CHAPTER 19
"That's not proper seating arrangement," Clara protested, though she made no effort to move.
"We're wedded now. Propriety is optional."
"Propriety was always optional with you."
"True, but now it's legally optional."
The carriage started moving, taking them back to Ashbourne for the wedding breakfast, and Gabriel buried his face in Clara's neck. “It is settled, then; you have indeed made me your own.”
"Was there doubt?"
"There's always doubt when happiness is involved. I keep waiting for something catastrophic to happen."
"The catastrophe already happened. I fell in love with you."
He kissed her again, deep and thorough, and was just starting to consider whether they could skip their own wedding breakfast when the carriage pulled up to Ashbourne.
The staff had outdone themselves. The usually somber entrance hall was decorated with garlands and ribbons, and the dining room had been transformed into something magical with candles and flowers and what looked like every piece of good china the house possessed.
"Did you do all this?" Gabriel asked Mrs. Potter, who was trying to pretend she hadn't been crying.
"The staff wanted to do something special," she said gruffly. "It's not every day our duke weds for love instead of duty."
"It's not every day our duke weds at all," Cook added, appearing with a tray of champagne
The wedding breakfast was conducted entirely without incident as the guests sat together enjoying the festive atmosphere.
Mrs. Potter stood suddenly raising her glass.
"I've known these two since they were children, and I've never seen two people more meant for each other or more determined to make it complicated.
To Clara and Gabriel…may your matrimonial life together be as wild as your courtship but with fewer witnesses to the louder moments. "
The staff all laughed, having been those witnesses, while Clara turned crimson.
Penelope Ashworth, who'd somehow talked her way into the breakfast, stood next.
"I don't know you both well, but I know what I witnessed, two people brave enough to choose love over convenience, passion over propriety, and scandal over safety.
In a world of arranged matrimonies and dynastic alliances, you've chosen each other. That's either madness or wisdom."
"Both," Gabriel and Clara said in unison, then laughed at their synchronicity.
As the afternoon wore on, guests began departing, leaving only the household staff and close friends. Gabriel found himself watching Clara as she talked with Mary and Cook, her face animated, her gestures expansive, his ring catching the light on her finger.
"You're staring," Edmund observed, appearing at his elbow.
"I'm allowed to stare. She's my wife."
"Still seems surreal, doesn't it?"
“In truth, Clara's entire presence is quite beyond my comprehension; I confess she seems entirely too perfectly formed for reality.”
As evening approached, the staff began the delicate process of suggesting the newlyweds might want to retire.
Gabriel pulled Clara toward the stairs before she could die of mortification entirely. "Thank you all for everything. The breakfast, the ceremony, the complete lack of discretion that's made our courtship so memorable."
"Our pleasure, Your Grace," Peter said with a perfectly straight face. "Though perhaps tonight you could aim for slightly less volume? Some of us have to work in the morning."
“I cannot make any promises,” Gabriel said, sweeping Clara up into his arms and heading for the stairs while she laughed and protested.
"I am perfectly capable of walking!"
He carried her to their room, not his room where she'd been a guest, but theirs and kicked the door shut behind them.
Someone, probably Mary, had prepared the room with fresh flowers, turned down the bed, and left a handsome wine-cooler was positioned close to the grate, holding the chilled champagne.
"It's perfect," Clara said softly as Gabriel set her on her feet.
"You're perfect."
She turned to look at him, still in his wedding finery, his hair slightly mussed from the day's activities, his scar prominent in the firelight, and felt her heart swell with so much love it almost hurt.
“The ceremony is concluded, and the attachment now complete.” she said.
"Indeed it is," he confirmed, moving closer. "You're my wife. I'm your husband. It's legal and binding and irreversible."
He started removing the pins from her hair, letting it tumble around her shoulders in waves. "I've wanted to do this all day."
"Destroy Mary's careful work?"
"Free you from constraints. The pins, the proper dress, the public behavior…all of it."
"And now?"
"Now you're just Clara. My Clara. My wife Clara who I can kiss whenever I want without scandal."
"There will always be scandal with us."
"Yes, but now it's matrimonial scandal, which is slightly more respectable."
"Slightly."
He kissed her then, soft and deep, taking his time because they had time now, all the time in the world. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing unsteadily.
