Epilogue
Three months later
Isadora caressed the bump of her stomach under her gown as she twirled before the mirror. The empire neckline of her dress largely hid her pregnancy, at least from this angle, but it wouldn’t be long until the world noticed.
Sophia, perched on the bed, took a bite of peach, juice trickling down her chin. “You look very pretty, Mama,” the girl said solemnly.
“That she does.” Nicholas gestured his daughter to a bowl of water. “Though you mustn’t tell anyone.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, though she scrubbed her fingers in the warm basin, anyway. The remnants of her peach—a delectable summer treat straight from the estate’s greenhouses—went into the bin. “I won’t need to tell anyone,” she explained. “Everyone will know.”
“Today is about Marie,” Isadora added, adjusting a bow on her bodice so the ribbons fell down over her stomach, concealing it a little more.
The sickness and fatigue she had suffered over the last few months had finally disappeared for the day, and she felt full of more energy than she could ever have expressed to Nicholas.
If he had his way, he would have shut her in this room the moment she had revealed to him that she was with child. But nine months of isolation was too much even for Isadora to agree to, and so she had pushed back, demanding that she be given the freedom to which she had become accustomed.
When the physician said she ought to take to bed rest, she would, but until then, she would continue about her ordinary life.
The only thing now was that she wanted no one to know of her condition. Such things were increasingly difficult to hide—it was as though overnight, her stomach had expanded—but Marie’s wedding day was not about her.
An early autumn wedding was perfect. Across the fields, the wheat was being harvested, the sun was still hot and heavy in the sky, and the world was preparing for the winter. Marriage in autumn was good luck in her books, but it would also give them some time before the next social season began.
In the mirror, Isadora glimpsed Nicholas crouch on the floor before Sophia, who leaned forward with a grave expression and very carefully tied his cravat.
Once, Isadora had tried something similar, but she had been unable to get the style she wanted.
Sophia, however, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, turned the stiff, starched fabric as though she had been born to it.
The end result was perhaps not as fine as if Fletcher had done it himself, but it was perfectly passable.
“You know,” he said, turning to Isadora with a soft smile, “we did this for our wedding, too.”
“Oh, I know more than you could possibly think,” Isadora nodded, biting back a smile. “It was the only thing about you those days that made you feel approachable. Sophia informed me about it later at the wedding breakfast too.”
That had been the moment she understood a little of what she was getting herself into, and exactly what it meant for her.
Sophia and Nicholas were a family, and although he struggled sometimes to understand his daughter, he had always loved her.
Theirs was not the absent, distant relationship many fathers had with their daughters.
He involved her in his life, and in seeing that, Isadora had felt the first stirrings of warm emotions.
As he approached, she raised her arms and twined them around his neck. “I think that was the first time I thought this deeply unserious marriage might work out, after all,” she giggled.
He held her tighter. “Mine was the moment I saw you walking down the aisle toward me in the church.”
“In my mother’s old dress?”
“Oh, you were rather bold for letting me purchase you a new wedding gown and then replacing it with another that was three decades out of fashion. But you looked so content in your choice… and beautiful.” He brushed the hair back from her face.
“And I knew that you were the perfect lady for me to marry, and that I would regret nothing by taking you as my wife.”
“Nothing, hmm?” she teased with a finger to her chin.
“Well, I haven’t.” He glanced over at Sophia. “Do you regret anything, Soph?”
“Only that you didn’t marry sooner so we could go to the beach for my birthday,” Sophia answered, tugging at one of her curls and giggling when it bounced back into place.
A maid had spent a long time with a curling iron to get her hair to curl quite so perfectly, and Isadora was quite sure it would not last until the wedding.
“That was the first time you thought you could fall in love with me?” Isadora asked, tiptoeing to peck a quick kiss on Nicholas’s mouth.
They were never overtly affectionate in front of Sophia, but they both believed it was good and proper to show her a marriage of affection where both parties clearly adored and respected one another.
After all, in a decade or so, Sophia would be looking for a husband herself, and Isadora desperately hoped she would find someone as good for her as Nicholas was to her.
“It was,” Nicholas answered, grasping her waist.
“Then, when was the first time you actually fell in love with me?”
He laughed, holding her close enough, she could feel the tight press of her stomach against his. By the smile on his face, he could feel it too—and delighted in the giddy little feeling.
“Do you suppose there was truly one moment and one alone?” he asked, suddenly the philosopher.
“Falling in love with you was the sum of a hundred different moments. Like when we kissed for the first time. And when you came out to Grace’s grave to find us.
I think that, perhaps, was the final blow.
I could not have held out against you then even if I had wanted to.
” He brushed his fingerpads down her warm cheeks.
“And I confess, I did want to… a little. You made me afraid in wholly new ways. But I was powerless against you.”
“Good.” Isadora grinned at him and stepped back. “By then, I had already fallen madly in love with you, so it was only fair you had done the same.”
Sophia huffed an impatient breath. “Mama, Papa, must we speak about this now? I am to be Aunt Marie’s flower girl and I cannot afford to be late or I won’t get the chance again!”
“It’s always important to talk about these things,” Isadora laughed, but she cast a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece and clicked her tongue. “But perhaps we can talk about them once we’re back. We should get going.”
