Epilogue
Two months later
Scandalous Marriage Shakes Society!
Dedicated readers of this Social Paper will recall the horror which struck London upon learning of the depravity of Lord Victor Bramwell, a staple of London Society and a previously well-known and well-respected member of parliament.
A slew of evidence has condemned this gentleman to the full power of the law, including accusations of murder, theft, bribery, extortion, fraud, and too many crimes to count.
He is accused of the murder of Lord Samuel Wellbridge, the eldest son of Lord Pemberton himself, and it is considered likely that Lord Bramwell will face the noose for his crimes, or at the very least spend his days languishing in gaol.
However, tied up in this thrilling and shocking story is one Miss Margaret Camden, a modest young woman who briefly served as governess.
In a twist worthy of one of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels, Miss Camden witnessed the murder of poor Lord Wellbridge and provided her testimony to seal Lord Bramwell’s fate.
However, this author has learned that Miss Camden has, in fact, entered into a secret betrothal with none other than the gentleman who employed her as a governess. Can you guess who this gentleman might be? Not if you guess for a thousand years!
Yes, Miss Margaret Camden is betrothed to the Duke of Burenwood himself, the Gambling Devil with a horrific reputation. It is fair to say that this shocking marriage has overshadowed Lady Constance Fairfax’s marriage to Lord Reginald Everett, who is, of course, the second son of Lord Truthmore.
Can a marriage between a governess and a duke really go ahead? Will either party recover from the scandal?
This author thinks not, but neither would she risk airing such an opinion in front of the Gambling Devil himself—or in front of his Duchess!
The gossip columns were full of the wedding. Everybody had something to say about it.
Maggie hadn’t bothered to read much of the stuff. But Jenny had—hooting with laughter at what they had written.
“It only matters if you’re in London,” Jenny said, tossing the latest scandal sheet aside. “Which we are not. Oh, you look beautiful.”
Maggie smiled at her own reflection. Lady Westbrook—who had insisted that Maggie call her Harriet now—had offered to buy her wedding gown.
Maggie had initially thought of buying her old favourites, heavy with lace and beading and pearls, but when she had tried on such gowns in the milliner’s, she’d found that they didn’t seem to suit the way they once had.
She’d chosen something plainer, a simple cut, dark blue, with darker blue sequins rippling around the hem.
I feel like a bride, Maggie realised, and bit back a smile.
None of it seemed real. Part of her still worried that she’d wake up in her old bed and find that it had all been a dream.
Or worse yet, that she’d wake up in that filthy corner of the Greenery, with Victor leaning over her with a vile smile.
Enough, she thought with a shudder.
“We should be going,” Maggie said softly. “I would not wish to be too late in getting to the church.”
As if on cue, scampering footsteps rang along the passage and Emma burst in, cheeks flushed and eyes alight.
“Flowers, Maggie!” she cried, thrusting out a small posy of carefully chosen wild blooms. “I picked lots of blue ones to match your gown.”
“They are lovely, my dear,” Maggie laughed, stooping to kiss the child’s forehead. “You will be the prettiest little flower-girl in the parish.”
Emma beamed; with the resilience of youth, she had already shaken off some of the shadows of her nightmares, mending more swiftly than the grown folk around her.
The three of them clambered into the carriage, rattling along the short journey to the chapel. Thomas Camden waited outside, resplendent in a new suit, his hair brushed, pomaded, and slicked back neatly.
A sprinkling of London faces had joined the congregation—a few curious strangers, perhaps a gossip or two—but the chapel was chiefly filled with neighbours. A soft susurration of voices came from within, and a fresh tide of nerves fluttered through Maggie.
“I shall go in first with Emma,” Jenny murmured. “You come in when you are ready, will you not?”
Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. “Of course.”
Hand in hand, Jenny and Emma slipped into the church.
Lady Westbrook and Simon—Neil’s chosen best man—were already in place.
The engagement of Jenny and Simon remained a discreet matter for the present; there would be time enough for their announcement once the shock of a duke marrying a governess had settled into the world.
“Are you well, my dear?” Thomas murmured, coming to stand beside her. “You look nervous.”
“I am nervous,” she admitted. “Were you nervous when you married Mama?”
“Oh, yes—very,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Everyone is nervous on their wedding day. Yet I married her, and it was the best choice I ever made. I have erred many times, but never in marrying your mother. I regret nothing of our life together.”
Maggie returned his smile. Their relationship was mending—slowly, awkwardly, but for the first time with some hope. Time, she reflected, might yet heal more than either of them now dared to hope.
Thomas gave his arm; she took it, and they opened the heavy doors together. The congregation rose as one, craning for a glimpse of the bride.
Maggie lifted her head and set her step forward.
The walk up the aisle stretched and then vanished in a breath; though each pace felt an age, she found herself leaning on her father more than she expected.
At the head of the nave he pressed a kiss to her temple and turned away, though not before she saw tears gleam in his eyes.
Neil stood at the altar—tall, steady, and in that moment every measure of handsome. He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes softening, and Maggie thought how absurd it now felt that anyone had ever called him a devil.
He held out his hand. She slipped hers into it, and together they turned to face whatever the future might bring.
The End
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