Epilogue
HENRY
Two months later
Unlike the last time he’d stood at the altar, nerves jangling, Henry didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to be anywhere else. He wanted to crane his neck looking for Artemisia, but that wouldn’t convey ducal reserve.
After his ignominious retreat from the altar, he was lucky Lady Boyle’s father hadn’t challenged him to a duel.
Where was his bride? The music had already played twice, starting once, and when Artemisia didn’t appear, pretending they had flubbed the intro and starting again.
The sinking feeling in his stomach was accompanied by a howl of protest from deep inside him. Artemisia wouldn’t be calculating enough to give him a taste of his own medicine. That wasn’t in her nature. Sweat beaded on the small of his back and inside his collar when she still didn’t appear.
A flutter of white fabric at the end of the aisle caused a breath of pure relief to whoosh out of him. Artemisia strode in stately procession until she reached his side. His heart clenched.
“Sorry,” she muttered when she was standing beside him. “A last-minute attack of nausea. At least the current fashion conceals the fact that I’m five months pregnant.”
“Shh,” the bishop said sternly. Artemisia ducked her chin in apology. Even through the filmy lace veil, she was beautiful. When he peeled back the curtain, her chestnut curls were pinned artfully beneath a crown of orange blossoms.
He hardly remembered speaking their vows, but he would remember their kiss for the rest of his life.