Epilogue
IT WAS GENERALLY agreed that the marriage of the Earl of Radbourne to Lady Irene Wyngate was the wedding of the year. It was not perhaps the grandest, for it was put on with unseemly haste. But no expense was spared, and there had not been a wedding in years that was so rife with drama and rumors.
It was enough to keep the city buzzing for the whole two months between the announcement of their engagement and the actual wedding in November.
There was the matter of the vanished heir returned to his family years later, the abduction that it was whispered was not an abduction at all, not to mention the shiveringly horrifying discovery of the body of the earl’s long-dead mother—during a house party, if one could imagine that.
And other, much darker things, which none dared mention above a whisper, with a knowing look.
It was rumored to be a love match. And while very few could claim that they actually knew the groom, which gave him a titillating air of mystery, there were many who were well-enough acquainted with the bride to be astounded at the notion that either she or the groom had tumbled headfirst into love.
But none who attended the wedding could deny the glow of love that shone on the face of both the earl and his new wife as they said their vows.
And when they took to the floor for the first dance of their married lives, not even the most hardened heart among the guests could deny a twinge of tearful joy.
Lady Francesca Haughston, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching them, glowed with a pleasure that owed only a small measure to the lovely silver epergne that Lady Odelia had given to her in gratitude for bringing off the engagement—and which would keep Lady Haughston’s household operating through the winter.
The truth was that Francesca had come to like both Irene Wyngate and her new husband very much during the time she had spent with them, and she was filled with the happy certainty that their marriage would be a loving one.
The dance ended, and the couple left the floor. Smiling, Irene came toward Francesca, holding out both hands in greeting. “Francesca! I am so pleased to see you!”
Irene was a trifle flushed, and her eyes glittered with pleasure. She was, Francesca thought, the very picture of a beautiful bride. Clearly Gideon, beside her, thought the same thing, for he gazed down upon his new wife in a way that in a softer man would be termed besotted.
“Lady Haughston.” He took his eyes from Irene long enough to bow politely to Francesca.
“I wish you both very happy,” Francesca said. “Though it is clear that you have no need for my good wishes. Your joy is quite apparent to all.”
“It could not keep from being so,” Gideon replied, raising his wife’s hand to lips and planting a kiss on her knuckles. “I am the luckiest of men.” He turned to look at Francesca. “I know that I have you to thank for it.”
She smiled. “No, I merely gave you an opportunity. It was you who won her over.”
“Despite great resistance,” Gideon added, grinning.
“Nonsense. I was merely being logical,” Irene told him, her smile as bright as his.
“Logic? Oh, was that it?”
“Yes, indeed. It was quite logical, you see, not to want to enter the married state, given the examples of marriage I had seen. But then, of course, I saw that it was even more logical to say yes to your proposal.” She cast a flirtatious look up into his face.
“Indeed?” Gideon responded indulgently. “And how is that, pray tell?”
“Well, as anyone can tell you, it never makes sense to fight love.”
“My very intelligent wife,” Gideon said and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.
“Gideon!” Irene exclaimed, laughing and blushing, as she emerged from his embrace. “We are in public!”
Gideon bent closer, murmuring in her ear, “Then I can only suggest that we remove ourselves from the public at once.”
With a last smile and nod at Francesca, Irene took the arm he offered, and they strolled away through the crowd. Francesca watched them with fondness as they made their way across the floor, stopped frequently by well-wishers.
“Such a lovely couple,” said a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see Lady Bainbridge standing beside her.
Francesca smiled a little vaguely at the woman and at Lady Bainbridge’s sister, Mrs. Fennelton, who was, as usual, at Lady Bainbridge’s side.
“Yes, you must be so proud, Lady Haughston,” Mrs. Fennelton added. “Everyone says that you are responsible for the match.”
“Thank you,” Francesca said politely. “However, I fear that I had little to do with it. I merely introduced them.”
“Come, come,” said a male voice behind her, and the women turned to see that the Duke of Rochford had strolled over to join them.
The two sisters bridled and simpered at finding themselves being addressed by so great a personage.
The duke favored them with a general smile as he went on. “Lady Haughston is merely being modest. This is, after all, her second triumph this year. She introduced her brother, Viscount Leighton, to his bride, as well.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Lady Bainbridge agreed. “They were married at the end of the Season. And haven’t I heard—isn’t there an interesting event expected?”
Francesca’s smile was pleasant but dampening of pretensions. “Yes, the family has made an announcement.”
“So wonderful,” Mrs. Fennelton added, unabashed by the slight reserve in Francesca’s tone. “Well, I can see that you do work magic, Lady Haughston. Lady Fornbridge said so to me just recently, but I had no idea you had such a touch.”
“La, Your Grace,” her sister said with an arch smile at the duke. “Perhaps you should seek Lady Haughston’s help. You have been a bachelor far too long, one might say.”
Lady Haughston stiffened and cast a quick glance at Rochford.
“Might one?” The duke’s smile was somewhat chilly. He turned to look at Francesca and said blandly, “Lady Haughston, I fear, would not wish to take me on. She is too well aware of how ill-suited I am to marriage. Are you not, my lady?”
Francesca’s eyes met his for one long moment before she turned toward the other women with a light laugh. “Of course. Everyone knows that the Duke of Rochford is a confirmed bachelor. Now, if you will excuse me…?” She gave them a stiff smile, and turned and walked away.
The duke watched her leave, and for a brief moment, something that might have been regret shadowed his eyes.
* * * * *