them mad.”
“Well, one scribbler will be there,” Amelia laughed, plucking at her voluminous skirts. “Marjory. And Marjory, I give you permission to sell whatever scandal scraps you like to the papers. You’ll have an exclusive insight into the wedding of the Season.”
“Oh, very clever, Amelia, very clever,” Letitia said approvingly. “Marjory could use that as leverage to have her name put on the article. It could launch her writing career.”
Marjory flushed with pride. “Well, I suppose I shall see. I don’t want to use my sister’s name to draw attention to myself.”
It was very nearly time to enter the chapel. The guests had already arrived. Everything was ready, including the wedding breakfast, which was waiting for them back inside the house. Letitia, Marjory, and Nancy all stood outside the chapel, waiting for Amelia to go in.
She plucked at her skirts again, watching the iridescent fabric glint in the sunlight.
I’m getting married today. I’m marrying the man I love.
What a strange realization.
I’m in love.
“Well then,” Amelia said, smiling at her sisters. “Shall we?”
“In we go, girls,” Letitia said, herding them toward the door. “You recall how we arranged things?”
“Dust and I are to go in first,” Nancy said instantly, lifting the heavy cat in her arms.
The creature seemed rather resigned, occasionally snagging a claw in the green ribbon around his neck, as if wishing to pull it off.
Obediently, Nancy slipped into the chapel, trotting down the aisle. Marjory followed her, leading Tiny on a leash. The dog was thrilled to be a part of the proceedings, tugging on his collar—decorated with a green ribbon to match Dust’s—and desperately trying to catch up with Nancy.
“Are you ready?” Letitia whispered, taking Amelia’s hands in her own.
Amelia let out a shaky sigh. “Yes, I believe that I am.”
Hand in hand with her grandmother-in-law, Amelia pushed open the doors. Inside, all the guests rose to their feet, eagerly trying to get a glimpse of her. She glanced from face to face, a smile creeping across her own.
Emmeline Potts had come, along with Simone, both in their finest gowns. There were Madeline and Tristan, hand in hand, both beaming at her. There were other faces, too, that she did not recognize, but they smiled and nodded to her as she passed by. Letitia whispered in her ear as they went.
“That is Gabriel Harding, the Duke of Stonewell, and his wife, Thalia. They are Orions, and close friends of Stephen. They want to meet you, quite urgently. Oh, and there is the Duke and Duchess of Arkley, Isaac and Charlotte. You haven’t met Christian and Louise yet, have you?
Oh, I’ll introduce you. New friends are a must for any new bride.
I think you’ll find them all rather supportive. ”
Amelia reached the top of the aisle and found that she couldn’t think of anything else at all because Stephen was waiting for her.
He’d donned a rich, dark green suit that matched her dress. An emerald pin glinted on his cravat, but that was the only ornament he wore. His hair was neatly brushed back, and his eyes shone. He never glanced away from her, not for one moment.
He held out a hand, and Amelia placed hers into it without thinking twice. His palm was warm, and his long, strong fingers curled over hers.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, with obvious pleasure. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman.”
His voice faded into a drone at the back of Amelia’s head. She could see nothing but Stephen, feel nothing but his hands on hers. If she closed her eyes, she knew she would go back to the folly and feel him again, pressed against her, warm and thrilling.
A shiver of delight rolled through her at the memory, and his lips twitched into a smile.
“What are you remembering, Miss Holt?” he whispered.
She bit her lip, hiding a smile of her own. “I won’t be Miss Holt for much longer.”
“There won’t be many misses and unmarried men around this Season, not after my grandmother gets her hands on them,” he murmured, amused.
“She considers herself quite a matchmaker now. If she were right about us, she would consider herself right about others. I feel sorry for any unmarried woman or man in her vicinity for the next few months.”
Amelia giggled despite herself and was chastised by a reproachful look from the vicar. The vows came next, and there was no time to whisper further.
“Do you, Stephen Brandon, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Stephen smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling. “I do.”
Amelia’s breath caught in her throat.
