Epilogue
Beatrice looked at herself in the mirror.
She was dressed in her wedding clothes, her gown a beautiful shade of cream.
It was embroidered with silver thread in the silhouettes of oleander flowers to honor Giovanni’s Italian heritage.
The neckline swooped low, embellished with tiny seed pearls.
The sleeves were fine, almost sheer muslin, with even more embroidery.
Her hair was piled up on her head in the most ornate arrangement she had ever worn; her dark curls arranged with cream flowers and pearls.
She was wearing her bridal tiara, with diamonds and pearls, and she barely recognized herself when she looked in the glass.
Anna had set aside a small glass of champagne for her to drink when she was fully dressed.
Looking at this strange, older self in the mirror, she took a sip of the sweet, bubbling liquid.
I’m getting married. I’m getting married today.
“Bea?”
Beatrice turned around and nearly spat out her champagne.
“Gio!” She coughed, setting her glass down on the dresser. “You should not be here! It is bad luck for the bride?—”
“To see the groom on the wedding day, I know, I know,” Giovanni interrupted, shutting the door behind him sneakily and grinning at her in a way that made her heart melt.
“But since there are so many other things we’ve already done before the wedding…
” Giovanni stepped closer, his eyes widening as he looked her up and down, taking in her dress.
“You look…radiant, amore mio,” Giovanni whispered, smiling at her and stepping closer to stroke a perfectly arranged curl by her ear. Beatrice shivered. “You remind me of the girls in the Easter festivals in Italy. You look so angelic, so perfect…”
Giovanni pressed a kiss to that sensitive spot below her ear, his nose tickling the pearl earring hanging there. Beatrice sighed, pressing her hands into her future husband’s chest.
“So delectable…” Giovanni murmured, and Beatrice felt his warm tongue whirl against her skin.
“Gio,” she chided softly, looking into his dark, lustful eyes. “If you think it was bad when Silas found you in my bed before our marriage, imagine how terrible it will be if Anna finds you messing up my hair and gown on the day of my wedding.”
“Oh, Anna’s forgiving,” Giovanni whispered, nuzzling her, his mouth rubbing against her skin.
“Not about this.” Beatrice laughed, dropping her head back and allowing his lips to move lower. “If she catches you here, there will be hell to pay.”
“Well then,” Giovanni looked at her with a cheeky grin. “I better not get caught.”
With that, he grasped her around the waist and lifted her, setting her on the dressing table.
“Gio!” Beatrice laughed. “We can’t. I must not ruin my gown, and do you not think someone will notice if you…” She looked down at his breeches significantly and then back up again with raised eyebrows.
“I very much appreciate your concern for my wedding attire,” Giovanni chortled, pressing a kiss to her head lovingly, “but don’t worry, my plans don’t involve either of us undressing.”
“Oh?” Beatrice looked at him curiously. “What, pray tell, do you have in mind?”
“I would rather show you.” Giovanni bit his lip and dropped his hands to the skirt of her wedding gown. Slowly, he lifted them over her knees, revealing her cream silk stockings and the cotton petticoats beneath. “Now, you must remember what I said about ladies who have encounters at balls?”
“That the man must be discreet and the lady quiet,” Beatrice whispered, giggling as Giovanni set his lips to the warm skin of her thigh.
“Exactly.” Giovanni looked up at her with a grin that was positively wicked. “Make sure you keep quiet, little Bea. Otherwise, you’ll give the game away.”
With that, Giovanni ducked his head under her skirts like a magician performing a magic trick.
“Gio!” Beatrice laughed, feeling his lips brushing against her warm thighs, his hair rustling against her gown.
“What are you—” Beatrice stopped speaking.
Giovanni’s lips had found their destination.
Where before he had used his fingers to open her softest parts, his tongue was now exploring, hot and wet and slightly rougher than she had expected, licking and stroking and tasting her.
“Ohh God,” Beatrice muttered, her hands grabbing the edge of the dressing table. “Gio, yes!”
He had never done this before. Since the night they had been caught in Fallenbrook, Giovanni had been positively chaste with her.
They had not kissed and barely touched, and Beatrice felt like she was starving or dying of thirst. She was parched for him, desperate for his touch and taste, and the astonishing sensation of Giovanni’s blessed mouth pressed against the part of her that most needed him was driving her quickly to her pinnacle.
