Epilogue
Two months passed since the ball at Wycliffe Manor, and it was finally the day Lavinia had been waiting for.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as Cecily adjusted the overskirt of her wedding gown, the spangles catching the light beautifully.
The dress underneath it was her favorite blue silk.
It had been altered to make her look every part the bride.
While it had always suited her, the high waistline and long skirt really did make Lavinia appear to be something out of a roman piece of art.
The lace around the neckline had been replaced with much finer fabric.
The overskirt had been laced with spangles, adjusted in such a way that they would sparkle in the right light.
The sleeves had been made long, so she would not spend the whole day fussing over her scar.
Honora stood behind her, finishing buttoning the back of the dress for Lavinia. The bride could feel her friend’s hands shaking with restrained excitement. Temperance fussed and rearranged the purple flowers in Lavinia’s hair. She was sure they had been perfect half an hour before.
Temperance would not allow her to believe such a thing until they had been brought to her exacting standards.
Lady Harcourt watched the ladies carefully, nodding approvingly as the look came together.
The older woman stood up slowly, attaching a string of pearls around Lavinia’s neck.
The delicate stones rested lightly on her collarbone, and Lavinia felt her breath catch.
“You look wonderful,” Lady Harcourt said warmly.
“Thank you,” Lavinia replied, her heart racing in her chest. “These are beautiful…”
“Not as beautiful as you are,” Lady Harcourt said, smiling. “And I do believe the duke feels the same way.”
“She is right,” Cecily agreed as she stepped back to admire Lavinia. “You look beautiful.”
Lavinia smiled and turned to look at herself in the mirror.
She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her and smiled.
It was not the dress, or the flowers, or even the spangles and sparkles.
No. It was the fact that she looked happy.
Genuinely happy. When had she last looked at herself with such joy?
Honora squeezed Lavinia’s hand.
“Two years ago, you stood in a different room, preparing for a very different wedding,” Honora said gently.
“I felt like I was preparing for my own funeral that day,” Lavinia said with a tired laugh. “Today, is nothing like that at all.”
“Indeed,” Temperance nodded.
“I remember the day well,” Lavinia added. “But I will never again let that memory, or any other, have power over me.”
“That is the best way to think of it,” Lady Harcourt said, walking over to Lavinia, taking Lavinia’s hand into her own. “I believe Elspeth would have adored you. I am certain of it.”
Lavinia smiled, tears filling her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, but the warmth remained.
A knock came at the door a moment later. Cecily opened the door to find Lord Harcourt standing outside.
“Good morning,” he announced. “As much as I know you are making Lavinia look wonderful, the groom has started pacing in the chapel. Please, may I ask that we move things along before he starts wearing through the stone?”
Lavinia burst out laughing and grinned.
“I am ready,” she said between laughs. “Come, let us go before he causes us more expense.”
“Too right,” Temperance huffed, hurrying after them.
The chapel on the estate grounds had never looked so beautiful.
It was a small building, weathered gray stone softened by centuries of ivy, but that morning it seemed to glow from within.
Every sill and ledge was crowded with dusty purple Michaelmas daisies, pale pink dahlias, and autumn crocuses Candles were set in every alcove so that the whole space shimmered with warm, light.
Lavinia stood in the small anteroom off the chapel entrance. She took a deep breath, noticing the smell of beeswax and crushed marigolds between the soft and sweet smoke of hundreds of candles. Beyond the half-open door, she could just about make out the outlines of the guests.
Honora and Temperance moved past Lavinia, stepping into the chapel and taking their seats near the front.
Honora’s hand rested quite naturally in the crook of Mr. Silas Whitcombe's arm.
Beside them, Temperance had already produced a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes though the ceremony had not yet begun.
Mr. Bell sat with Lord Harcourt a few rows back, and Lavinia nearly laughed.
Mr. Bell, who could not generally be persuaded to take anything seriously for longer than the length of a joke, sat with his hands folded and his expression uncharacteristically solemn, as though he understood, for once, the weight of what he was witnessing.
