Epilogue
“Must I wait until after the wedding to call you brother?” Harry shifted from foot to foot at Adrian’s side in the church, the morning of the wedding. He was dressed in his finest clothes, which made him look humorously uncomfortable; his hair slicked back, pressed within an inch of his life.
Adrian looked down and grinned at Harry. “Of course not, brother. You mean you have been waiting on a formality all this time?”
Harry blushed with pleasure. “I never had a brother. I imagine they are more enjoyable than sisters.”
“I am sure each has its merits,” Adrian whispered back with a grin.
On Adrian’s other side, Oliver stood straight and ready. The church was near to overflowing. The curate, tenants, village friends, Rosalind’s young students, and Mrs. Ashcombe all sat in their seats, beaming and waiting for the bride.
Adrian’s own heart stood at attention, waiting for the woman that he loved more than anything in the world to walk through that door and put his world to rest once and for all.
Finally, the door at the back of the church opened, swinging wide to let in the early morning light and Rosalind, on Dr. Ashcombe’s arm.
She was dressed in ivory silk, simple but elegant, Honoria a step behind with roses in her hands. Rosalind’s golden hair was crowned with ivory flowers, and her blue eyes seemed to chase Adrian down across the wide church.
Adrian felt something slip inside him—a guard that he had carried since before the war tumbled away.
It was useless in the face of this woman’s beauty, and it was no longer necessary.
Since the first moment she had ridden up with skirts muddy to the knee and wild loose locks around her shoulders, she had captured him; haunted him.
Now she was fully his, and he could hardly believe his good fortune.
Rosalind’s voice was steady through the vows. Adrian’s shook only once, when he whispered “I will” into her beaming face. When he kissed her at the altar it was laced with the sweetness that she was his wife, by law and by the prayer book, and he closed his eyes against the joy of it all.
The wedding breakfast followed, and with it a shower of celebration and excitement that was nearly too much for Adrian to handle. He had spent so much time squired away in the walls of his own estate that he found the wealth of guests to be disorienting.
He realized, as he looked around the room, that more of the faces were familiar than he would have imagined. During his few months in Rosalind’s company, she had drawn him into a social world again.
He smiled across the room at the Ashcombes, Mrs. Hollis, and a few of Rosalind’s students he recognized. All of them she had introduced him to during the course of their time together. She had woven him back into the fabric of the village without him even knowing it.
The village mothers had baked pastries for the breakfast, and children were running in the halls of Thornefield, filling it with laughter and delight.
Mrs. Hollis limped around averting her eyes to hide her tears, but she was fooling nobody.
Adrian watched Rosalind hug her for much longer than was expected, and saw the old woman’s shoulders shake with happy tears.
Adrian’s eyes, however, were on a different coupling at the other end of the room.
He saw Oliver take Honoria’s hand and lead her onto the terrace outside.
There were large windows through which Adrian could just catch a glimpse of the couple, in close conversation.
He felt a warmth of hope in his chest, and looked away.
Ten minutes later, Honoria reappeared at his side, beaming. “Brother,” she said breathlessly. “Have you a moment to speak?”
Adrian turned and smiled at her. “For you, anything.”
She looked back at Oliver. He was across the room, engaged in some formal discussion with an older gentleman, but his eyes were turned towards Honoria, as they always were.
She smiled at him, and then looked back at Adrian. “I hope I shall have your blessing,” she murmured. “I know that you have guessed the truth for some time, and will tell me it is all nonsense that I have not admitted it to myself…”
“Love is utter nonsense sometimes,” Adrian assured her. “And I flinch to think how long I went without admitting my own affections.”
“He asked me to marry him.” Honoria bit her lip, her eyes sparkling.
“And? Do you love him?”
“Dreadfully much,” Honoria sighed. “And he is absolutely nothing like the other men in London who hung about on my every word. He challenges me, and calls me to higher things—but he is also so good and kind and capable…”
“And so you told him ‘yes?’”
She nodded, blushing.
Adrian hugged her. “I am so pleased for you, Honoria. And Rosalind will be too.” He met his bride’s gaze across the room. She was raising her eyebrows and nodding to Honoria. “Although I suspect she has already guessed.”
The morning stretched into the afternoon, and then into a quiet evening with only their nearest and dearest in attendance.
At last, Harry went off to bed protesting and the other discreetly retired while Adrian hooked Rosalind’s arm around his and pulled her out to the orchard alone.
They walked silently, their feet whispering against the grasses, until they were within the rows at last. Then Adrian put an arm around his bride’s slender waist and turned her towards him so that he could stare down into her crystal blue eyes.
“I love you, Lady Marwood,” he murmured.
She laughed lightly. “How long do you think it will take for me to get used to a title? It seems so foreign.”
“How can that be?” He put his fingers to her hair, where the golden evening light was shining through. “When you are standing before me with a crown?”
She bit her lip, and smiled back at him. “Would you like to kiss your lady, my lord?”
“Ever so much.” He leaned down and kissed her deeply; warmly. For the first time in his life, the future felt like a thing that belonged to him. For his future was Rosalind, and Rosalind was as much his as he was hers.
THE END