Her mind was disjointing; she could hear people moving in other parts of the house, the carriage being pulled around to the front of the house, and the slick, wet movement of Giovanni’s tongue against her body and her own thundering heart.
Don’t make a sound, don’t scream, even if you feel like you’re being pulled apart, don’t make a sound?—
Beatrice couldn’t help emitting a sharp squeak as her release rattled through her, knees shaking around Giovanni’s ears. She bit her lip hard, feeling it bleed, licking the coppery taste away as she sighed and breathed heavily.
“Oh Gio, that was…” she whispered dreamily, feeling Giovanni disentangle himself from under her skirts and pull her into an embrace.
“That was a promise,” Giovanni whispered breathlessly into the top of her head, kissing her hair. “That I will always serve you, amore mio, every day of my life. I’ve always loved you. I do love you. I will always love you, Beatrice.”
Beatrice smiled, rubbing her face against his wedding waistcoat, and sighed happily.
“I love you too, my love,” she pulled away to look into his face, seeing all the desire and affection she felt reflected there. “Let’s get married.”
“Are you ready, Bea?”
Beatrice looked at her brother as their carriage pulled up outside the church.
Her knee was trembling with nervous energy.
In less than thirty minutes, she would be married.
Giovanni was already inside, standing ready for her.
Their secret intimacies back at the Grosvenor Square house had only whetted Beatrice’s appetite for her future husband.
They had a week-long honeymoon planned in Brighton, and she had ordered six new nightdresses for the occasion, all made of the most delicate, alluring silks.
She couldn’t wait for Giovanni to see her in them.
“More ready than you know.” Beatrice grinned, allowing her brother to tenderly flip her light muslin veil down over her face.
“There,” Silas said approvingly. “You look perfect.”
“Are you sure?” Beatrice fiddled with her bouquet of red roses and greenery. “There’s going to be a lot of people looking.”
“Well, since you are marrying the newly titled Marquess of Bath, you will have to get used to being at the forefront of society.” Silas wiggled his eyebrows. “Even the Prince Regent is attending your wedding breakfast!”
“Don’t!” Beatrice fiddled with the lace cuffs of her pelisse anxiously. Walking down the aisle to Giovanni was all she wanted but having the eyes of the entire Ton on her whilst she did was a little intimidating.
“I’m only teasing.” Silas took hold of her hand tenderly, stopping her from fiddling. “You are more than capable of bearing the brunt of their concern and interest.”
“Anna must be so proud.” Beatrice shook her head. “It is the wedding of the season.”
“Anna is happy for you.” Silas chucked under her chin, making her lift her eyes to look into her brother’s loving expression.
“If it is the wedding of the season, it is because people enjoy a love match. They enjoy seeing a successful young man and a beautiful young lady find their happy ending. It is most people’s dream come true. ”
Silas sounded a little wistful, and Beatrice thought she saw a little shadow in his eyes.
“Is something wrong, Silas?” She asked.
“No.” Silas smiled and cupped her face sweetly. “I was thinking how lovely it is, how truly miraculous, for you to have this love match. It is something I did not have, or Anna, at the time.”
“But you love each other so dearly, so powerfully,” Beatrice held her brother’s hand. “Does it matter how the wedding was?”
“I love Anna more than my own life,” Silas nodded, “and I have no regrets, but you shall have something that Anna and I never had. Something rare and precious, and something that you should cherish forever.”
Silas squeezed her hand tightly and looked at her with such intensity. Beatrice understood that, at this moment, Silas was sharing the deepest truth of his heart.
“When you walk down that aisle today, you know you are walking to a man who loves you. Cherish the moment, my dear sister. Cherish it.”
“I will,” Beatrice whispered, swallowing back her tears. She knew that, while following his advice, she would also treasure this moment. The moment when her brother shared with her the intimate wisdom of his love and marriage.
“Now, let’s make you the Marchioness of Bath.” Silas’s eyes twinkled softly, and he opened the carriage door.
Beatrice took a deep breath and stepped out, Silas waiting behind her to make sure the long train of her dress didn’t catch or fall in the dirt.
Beatrice felt a wave of astonishing love for her brother at that moment, as he stepped seamlessly into the role of brother, father, and mother all in one.
As he climbed out behind her, she grasped his hand quickly, swallowing back her tears.
“Thank you, Silas,” she smiled at him, squeezing tightly, “for everything.”
Silas looked at her as if he, too might cry and then shook his head, laughing shortly.