He means it. He loves me. To think that I was so close to missing the love of my life.
Next came her turn.
“And do you, Amelia Holt, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She smiled widely, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I never imagined that it was possible to be so happy.
Really, part of her was terrified that this was a dream and that she would wake up cold and wet in that folly, only to find that Stephen had not come to fetch her after all.
Instead, she was here, hand in hand with the man she loved. A man who mattered. A man who thought she mattered.
“I do,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
They were pronounced man and wife. The congregation began to clap, smiling and nudging each other.
“You may kiss…” the vicar began, but that was all he had time for, because at that moment, Stephen wrapped his arms around Amelia’s waist, tugging her to him, and took her lips in a searing kiss.
The guests, the vicar, and the chapel all vanished as if they’d never been there. Amelia smiled against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” Stephen breathed, pulling back for air.
“I love you too,” she whispered back, then rose on her tiptoes to kiss him again.
The house party, which had never taken place, was rapidly transformed into a wedding breakfast. The guest list was thinned, to be sure, but it would be Amelia’s first real introduction into Society.
The scandal sheets had had plenty to say on The Great Issue, as they had dubbed Stephen and Amelia’s wedding. The Great Issue, as far as she could tell, was whether two people could marry each other regardless of their social standing.
The consensus, it seemed, was a hearty no. Not in the case of a seamstress and a duke.
But there was a surprising number of people—and the number grew daily—who seemed to feel otherwise.
People like Tristan and Madeline, and other key members of the Orions and the Ton’s Devil’s.
They were the sort of people who populated the wedding breakfast and would be the first to greet the new Duchess of Redcliffe.
“Here we are,” Stephen murmured as the carriage drew up before Redcliffe Manor. “The others will be inside already. Are you ready?”
Amelia took a moment before responding. Her fingers and Stephen’s were tightly laced together, their palms pressed against each other as if they were made to fit that way.
“What if they don’t like me?” she asked. “Beneath my new title and all the etiquette lessons Mama gave me, I’m just a seamstress, aren’t I? Perhaps they’ll never see me as more than that.”
“Not to begin with, perhaps,” Stephen responded with a shrug.
That wasn’t quite the response she’d expected. She glanced at him, frowning.
A footman came forward and pulled open the carriage door. Amelia moved forward automatically, gathering up her heavy skirts. She clambered out first, and Stephen followed behind her.
Through the wide windows at the front of the house, she could see faces pressed against the glass, watching her earnestly.
“That seems like a larger guest list than Letitia said,” she mumbled, her heart sinking. “Do you really think they’ll all see me as a seamstress?”
“To begin with, perhaps,” Stephen repeated, catching her eye.
“When one first meets a person, all one has to go on is their name. That and a few facts one might be lucky enough to already know. In their heads, Amelia, there will be a few facts about you. Your name, your new title, and your old profession. They are here because they want to learn more. So,” he extended his arm, and she took it, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow, “let’s give them something to think on, eh? ”
She smiled up at him, some of her nerves melting away. Not all of her nerves, of course, but some. Better than none.
The doors opened as they approached, revealing the wide hallway beyond. People crowded together in the hall, watching their approach with undisguised eagerness. It was almost like traipsing down the aisle for a second time, but of course, this time she was not alone.
Familiar faces smiled at her—Marjory, Nancy, Letitia, Madeline, Tristan—and unfamiliar faces smiled, too. A tall woman with a feathery creation atop her head came forward, smiling nervously, and extended a silk-gloved hand.
“I am Lady Spencer,” she began. “I am a patron of Almack’s. There’s been a good deal of talk about whether you should be admitted, but I think that you should. Shall we talk about how to procure tickets for you? And for His Grace, of course.”
Amelia bit her lip and nodded. “I should like that. May I greet my guests first?”
“Of course, of course,” Lady Spencer assured her, stepping back and letting them move on.
“Well done, Duchess,” Stephen whispered in her ear, his warm breath making her shiver pleasantly. “I think that you have arrived.”
The End?