Chapter 30 #2
“If your father were here,” she added, her voice cracking, “he would be bursting with pride.”
Cecelia closed her eyes, and leaned into her mother's palm, able to picture him there, bashful with the joy of the moment.
“I miss him,” Cecelia whispered, daring to say the words she hadn't been able to utter to her mother once these past few months.
“As do I, my beautiful girl,” her mother admitted, and Cecelia opened her eyes to see a single tear roll down her mother's cheek. “He would be shouting from the rooftops right now. Not even the chapel bells would be able to drown him out.”
They both laughed at that.
Her mother stepped back and took one final look over her before she said, “Let us go to the chapel and make good on the promise we made to him.”
***
The procession across the estate to the chapel was one that filled Cecelia with even more joy.
On the arm of her uncle, Cecelia walked with her head held high, sensing her father walking beside her with every step that she took.
The chattering of her sisters and the flower girls – her younger cousins – who walked before her was a hum of excitement that made her heart swell, and she had to force her feet not to go faster to make it to the chapel even a moment sooner.
There, she was certain, George would be waiting. And she pictured him in all his finery, handsome and hopeful, just as she was.
The chapel bells rolled, announcing the beginning of the ceremony as they walked the long path in. And her mother gave her the most squeezing hug she had ever received before heading inside to take her seat.
“Are you ready?” her uncle asked her, his hand lying upon hers on his arm.
She sucked in a deep breath; the sound of the organ playing inside made her quiver with anticipation.
All she could do was nod, afraid that if she spoke, she might begin to weep tears of joy and excitement.
The moment they stepped into the chapel, all eyes turned upon her, yet she barely registered their awe and admiration as her eyes fell upon the man awaiting her at the other end of the aisle.
Through the clamour of eager chattering about how beautiful a bride she was, through the white rose petals her cousins were throwing about the place, she saw him as if all else faded out of existence.
George stood tall and proud at the altar, looking more handsome than Cecelia had ever seen him. He was the picture of the perfect duke, his hair swept back from his face, freshly shaven, his morning suit with the buttons polished to a fine shine.
At that moment, he wasn’t merely a duke, and he wasn’t merely the most respectable and eligible man in the room; he was George, her George, the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with.
And his eyes never left hers as her uncle guided her down the aisle one trembling step at a time, his gaze offering her the strength she needed to keep her head held high in front of all their beloved friends and family.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed them, every single one of the people they had invited to witness their special day. And, realizing that not a single invitation had gone unanswered, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.
It wasn’t until she stood before her husband-to-be that she finally dared to take a breath, her uncle passing her hand over to George with all the surety that he would care for her and be kind to her and see that she was looked after for the rest of her days.
The look that passed between the two men was one that Cecelia thought could only have been matched by that of her father, and again, she sensed him with her as if he were standing right beside her uncle, offering every blessing in the world to the man he had chosen as her chaperone when he thought so carefully upon his will.
Thinking back on the day when that very will had been read aloud, she suddenly couldn’t help thinking how foolish she had been to ever believe her father didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
It was almost as if he had planned this very moment in his mind a million times over.
And the realization caused a brilliant smile to spread across her face.
When George leaned in and whispered, “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon,” she noticed there were tears in his eyes.
Remembering how he had always loved her mischievous nature, she responded quietly, “And you scrub up well also, Your Grace.”
His laughter was little more than a snort, but it was enough to make Cecelia’s heart race.
And as the ceremony started, and George promised to honour, cherish, and love her for the rest of their days, she felt as if the world around her were changing entirely.
No longer did she believe she was in a dream after one final pinch, but that she was at the very beginning, standing upon the precipice of what was to be a marvellous life with the man she had always loved with all her heart.
The emotion that shone in George’s eyes as he placed the wedding band upon her finger was almost more than she could bear.
Her own hand trembled with anticipation as she too slid his band onto his finger. And when he caught her hand afterwards, she felt all of the love and affection he placed there in that one simple touch.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the archbishop announced, and Cecelia’s heart raced.
She had been so caught up in everything, so caught up in the planning of the wedding, that she had almost entirely forgotten about this very moment, the moment when they were finally able to share their love and devotion with the world, all wrapped up in one single kiss.
She did not dare to move, did not dare to breathe, as George leaned down.
When his hands came up to cup her face, her heart skipped a beat, and in the next, it raced like the speediest racehorse on the track as their lips connected.
The chapel erupted with such cheering, such applause, that it almost deafened her, and when their kiss finally broke, George remained close, his nose tip brushing affectionately against hers.
They smiled as if they were staring into a mirror, all the emotions of the last several weeks coming to a head as George whispered, “We made it.”
All the hard work, all the stress, all the rituals and planning that had to be done suddenly all felt so worthwhile, and Cecelia thought, if she could have done it all over again, she would have.
They were seen from the chapel on a wave of further cheering and applause, showered with petals and rice and blossoms and praise, all manner of smiling faces about them in a magical whirlwind of noise and colour.
And as George helped her into the white barouche, Cecelia felt the weight of the world fall off her shoulders.
When he sat beside her and laid a white cotton blanket over their laps, she snuggled down into his waiting arm, only to chuckle when he whispered, “I do believe you are forgetting something.”
When he inclined his eyes to the bouquet in her hand, she jumped up with eager anticipation at the thought of who might be the one to catch it.
All the men were already standing back, all the young and eligible young women crowded forward, their eyes wide with excitement as they awaited their moment to shine.
George leaned back in his seat, and she sensed him watching her as she turned her back on the crowd and threw the bouquet high over her head.
Even before she turned, she knew well who had captured the bouquet and the hope that they were the next in line to walk down the aisle.
“I got it! I got it!” Mary screamed, and Cecelia turned to see her sister jumping for joy, the bouquet clasped in both hands, her own forgotten on the floor at her feet.
A short way behind her, standing with the other gentlemen, Walter blushed with pride.
“Come here, you,” George said then, sweeping her up into his arms, and all the crowd cheered as he planted another kiss upon her lips.
Cecelia squealed with joy as she nestled back down into his arms, beneath the blanket, the cracking of the whip signalling their departure.
“I still cannot quite bring myself to believe it,” George whispered to her as they were carried forth towards the manor once more. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
Her cheeks warmed by his words, Cecelia turned her face up to look at him and offered a smile. “I suppose it has a great deal to do with just how lucky I have been.”
He smiled with amusement, cupping her cheek once more, and when his thumb gently stroked her cheekbone, she shivered with delight.
Their gazes locked, and though they said nothing, a thousand words passed between them, all filled with love, affection, and their promise that they would cherish each other always.
***
Just when Cecelia thought that the day couldn’t get any better, she found herself sitting at the head table beside her husband, the room thrumming with activity.
She watched, blissfully happy as Mary and Walter sat close by, their affection for one another quite obvious in their obliviousness of everything else around them.
And while they chattered away in their little bubble, Catherine appeared to be having the time of her life entertaining their guests with her impressions of members of the ton, some of them in attendance and all too happy to laugh away with her.
The spirits in the room were so high that Cecelia barely touched a drop of the champagne in her glass. She was already intoxicated by the sheer wonder of the day, her head spinning with it all, and yet, she wished it might never end.
If only she might halt time to remain suspended there forever, to feel this happy, this light, and this carefree for the rest of her days.
She was almost certain that nothing at all could possibly ruin this day. And as time passed, she became profoundly aware of one certainty: she had been a fool to ever try to find any of this with anyone else.