Lavinia made note to tease him about that later.
Mr. Pike stood near the back of the chapel, his cap held against his chest, watching the proceedings with a quiet pride that needed no words.
And in the front pew, seated tall in his best coat, was her father.
He had not apologized. Not for the schemes, not for the pressure, not for the years in which he had treated her future as a ledger to be balanced rather than a life to be lived. Lavinia had not asked him to. Their relationship remained what it had become.
Formal, distant, built on careful courtesy rather than warmth. When she had told him she meant to marry the Duke of Alderwick, he had raised no objection at all. A duke outranked a lord, after all, and the scandal that had once threatened to swallow them both had been thoroughly, publicly cleared.
In her father's mind, the outcome was entirely satisfactory, whatever irregular road had led to it. Even if she had, completely and utterly, ruined his plans for her. In truth, he should not have expected anything less of his daughter by that point in her life.
Lavinia had expected his presence in that front pew to hurt. But standing at the chapel door, she found instead only a kind of quiet clarity. He was simply a man she had once needed desperately and did not need any longer.
Perhaps, given time, they would find another way to be father and daughter to each other. Perhaps they would not. Either way, she found she had made her peace with it. There was no need for her to grieve what could have been, when she was trying to celebrate what was to come.
“Are you ready?” Cecily asked softly.
Lavinia smiled, deeply glad that she had decided to ask Cecily to give her away. She wanted her sister beside her, the one person who had never once wavered, who had held her hand through every dark carriage ride and every whispered scandal and never let go.
“I am ready,” Lavinia said with a nod.
The doors opened, and the small congregation rose as one. Lavinia walked into the candlelight with her sister's arm linked through hers.
The duke waited at the altar. He was dressed simply.
No ducal finery. No ostentation. Only a well-cut coat of deep blue and a cravat tied with more care than skill, as though he had dismissed his valet's assistance in favor of doing it himself.
Knowing him, that was exactly what had happened that morning.
His dark eyes found hers the moment she appeared in the doorway and did not leave her again.
He looked nervous. He looked awed. And beneath both of those things, he looked utterly certain.
The walk down the short aisle felt both impossibly long and over far too quickly.
Lavinia was aware of Temperance's soft weeping, of Honora's bright smile, and of her father's carefully neutral face as she passed him.
Then, all at once, none of it mattered, because she had reached the altar, and Roderick was reaching for her hands.
They were warm. Steady. Not trembling the way they had been in the ballroom when he had staked everything on a single desperate speech in front of half the county. In that moment, there was nothing left to risk. Only everything left to promise.
The vicar began to speak the familiar words of the service, but Lavinia found she barely heard them.
She was too occupied with looking at the duke.
At the small furrow of concentration between his brows.
The way his thumb moved once over the back of her hand, as if to reassure himself she was truly there.
She thought of racing him on horseback around the estate. She thought of a letter opener. Of the man who had arrived to take her away from her home, only to have found ways to fall into life naturally with her.
When the moment came for the vows, Roderick spoke first.
“I spent most of my life,” he began, his voice quiet but steady, “believing I did not deserve more than what I could build with my own two hands. I was cared for deeply, but I did not understand the shadows that loomed over me. Then, I was afraid of what someone falling in love with me could mean. I thought I had to discount myself from everything I wanted. A family. A future with someone who truly knew me.”
He paused and took a steadying breath. “You gave me all of that, Lavinia. Without asking anything of me in return but honesty. I promise you now, before everyone we love, that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of the trust you have placed in me.”
Lavinia's throat tightened until she was not certain she could speak at all. She held his hands a little tighter and gained the courage to recite her vows.
“I spent two years believing I could only be safe if I were entirely alone.
That love was a trap dressed up in pretty words, and marriage nothing more than a cage with a kinder name.
I had good reason to believe it, once. You showed me I was wrong.
You showed me that partnership does not mean surrender.