"I love you," Clara said. "I loved you as a child, I loved you as a broken man hiding in his estate, I love you as my husband. I will love you tomorrow and next year and when we're old and even more difficult than we are now."
"I love you too," Gabriel said. "I loved you when grafted our rose. I loved you when you climbed my wall in stolen boots. I loved you when you looked at my scars and didn't flinch. I love you for entering into matrimony with me despite my demonstrable unsuitability for human companionship."
"You're perfectly suitable for my companionship."
"Only yours."
"That's all that matters."
They stood there in the firelight, holding each other, wedded, legal, and permanent in a way that should have been terrifying but was instead perfectly right.
"Clara?"
"Mmm?"
"What would you say to leave our dinner and letting me remove that dress very, very slowly?"
"I'd say that sounds like an excellent use of our matrimonial night."
"Our first night as husband and wife."
"The first of thousands."
"Ambitious."
"Realistic."
"For better or worse."
"Till death do us part."
He began working the buttons of her wedding dress with the same careful attention he'd shown that first night three weeks ago, except now there was no desperation, no fear that this might end. This was forever, and they could take their time.
"The staff is probably placing bets on how loud we'll be tonight," Clara observed as the dress pooled at her feet.
"Let them. We're wedded. We're allowed to be as loud as we want."
"That's a dangerous permission to give yourself."
"Everything about you is dangerous to me."
They moved to the bed, and Clara thought about their journey here, from children in a garden to broken adults finding each other again to this moment, wedded, in love, and free to be together without restraint.
"No more rules," Gabriel said against her throat.
"No more boundaries."
"No more pretending this is anything other than what it is."
"Which is?"
"Everything. You're everything, Clara."
"You're everything too."
And then there were no more words, just touch and breath and the kind of joy that came from finally, finally being able to love without limits.
Later, much later, they lay tangled together, watching the fire die to embers.
"We should go down to dinner," Clara said without any real intention of moving.
"We should do many things. Doesn't mean we will."
"The staff prepared a wedding dinner."
"The staff is probably grateful we're not there to scandalise them further."
"We don't scandalise them."
"Clara, Cook has a running commentary on our bedroom activities that she shares with half the county."
"She does not."
"She does. Edmund told me. Apparently, we're quite the entertainment."
"That's mortifying."
"That's fame."
Clara laughed, burying her face in his chest. "I can't believe we're husband and wife.”
“I can scarce credit my singular good fortune in finding myself irrevocably yours.”
"I can't believe it took us this long."
"Eight years of wasted time."
"Not wasted. We became who we needed to be to get here."
"Very philosophical for someone who just…"
She covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not finish that sentence."
He licked her palm, making her squeal and pull back. "I was going to say 'who just wedded a duke.'"
"You were not."
"I was not," he agreed. "But what I was going to say was much more complimentary."
"And much more inappropriate."
"Inappropriate is our specialty."
"Among other things."
"So many other things."
They lay in comfortable silence, listening to the old house settle around them. Somewhere in the walls, mice scurried about their business. Outside, winter wind rattled the windows. But inside their room, their bed, their matrimony, everything was warm and perfect and theirs.
"Gabriel?"
"Yes, wife?" He seemed to relish the word, rolling it around like fine wine.
"We did it. We actually got wedded despite everything."
"We did."
"Your aunt will be furious."
"Let her be."
"The ton will gossip."
"Let them."
"We'll be social pariahs."
"We'll be together."
"That's enough?"
"That's everything."
Clara lifted herself up to look at him properly. "I love you, Duke of Ashbourne."
"I love you, Duchess of Ashbourne."
"Good Gracious, I'm a duchess now."
"You've been a duchess since the moment you climbed my wall. It just took some paperwork to make it official."
"I don't know how to be a duchess."
"You'll be the same way you do everything else, magnificently, unconventionally, and with enough flair to make the ton clutch their pearls."
They kissed again, slow and deep, and Clara thought that perhaps being a duchess wouldn't be so horrid being a Duchess.
“We should go down to dinner…”
Gabriel continued to kiss her.
"I have better plans for our wedding night than dinner."
"Oh? And what might those be?"
"Let me show you."
And he did, thoroughly and repeatedly, until the fire died completely and dawn crept through the windows, finding them finally asleep, wrapped around each other like they'd been trying to merge into one person.