Epilogue
George had imagined his wedding day many times in his life. In none of those imaginings had he been calm.
Yet when the morning came, calm was precisely what he felt; not joy, not dread, not even the iron discipline he usually relied upon. It had all been replaced by something steadier, something chosen, and it had made all of the difference.
He stood before the long window of his dressing room, watching the early light spill across the grounds of Sherton Manor.
They had agreed to be married within the week, and had thought that not much would therefore be known of their arrangements, but of course word traveled quickly even in the countryside.
A duke’s wedding was spectacle enough to draw attention even without scandal.
He adjusted his cuffs himself, smiling into the mirror.
Marriage had never been a true desire of his. It had been an expectation, a necessity if he planned to continue his family line, but nothing more. He had prepared to endure it one day. He had not expected to anticipate it.
A knock came.
“Enter.”
Philippa stepped inside, dismissing the servant behind her with a soft gesture. She studied him carefully, as though she were searching for cracks in his exterior. Given all that had happened, he could not blame her for that, but the truth was that he could not have been happier.
“You look intolerably composed,” she said.
“I slept,” he replied. “Surprisingly enough, that has been possible of late.”
“That is rather interesting of you.”
“You seem to be searching me for something. Are you nervous on my bride’s behalf?”
“I am hopeful,” she corrected. “And in all honesty, I am also rather excited about that.”
Hopeful. It was not a word often associated with him, but if that was how he was to be seen then it was a welcome change. There had been many changes since he had met Cassandra Burrow, and all of them were ones that he was grateful for.
“Is she well?” he asked.
Philippa’s expression warmed.
“She is. That surprised me, for between the two of you there is always some sort of excitement. That is why I was studying you, if you must know. The two of you both being at peace struck me.”
“It should not.”
Philippa tilted her head.
“No, I suppose it should not. In any case, I shall soon adapt to that.”
When she left, the quiet returned. George took one last look at himself in the mirror. He saw the Duke of Sherton at last, a man who had once sworn he would never allow sentiment to dictate his future, but had eventually seen sense and understood that there was one thing that he could not outrun.
The church bells began, his signal to leave.
The ride there passed in contented silence. The village had gathered outside the church in polite clusters, hats lifted, heads bowed as he entered. It was an intimate event, just as they had wanted, but that had not meant that they would be alone.
He took his place at the front of the church.
The interior was unchanged; narrow windows and polished pews that he had to confess he had studied at church more than what was being read to him. His parents had stood there once before. Their vows had echoed in the same space.
He wondered what his father would say now.
The organ began. He did not turn immediately when the doors opened. He waited until the subtle shift in the air told him she had entered, and then he turned. Cassandra did not look like a reluctant bride. In fact, she looked most pleased with herself.
Her gown was understated, not at all like the blue one that he had seen before.
It was of ivory silk that caught the light, with lace at the sleeves.
There were no excessive jewels, no attempt to pretend to be someone that she was not.
She did not attempt to prove her place in society. She did not need to.
Her father escorted her forward. Her gaze did not flicker toward the guests.
It came directly to him. There was no accusation in such a look that day.
There were times when George missed that look in her eye, but in that moment, when all that he could see was unbridled joy, he could not have wanted anything else.
When her hand was placed in his, he felt the warmth of her skin through the thin glove. She did not tremble. If anything, her grip steadied him, just as his had steadied hers when they kissed. The thought of it almost made him stop listening to the vicar.
The ceremony began, and as the vicar spoke of duty, fidelity, and mutual care, George found himself listening differently than he had expected to. The words did not feel ceremonial. There was true meaning in them, and he felt each one profoundly.
When it was his turn to speak, he did not hesitate. He had not even needed to repeat after the vicar, for he had the words memorized.
“I, George Alexander Ashford, Duke of Sherton, take thee, Cassandra Burrow, to be my lawfully wedded wife…”
He spoke her name with intention, as he did with everything that followed. To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer.
The irony did not escape him. He had spent much of their engagement guarding himself against her, against the feelings he knew had been growing since the moment they met. He had been so intent on mending what he had not broken that he almost ruined something of his own.
Now he stood before witnesses and pledged himself fully, and it was second nature to him. There was nowhere else that he would have rather been.
She repeated her vows clearly, and when the priest asked if any would object, silence filled the church. The ring slid into place upon her finger, and he then lifted her veil.
The kiss that they shared was brief, appropriate, but it was also decisive. He had already proven how he felt with a kiss, and he knew quite well that he would do so again many times that day, but for the moment he could pretend that that would not happen.
The bells rang loudly as they stepped outside together. Sunlight broke fully across the courtyard, and a murmur of approval rose from the gathered villagers. Cassandra’s hand rested on his arm, and he felt her inhale slowly, as though grounding herself.
“You are rather pale,” he murmured.
“And you are observant,” she replied, giggling softly.
“Are you well?”
“Yes,” she said. “I am well. In fact, I do not think that I have felt this well in years.”
He believed her.
The return to Sherton Manor was all too quick, for he would have preferred to remain in their carriage in the silence that they had been sharing.
Flowers adorned the entrance hall, and musicians had been placed along the gallery to play gentle music.
For a moment, as they crossed the threshold together, George experienced an unfamiliar sensation.
His home had always represented a responsibility, a burden to bear. In that moment, it felt entirely different. It felt warm, inviting, just as he had always thought a home should have been.
Their guests approached in succession. Congratulations were offered with sincerity and enthusiasm each time, and Cassandra handled them with grace.
They all seemed surprised by that, but George knew that she was capable of it.
She listened attentively to each person, and thanked each person for joining them.
George simply stood and watched on, thrilled that she was enjoying herself so much.