“I said I would be reluctant to give you away to anything less than a prince,” he joked, giving her a lopsided grin. “But I suppose a marquess shall have to do.”
“I suppose it shall,” Beatrice tapped his waistcoat with her bouquet. “Be careful with your words, I shall soon outrank you.”
“In your dreams, dear silly sister.” Silas gave her a mock frown and Beatrice laughed at him, thinking she must be the happiest, luckiest bride in the world.
“Miss Klane?”
They both turned to see the Duke of Grafton standing by the door, looking a little sheepish. He was dressed very suitably for the occasion, wearing a navy-blue waistcoat with buttons emblazoned with the Grafton crest—the same that Giovanni would be wearing.
“Your Grace! I thought you were inside with Gio?” Silas asked, smiling at Grafton.
In the few weeks since Beatrice and Silas had met Giovanni’s father, he had rapidly become a firm family friend.
Giovanni had taken his title as the marquess, and Beatrice knew he was grateful for Grafton’s gentle, reflective guidance in his new role in society.
Beatrice knew that Giovanni’s hurt from childhood could not be quickly erased, but Grafton’s kindness had been easing his way towards opening up to his family.
“I was, but I was sent back out by my...by Giovanni.” Grafton flushed slightly.
Beatrice knew that he had almost called Giovanni his son—knew that he had wanted to.
She smiled encouragingly. Beatrice hoped that one day Giovanni would accept the duke not just as his biological father, but as his true father, too.
“For what purpose?” Beatrice asked.
“Well, he has a final gift before he meets you at the altar.” Grafton stepped forward, producing a small jewelry box with a flourish.
“Typical Giovanni.” Silas shook his head, smiling ruefully. “So romantic.”
“It is romantic!” Beatrice elbowed her brother good-humoredly and then lifted the lid. “Oh!”
Beatrice gazed at the beautiful necklace inside. It was an unusual setting, a string of pearls and rubies, subtle and daring all at once.
“He thought it might suit your bouquet,” Grafton said. “He said it reminded him of red roses.”
“It’s beautiful,” Beatrice whispered, touching the stones gently. “He had no need to give me a gift. He is already making me the happiest woman in the world.”
“Well, it is less a gift and more...an inheritance,” Grafton said quietly, his eyes filled with tenderness. “There are certain jewels associated with the Duchess of Grafton, several pieces handed down. This is one that I bought when I was married. For...Evelina.”
Beatrice saw there were tears in his eyes, but he blinked them away. “All of the jewels shall be Giovanni’s to gift you, of course, but this is the one he has chosen for your wedding present.”
“Oh, your grace.” Beatrice shook her head, trying to control her feelings. “Thank you.”
“Might I... might I be permitted to put it on you?” Grafton asked cautiously, glancing at Silas to see if he had overstepped.
Beatrice felt her heart expanding. When she and Giovanni were wed, this man would be her father-in-law, the grandfather to her children.
She wanted him to know she considered him family.
“Please do put it on, Your Grace,” Beatrice said.
She handed the box to Grafton and turned her back to him. Silas watched her, smiling kindly. He knew what she was doing. Their family was expanding and growing. It was more than they could ever have hoped for.
“There,” Grafton said once he had clipped the clasp at the back of her neck and patted her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “It looks quite lovely.”
Beatrice could tell it was emotional for him to see Evelina’s necklace like this, but she also hoped it might be healing for him and Giovanni.
“Your son has made an elegant choice, and I am proud to honor his mother on this day. Thank you, your grace.”
Grafton smiled happily at her words and Beatrice knew she had said the right thing.
“I shall see you inside, my dear,” he said, squeezing her arm before nodding kindly at Silas and walking back into the church.
Beatrice watched him go, grateful that he was here.
Giovanni would have his father by his side when he started his family.
Though the past had included much brokenness, Beatrice was grateful for the pieces of their lives that were coming together.
When the music started and Beatrice walked down the aisle, the watchful, eager eyes of the Ton disappeared around her.
She only had eyes for Giovanni, who stood at the altar grinning madly as she and Silas walked towards him.
Then they stood facing one another, listening to the priest’s words, their eyes locked and the world around them invisible.
Though they could not speak to one another, a thousand thoughts and promises were being exchanged through their eyes.
Then Giovanni’s mouth moved silently, forming words that Beatrice couldn’t hear but didn’t need to.
She heard them in her heart and mouthed them back with a soft smile:
Amore mio.
The End?