Epilogue
“You’re certain about this, mother?”
The question had come from her eldest, of course. Fitz could not seem to reconcile himself with the thought of her marriage.
Outside the carriage window, fog shrouded the passing landscape.
“You know we all wish you well, Mother,” Rupert said. “But, if… well, you shall always have a home with any one of us.”
If only she’d been allowed this short journey alone, or better yet, in Orson’s company. Instead, three of her four elder sons had insisted on escorting her. The fourth, Selwyn, would have squeezed himself in, except that he was out of the country seeing to his business interests.
She glanced at George, who’d not yet spoken. Seated across from her, he smiled. Her only dark-haired child, he was the one who most resembled Henry.
It was true, she’d had some doubts—none that she’d ever admit to any of them—but that smile reassured her.
“I’ve told you I like Lindhorst,” George said as the carriage rolled to a stop. “I approve of this match. I think you both will be very happy.”
The words warmed her. In the short space of mere days, she’d watched Orson, talked with him, spent hours with him. She liked him as well.
Was in fact, a bit giddy about him, to the point that she’d admitted to herself, that even before their very cold December adventure, Orson’s patient wooing begun in the spring had won her heart.
She’d fallen in love.
A familiar squabble ensued about who would escort her down the aisle, Fitz insisting it was his prerogative, the others saying he was so opposed to the groom, he must forfeit.
She glanced out the window and saw Orson walking back and forth in front of the church door, her son-in-law, Simon, Duke of Swillingstone keeping pace with him.
When the carriage door opened, she brushed Fitz aside and stepped out first, going directly to Orson and taking his arm.
“You may all go in and take your places,” Orson said. “My bride and I will enter together.”
They shared a smile, having planned this ahead of time.
George and Simon nudged Rupert and Fitz forward. Inside the vestibule, Neda shooed the ladies gathered there off to their seats, pulling Lucy and Fitz’s daughter, Mary Anastasia back.
She’d all but raised little Mary herself until Fitz remarried. This granddaughter was especially dear to her, and she had high hopes that Lucy would soon be as well. The two girls would be their only attendants, scattering petals from hot house flowers as they processed in before them.
She sent them off with their baskets and then, sharing another smile with her groom, squared her shoulders and walked into this next chapter of her life.
Later that evening, while the Twelfth Night revelry proceeded downstairs, Orson led her as far as the first-floor landing and then hoisted her into his arms and made his way up another flight of stairs and into an unfamiliar wing of the grand ducal house.
“You know your way unassisted,” she said.
“I had a footman lead me on a scouting mission.”
They stopped at a door that was already ajar, and he shouldered it open, setting her on her feet inside.
“We have a grand suite, a sitting room and two bedchambers, good fires, and all of our things have been moved here.”
The kiss that followed that quick speech left her breathless.
“We’ll only be using one of the bedchambers,” she said, watching his eyes darken. “Are there servants lurking?”
He shook his head.
“I suppose I shall have to make do with your services. Again.”
He smiled and then joined her in laughter and led her into a surprisingly cozy chamber, warmed by a roaring fire.
On a nearby table, covered dishes had been set out alongside bottles of wine, spirits and glasses.
The bed loomed large, covers turned back revealing pristine white sheets, with her nightgown laid out.
She leaned into his chest, and his arm came around her, stroking her back. Truth to tell, she was the tiniest bit nervous.
“Let me pour us some wine,” he said.
She looked up. Was he nervous too? In the last several days, they’d stolen some intimate time together, though they hadn’t had the privacy to anticipate their vows.
“Just one sip for courage,” she said. “You will need it dealing with all the hooks in this dress. It took my maid forever to do me up.”
“Is that a dare, Lady Lindhorst?” His eyes gleamed with dark mischief. “I’ll wager I can get you undone in no more than the blink of an eye.”
“I should like to see you prove—”
She choked out a laugh as he spun her around and set about a skillful, thrilling, most welcome undoing.
The End
***
Lady Loughton has appeared in earlier stories shepherding her children into happy marriages, most recently in A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper, the tumultuous romance of Nancy and Simon, Duke of Swillingstone:
Determined to make the Duke of Swillingstone regret ruining her first season, Nancy Lovelace has one thing in mind at her family's Midsummer Night’s Masquerade: revenge. But as the night unfolds and passions rise, will Nancy be caught in her own game?
Find A Wallflower’s Midsummer Night’s Caper here