“The carriage has been ready for the past fifteen minutes,” Nicholas shrugged, offering her one arm and Sophia the other. “Shall we, ladies?”
Sophia grinned, bounding up. Marie had been very particular that Sophia was to be invited and to attend the wedding, and Sophia had been delighted at the inclusion. Together, they all made their way downstairs and into the waiting carriage.
Isadora’s stomach hadn’t yet gotten large enough that it severely impeded her movement, but she did find that she moved more differently now. More gently. And when she finally sat in the leather seat, she let out a little sigh of relief.
Nicholas leaned closer. “This is not a secret we can keep for long, I suspect.”
She grinned. “Not for long. Hopefully, just for today at least.”
“And then will you allow me to shout it from the rooftops?”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
“It’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since the physician examined you and said it was unlikely for you to lose the babe now.” He kissed her temple. “I want the entire world to know you are having my child.”
She absently caressed her bump again. Sometimes, she imagined she could feel the new life inside her: a heart beating next to hers, and tiny hands and feet all kicking and stretching together. Things had progressed just enough now that she occasionally felt a tiny kick.
There was nothing better in the whole world than this feeling.
Nicholas put his hand over hers, their fingers interlocking, and as he held her, perfectly casually, he talked with Sophia about her expectations for the wedding. She had been at his wedding, but that had been an entirely different affair.
This was a wedding between two people who had already fallen in love.
Marie deserved a chance to find happiness, and Oliver was the perfect man who could give her the life she always wanted.
He was patient where she was flighty, knew when to make jokes and when to be serious, and he came from a long line of very respected, very titled gentlemen, which made him a suitable brother-in-law to Nicholas, a duke.
Added to that the fact that Nicholas and Oliver were friends entirely independently of the women was another point in his favor. Isadora was fully convinced that Marie would be perfectly happy, and that they were an ideal match.
When they reached the York church where they were due to marry, Nicholas helped Isadora down and gave her a sweet kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
She smiled; he was walking Marie down the aisle in the absence of any other parent figure. Although he hadn’t said anything about it, she could sense how emotional that very fact made him.
“Good luck,” she whispered, and took Sophia’s hand, stepping inside the cool, dim building.
Stained glass windows stood all around, sunlight beaming through a couple, and several people were already seated.
Elizabeth, Marie and Nicholas’s sister, saw them and leaped to her feet, hurrying toward them.
“I’m so glad you made it! Is Nicholas outside?”
“He is. He’ll be ready for whenever Marie is.”
“Well, she’ll be late, as is her right.” Elizabeth guided Isadora and Sophia down to the aisle she was sitting in, right at the very front—saved for immediate family only.
Oliver sat on the opposite aisle, looking a little green.
“And everyone will wait for her, as is also her right, and she will be the most beautiful bride you’ve ever seen.
” Elizabeth sighed, her eyes filling with warmth and affection. “And she’ll know it, of course.”
“Of course,” Isadora smiled.
“Do you not think you were the most beautiful bride?” Sophia asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“That isn’t for me to say,” Elizabeth said, and her husband leaned over with a smile.
“She was in my eyes.”
Heat stained Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she swatted him away with a small, pleased smile.
“What about you?” Sophia continued, looking at Isadora. “Were you a prettier bride than Marie?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Isadora said hastily, “seeing as I’m now already married, and people won’t be talking about my wedding here.”
“Nicholas will think so,” Elizabeth said with a grin, “and that’s all that matters. Here, sit down before you get too tired.” She gave Isadora a significant look, and Isadora knew immediately that her attempt to hide her condition had failed on at least one front.
“Do you know?” she whispered.
“Oh, when you’ve been there, it’s an easy thing to spot, dearest. When will you make a formal announcement?”
“After the wedding, I think. We didn’t want to overshadow Marie’s special day.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that! She’d be delighted to know the news, and you know, for all her faults, she’s never been selfish.”
“No,” Isadora said, smiling a little. “She never has. But today belongs to Marie, and I mean for her to have every moment of it.”
Elizabeth accepted the answer and turned toward the aisle.
The appointed hour came and went. At last the organ sounded, Sophia straightened around her little basket, and the doors opened. She proceeded ahead of the bride, scattering pale petals with grave concentration before hurrying to Nicholas at the front.
Then Marie entered.
The amber silk of her wedding gown glowed against her skin like late-autumn sunlight. Isadora had worn something similar and felt sallow and ugly in it, but Marie was utterly radiant. She smiled at every familiar face, but when she saw Oliver, her whole expression changed.
Oliver’s did as well.
For several seconds he merely stared with a slack face. Then wonder softened his features, and the widest smile Isadora had ever seen set his face aglow.
He had been struck dumb at his own wedding. There were worse things to be, and it boded well that his soon-to-be wife’s beauty affected him so.
Nicholas slid into the pew beside Isadora and reached for her hand. His fingers threaded through hers with the ease of habit.
It was such a simple thing. Once, she had believed she might never know it
Now they were making a family of their own, with the pain behind them and years ahead—years of ordinary mornings, quarrels, laughter, and perhaps more children. Yet she knew she would never become indifferent to the weight of his hand around hers, or the certainty of belonging by his side.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Nicholas looked down at her and smiled. She knew every one of his smiles now, but this one still made happiness flutter beneath her ribs.
“I know,” he whispered back. “I love you too.”
The End?