Brandon clasped George’s shoulder the moment he was separated from his wife. He bristled, for it was the first time that they had seen one another since he had heard of his loss.
“You appear less burdened at last,” Willoughby beamed.
“I am,” George replied simply.
“Marriage suits you already, it seems.”
“I can imagine that it will. Willoughby, if I may–”
“Now is not the time, Sherton. Enjoy your day. The time to be in misery with me will come eventually.”
He disappeared before George could say anything more. He longed to speak with his friend, but Willoughby was right. They needed to enjoy the day first, and then he would make a point of speaking with him, as long as that was what his friend wanted.
Philippa embraced Cassandra with warmth, then once they had spoken they appeared at his side. Aside from himself and his bride, he was quite convinced that his sister was the happiest person in attendance.
“That was a beautiful ceremony.”
“Yours shall be grander, I will make sure of that.”
“Must you? Cassandra has told me that she will instruct you to do as I please.”
George could not help but chuckle at that. He was pleased that it had always been the two of them, for his sister was convincing enough without having someone agree with her.
Then the Dowager approached. George braced himself instinctively before remembering that the tension of previous weeks had subsided. It had not all been forgotten, but it had been forgiven, and his grandmother was trying, which was all that Cassandra had wanted.
She regarded Cassandra for a long moment, not critically, but thoughtfully.
“You carry the family name now,” she said.
“I understand the weight of it,” Cassandra replied quickly.
The Dowager’s lips curved gently upward. George had rarely seen her smile, but he liked it. It softened her immensely.
“And I believe you are strong enough to bear it.”
George felt the subtle shift. It was not said in reluctant acceptance. At last, Cassandra had her approval, and though it never would have made a difference to him he knew that it meant the world to her.
The Dowager turned to him.
“You have chosen well,” she acknowledged. “You were right, George. I misjudged her spirit. I should have known that you could be trusted to make your own way.”
Cassandra glanced between them, slightly bewildered by the exchange. She knew that everything had changed, but she was still surprised to witness it, which George could not help but find endearing.
“You have my support,” the Dowager told her plainly. “There is nothing more to it than that.”
Something in Cassandra’s posture softened at that.
During the wedding breakfast, speeches were waited for with a certain thrill. George stood first. He had prepared remarks, but when he looked at Cassandra seated beside him, he abandoned most of them. There was little use in what he had rehearsed when he wanted to speak from his heart.
“I have been told,” he began, “that marriage is an act of trust. I have not always been a man inclined toward trust, yet today I stand grateful to myself for trying. I am also grateful not only for the presence of our families and friends, but for the lady who has agreed to share this title, this estate, and this future.”
He paused, then turned to Cassandra directly.
“I do not promise perfection. I promise effort, and that will never change.”
The guests applauded, some of the older ladies sniffling into their handkerchiefs, and he sat. Cassandra rose after him.
“I have been told,” she said carefully, copying him teasingly, “that a duchess must be composed, capable, and endlessly gracious. I am not certain I possess all those qualities, but I can promise honesty, and I promise that Sherton Manor will not lack for music. Whether that is a good thing or not remains to be seen.”
There was laughter, genuine laughter, but George knew that it could only be a good thing. He could not wait to hear her play her violin again, and to watch her realize that she truly was talented.
As the meal progressed, George found himself observing traits in her that he had not seen before.
She conversed easily with villagers and peers alike, and she did not cling to him for reassurance, nor did she distance herself either.
When their hands brushed beneath the tablecloth, neither withdrew.
They remained beside one another, and it was a greater comfort than George ever would have expected to feel.
Later, when the formalities lessened and guests dispersed into smaller clusters, he found himself alone with her briefly near the terrace doors.
“It is done,” she said softly.
“Yes. We are married.”
“Do you regret it?”
The question was direct, and he had not expected for her to ask it.
“No,” he answered. “Do you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then why do you ask?”
“Because,” she said carefully, “I do not want to think that– no, you are right, we are not to do this anymore. We will trust each other.”
Relief moved through him, quiet but unmistakable.
Outside, children ran across the lawns, and their guests lingered as though they did not want to leave.
He realized then that the burden he had carried for years was leaving him.
It had not disappeared but at last it no longer felt solitary.
He would not have to face it alone again.
He would not have to face anything alone.
His mother approached them then. She examined Cassandra thoughtfully before speaking.
“You look content.”
“I am content,” Cassandra replied.
His mother’s gaze shifted to him.
“You have surprised me.”
“It would seem that I am capable of that,” he said.
“It appears so, and for the better too.”
As evening settled and the final guests prepared to depart, George escorted Cassandra through the gradually quieting hallways of the manor. The noise faded behind them, and they paused near the grand staircase.
“You are very calm,” she observed.
“Should I not be?”
“I expected more severity from you. This is an important event, after all.”
“I reserve my severity for estate accounts, which I ought to oversee soon enough.”
She smiled faintly. There was a pause.
“We will have difficulties,” he said plainly. “There have been some issues in the town, and I shall have to–”
“We will have to help,” she corrected. “And perhaps it will not be easy, but nothing will come between us unless we allow it.”
It was what he needed to hear, and as she said it he offered her his hand. She took it, squeezing it gently. For the first time since inheriting his title, George felt not the weight of legacy pressing down upon him, but the possibility of building something.
The bells had rung that morning in declaration, and that night, the manor rested in silence.
He had not married out of obligation, in spite of what he had always planned.
He had married by choice, and for the first time in many years, the future did not feel like a burden he was repairing alone. It felt shared.
“We will find a way,” Cassandra assured him, “for we love one another, and that is all that matters.”
George could not help but agree.
The End?