“At our wedding,” she replied softly, looping her arms around his neck.
For now, the press of his brow against hers would have to be enough.
“What a cruel game,” he purred, smiling. “But you, my love, are a prize worth waiting for. That being said, I must insist we marry as soon as possible.”
She chuckled breathily, nestling into his embrace as the carriage rattled on toward their future. Together. An impossible dream, coming to life, adding her to the charmed ranks of the lucky and in love.
EPILOGUE
“It all looks so modest, yet it must assuredly be the most expensive wedding in the history of weddings,” Duncan said with a grin, too overjoyed to care about what it was costing him. It was a tiny price to pay for the privilege of marrying the woman he loved.
The gardens of Skeffington House had been transformed, taking advantage of the residual summer heat. Linen-draped tables were arranged on the lawn, places set for a small congregation, the trees decorated with bunting and garlands. More bunting was strung between poles, constructed around the dining tables, fluttering in the balmy breeze, and there were torches and lanterns in abundance for when evening fell.
Roger laughed amiably at Duncan’s side, nibbling on a lemon cake that he had pinched from the refreshment table, to the not-so-subtle chagrin of the Skeffington cook, who had come out with more delicious morsels for the wedding celebrations.
“I am just glad to be invited,” he said.
Duncan eyed the man. “It is not strange to be here?”
“Not in the slightest. I have said it to you before, and I shall say it again, you did me an immense favor,” Roger replied in earnest. “All I wanted to do was help a friend and fulfil a duty for myself. It would have been a marriage of convenience, though rather inconvenient for my mother. She could not stand Miss Maxwell.”
Duncan snorted. “What was her complaint?”
“Too old, too outspoken, too… red of hair, if you can believe it,” Roger said, chuckling. “My mother believes that those with red hair are unlucky, destined to curse whomever they marry.”
“I have never been more grateful that my mother is dead. She cannot argue with my choice of bride,” Duncan said blithely, falling into old habits of turning his grief into a joke. That was likely the only old habit he would never be able to relinquish.
Roger stared at him as if he were quite mad. “Yes, well, I should join the others, or I shall be late to the church.” His expression warmed. “It is set to be a beautiful wedding, Your Grace. I could not be happier for you or Miss Maxwell.”
“I imagine not, for the promise of a considerable income is a cheerful thing indeed,” Duncan teased, regretting nothing.
Roger smiled. “I am grateful, Your Grace. In truth, I have never been more popular. Who knew there were such benefits to being jilted?”
“Society ladies cannot resist a man who needs their sympathies,” Duncan encouraged. “Why, I would not be surprised if you are married before the autumn.”
“Perhaps.” Roger raised a hand in a wave and wandered off across the grounds, to where his carriage waited, ready to take him to the wedding that no one had expected him to attend.
It had been a matter of a fortnight since the events in Cornwall, and Duncan had duly fulfilled the stipulation that Valeria had insisted upon, in order to accept his proposal. She had asked him to make things right with Roger, to repay him for the cost of the abandoned wedding, and to ensure that his reputation took no damage because of it.
A business exchange had been agreed upon, with Duncan putting in the majority of the investment, and though both would benefit in the long term, it had not cost Roger much at all. Still, Duncan would have paid a great deal more if it meant that Valeria would accept.
“Mrs. Mitford is complaining that someone is eating her lemon cakes,” a sweet, beloved voice called out to Duncan. “I do hope you are not the miscreant?”
He turned to see Valeria walking through the kitchen garden toward him, a long, woolen cloak draped around her in a darkcocoon. In the lingering ferocity of the early September heat, she looked rather out of place, and at risk of melting.
“I know nothing about it,” he replied, striding toward her. “You realize I am not supposed to see you until the wedding, yes?”
She shrugged. “You cannot see me. That is why I am wrapped in a cloak, boiling myself alive.”
He laughed softly, slipping his arms around her, pressing a sneaky kiss to her forehead.
“Hey! Not yet!” she protested, though she did not pull away, peering up at him with a happy grin.
“We will be married in less than an hour,” he reminded her. “Surely, I can kiss you now?”
She tutted playfully. “So impatient.”
“If I were not, it would be weeks before our wedding,” he said, swaying with her as if they were in the midst of a private dance.
