Epilogue
Change, Matt decided, could arrive like the first finches of Spring—cheerful, excitable, and a harbinger of brighter days.
Finally claiming Cecily Moulton as his wife was the happiest of changes.
Four weeks after that night at the public ball in Bewdley, Matthias stood beside Reverend Smith in the parish church, smiling as Cecily walked up the aisle on her uncle’s arm.
Matt had only recently been introduced to her family seated in the pews—cousins and aunts and uncles—but he rejoiced that she had so many loved ones to witness her marriage.
As for Matt’s family, Tavish stood beside Matt as best man.
Isla sat beside Cecily’s aunt—Baby Elspeth in her arms and Wee Fletch clinging to her pelisse.
Gray sent his regrets at being unable to attend.
King George IV’s attempt to divorce Queen Caroline had thrown all of Parliament—and by extension, the entire country—into an uproar.
Consequently, Gray was needed in Lords and couldn’t leave London.
But Gray supported Matt’s marriage, and that was all that mattered.
Cecily looked luminous in a silk gown of palest blue with elegant embroidery around the hem and sleeves.
Matthias feared for his heart, as happiness expanded his chest so thoroughly, he worried how one body could contain such joy.
Perhaps that was why the bells sounded like a chorus of angels as they exited the church in a shower of cheers and rice.
As Gray was still in London, and Cecily wished to see Matt’s family home, they retired north to Dunmore along the eastern coast of Scotland for their honeymoon. Afterward, they would continue up the coast to Matt’s new estate in Moray.
Their carriage rolled up the long drive to Dunmore, the building coming into view—acres of creamy stone, Palladian pillars, and an impressive pediment.
“Very ducal. Very grand.” Cecily raised her eyebrows. “It suits Grayburn well, I suppose.”
Matt laughed. “That it does.”
“But ’tis not exactly a warm place, is it?”
“Dunmore can be warm . . . with the right people.”
Cecily smiled and threaded her fingers through his. Matt loved this most about being married—the ability to touch one another whenever they wished.
They rambled around Dunmore and the surrounding estate, including making several visits to Cairnfell, the large volcanic mount that stood between the Kinsey and Balfour estates.
On their third day at Dunmore, they received an invitation to dine with Lord Northcairn and the rest of the Balfours.
Matthias surmised the overture had been sent because Gray wasn’t in residence.
His Grace would be outraged if he learned that Matt and Cecily were fraternizing with the ‘enemy,’ but as Gray was hundreds of miles away . . .
Matthias accepted immediately.
Castle Balfour was as unlike Dunmore as a building could be. Instead of marble and Grecian pillars, the Balfours’ home was a rambling, medieval castle in traditional Scottish fashion—towerhouse and turrets and crenelations.
“I’m so glad ye’ve come,” Lady Mariah, Tavish’s older sister, greeted them warmly in her lilting Scottish accent, her vivid blue eyes a striking contrast to her dark hair.
Callum Balfour, Lord Cairnfell—Tavish’s older brother and Lord Northcairn’s heir—gave a polite bow that was at odds with his roguish grin.
“Always a delight to welcome a bonnie lass into our home,” he said, bending over Cecily’s hand.
Tall and red-headed, Cairnfell had Tavish’s look but lacked his brother’s reserve.
Matthias had only met Cairnfell once or twice, but the man’s love of gambling and women was well-known.
Always quick with a laugh and eager to accept a dare.
That was Lord Cairnfell. Like father, like son, Gray was always saying. Reprobates, both of them.
Cairnfell didn’t appear predatory or disingenuous. If anything, Matt would describe him as harried. There was a decided weariness in his eyes.
“Our guests have arrived, Father,” Lady Mariah said, leading her guests into the great hall.
Lord Northcairn struggled to his feet, face flushed. Like his sons, he was a tall man, but his girth had spread outward over the years, and time had turned his red hair gray. He shuffled toward them, leaning heavily on his cane.
Lady Mariah made introductions.
“Lord Matthias! Welcome!” the earl boomed. “My children tell me ye be nothing like that dastardly elder brother of yours.”
There was no love lost between Lord Northcairn and the Dukes of Grayburn. Isla and Tavish’s marriage had been as abhorrent to Northcairn as it was to Gray.
