Her sister’s shining eyes drank in her appearance, from the elegant twist of dark curls to the delicate lace sleeves of her simple yet exquisite gown.
“Thank you,” Bridget murmured, lifting her chin with a renewed surge of confidence.
Today she would become Abel’s wife, the new Duchess of Galway. The idea still made her heart flutter like the wings of a caged bird.
Virginia grasped her hands, giving them an affectionate squeeze. “I’m so relieved Father agreed to let me attend the ceremony, and you extended the invitation. I would have been heartbroken to miss seeing my dearest sister on her wedding day.”
A fleeting shadow dimmed Bridget’s smile. Leonard’s actions belied his actual feelings on certain matters, especially his children. Bridget had witnessed that there was more to him than his hardened exterior, and she knew that her father, despite whatever he said, would have loved to see Virginia again.
“Well, you are here now,” she said, squeezing Virginia’s hands in return. “And I am overjoyed that you could be part of this day. Truly.”
The musicians began playing the first strains of a melody, signaling that guests would soon be arriving to take their seats. Bridget’s heart thumped in anticipation.
“I suppose I had better take my place,” she murmured, drawing Virginia into a quick embrace before hurrying towards the arched trellis at the end of the aisle.
Within the next half hour, the garden had filled to capacity, the hum of murmured greetings and the rustle of silk and satin drifting through the air. Bridget turned at the sound of approaching footsteps to find Hector striding towards her with an exaggerated look of distress.
“Dear sister, you absolutely mustn’t go through with this,” he proclaimed with a melodramatic flourish. “I simply cannot bear to relinquish you to that rake of a duke!”
Rolling her eyes fondly, Bridget swatted his arm in playful rebuke. “Do stop your childish antics, Hector. We both know you find Abel a perfectly amiable fellow when you aren’t engaged in your usual theatrical airs.”
Hector flashed a roguish grin, winking at her conspiratorially. “Alas, you have unraveled my clever ruse. Very well, I shall resign myself to losing my cherished sister to that undeserving scoundrel of a nobleman.”
Chuckling under her breath, Bridget gave his arm a grateful squeeze. She was thankful for his irreverent spirit today, a welcome tonic against the simmering tension surrounding other familial relationships.
At the sound of the music shifting into a bridal refrain, the guests began rising in anticipation. Bridget’s breath stilled in herlungs, her fingers fluttering nervously as her father appeared at the foot of the aisle.
The Earl of Borthwell looked every bit the nobleman that he was, wearing a sharp suit that Bridget had never seen before. He looked solid as a rock, posture straight despite his advanced years.
He offered her his arm and smiled warmly, and Bridget could see moisture there. She smiled back at him and moved forward to take his proffered arm.
They began their measured march towards the trellis, where Abel awaited. The world seemed to fall away around Bridget until her gaze landed solely on her husband-to-be.
Abel was resplendent in formal ivory and sage, his expression one of rapt wonder and adoration as he watched her approach. Bridget’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse thundering ardently in her ears.
With how their first few interactions had gone, she could scarcely comprehend that this man was to become her partner for all the days hereafter. She smiled, knowing that she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
The ceremony passed in a dizzying blur of meaningful vows, serene music, and reverent witnesses. When at last Abel swept Bridget into a breathless kiss as his wife, a chorus of cheers and applause rang out around them.
Tears stung Bridget’s eyes as she caught sight of her mother, already dabbing at her cheeks with a lace handkerchief. Even Hector had abandoned his false disdain, whistling and clapping with unabashed enthusiasm for his sister.
As the couple turned to make their way back up the aisle, grinning and waving at their well-wishers, Bridget noticed her father had a pained expression on his face. She followed his gaze, wondering what had gotten him so upset, and her eyes landed on Virginia, who was standing with a man Bridget assumed was Thomas, her husband, and three little children.
Her breath catching in her throat, she shifted her gaze back to her father. For a moment, she forgot about the joy she had just felt and now worried about the look in her father’s eyes. Would he be willing to forgive Virginia and let her back into the family?
Virginia’s steadfast union had defied his wishes and earned his ire for so many years. A pang of empathy lanced through Bridget’s heart for the betrayal her father must have felt after Virginia’s departure. He still kept tabs on her, though, so that had to mean he cared, didn’t it?
Before she could dwell further on the moment, however, a resounding chorus of cheers erupted once more as she and Abel exited the garden, showered in pale rose petals. There would be time enough for such considerations later.
For now, it was time to celebrate with food, drink, merriment, and the company of those she held most dear.
The wedding breakfast, held in the lavish dining hall of the manor, was a lively and joyous affair. Hector seemed determined to act as a jovial ringleader through it all, keeping a steady stream of amusing anecdotes and spirited toasts flowing amid peals of laughter.
“To the new Duke and Duchess of Galway!” he proclaimed with an overly dramatic flourish of his glass. “May your wedded bliss endure every conceivable tribulation, including my dear sister’s… shall we say, fiery temperament?”
“Hector, you unrepentant cur!” Bridget swatted his arm as the guests dissolved into laughter once more.
Beside her, Abel was grinning broadly, his eyes sparkling with merriment.