“Is it true that my Tavish stood as best man to yourself?” the earl asked Matt.
“He did, my lord. I count him a good friend.”
Northcairn nodded, his eyes turning shrewd. “I hear ye have a gift with horses.”
“I am currently establishing training stables outside Huntly in Moray.”
“Stables, eh? To raise hunters?”
“Yes. Gentlemen’s cattle, in general.”
And that was that.
Lord Northcairn talked nothing but horses for the next hour—a lengthy story about a favorite stallion now retired, an earnest wish to explore Matthias’s stables and offer his opinions, questions about purchasing a horse or two.
Normally, such brash behavior and excitable conversation would render Matthias tongue-tied. But Cecily was at his side, her hand warm in his. Her presence was a soothing balm. Because he knew they were each other’s help.
Dinner progressed easily, but Northcairn downed glass after glass of wine, becoming more inebriated with each course. From the pointed looks and long-suffering expressions, Matt discerned that Cairnfell and Lady Mariah found their father’s behavior embarrassing.
Finally, after the ladies had withdrawn and Northcairn had gulped a rather alarming amount of port, the earl excused himself for bed.
Cairnfell sighed as the door closed behind his father. “I won’t apologize for him, even though I feel I should.”
“There is no need,” Matthias said, sipping his own port. “None of us chooses our family. I know that better than most.”
Cairnfell sat back in his chair. “I suppose. Ye do understand that my father won’t be inspecting your stables, nor purchasing any horses.”
“Yes. I surmised as much.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Marriage has changed ye,” Cairnfell said. “I can’t say I knew yourself well before now, but ye appear more confident. More sure of yourself.”
“I think any gentleman would be confident with Lady Matthias on his arm.”
“Touché.” Cairnfell saluted Matt with his wine glass. “I’m glad to hear marriage agrees with ye. I anticipate joining your ranks soon.”
Matthias lifted an eyebrow. Tavish hadn’t mentioned that his brother was courting someone, but that meant little.
“Congratulations,” Matt said. “Who is the lucky lady?”
Cairnfell snorted in amusement. “Unfortunately, the hunt has just begun. Unlike yourself, I must marry for money.” He looked around the dining room, worn furniture showing its age. The man’s gaze lingered pointedly where his father had recently sat. “I haven’t the luxury of choice.”
Hours later, Cairnfell’s words still lingered with Matthias.
Choice.
How remarkable that Matt had been given the luxury of choice with Cecily Moulton. What a gift.
“Still smiling, I see,” Cecily said as she slipped into his bedchamber after Hansen had departed. “You enjoyed the evening then?”
Like himself, Cecily was dressed for bed, a dressing gown pulled around her shoulders.
“Merely contemplating my good fortune, Wife.” Matthias snagged her with his hand, pulling her into him. She came willingly, arms wrapping around his neck.
Though they were theoretically assigned a separate suite of rooms at Dunmore—Matthias in his own bedchambers and Cecily in one for guests—she had slept in his bed every night since their marriage.
“What good fortune is that?” she asked on a smile.
“You. Always you. You are the sum total of every good thing that has happened to me.”
Cecily laughed, a finger tracing down his chest. Unable to help himself, Matt bent and caught her lips with his. As ever with them, one kiss turned into twenty.
Eventually, Cecily broke the kiss.
“I should like to make our joy even greater tonight,” she murmured.
“Impossible.”
He felt her smile as he kissed her again.
“I think I’m ready,” she whispered.
Matt froze and pulled back, staring at the sincerity in her blue eyes.
No need to ask about what. Their minds were, as ever, attuned.
For obvious reasons, Cecily had needed time to adjust to the intimacy of marriage. As such, their union had not yet been consummated. Matt was willing to wait as long as it took for her to feel healed and prepared to take that intimate step of trust.
“Are you sure, my love?” he asked. “I will wait as long—”
A finger over his lips stopped the words.
“I am as sure as I will ever be. I want to be with you, Matthias . . . in every sense possible. I want to make new, happier memories. To know that I have changed and healed from my past.”
He kissed her at that, unable to stop himself.
“I love you, darling wife.”
“I love you, too.”
And then Matthias—slowly, gently, with exquisite care—proceeded to show her.