“Different challenges,” she said. “But the same ending.”
He kissed her forehead, then took her hand in his—her uninjured one.
“Charity, there is something I wish to ask you. We have been through so much. How would you feel about getting married again—truly married—with our family and friends in attendance, in a church, with flowers and music and joy?”
“I would love that,” she said. “Though we are already wed, it never quite felt real. Not the way it should.”
“I agree. And so, here and now, filthy and bloodstained, but finally free from secrets, let me ask you, Charity Hayward—will you do me the honour of becoming my wife again?”
“Yes, I will. And I love you.”
“And I love you,” he said.
And then they kissed. Even as the constables could be heard approaching from the docks, their boots ringing out with urgency, Eammon did not care.
He was with the woman he loved. And now, they would be together.
Together, forever, as husband and wife.
EPILOGUE
4months later
“Are you ready?” Millie inquired as she looked at her cousin.
“I am,” Charity replied, a broad smile on her lips. “And this time, I truly feel it.”
“You ought, for at last you are. A true bride—and you look every inch the part.”
Millie stepped back to admire her cousin, and Charity smiled at the attention.
“You must look at yourself,” she said, spinning her gently. Charity gasped at her own reflection, scarcely recognizing the woman who stood before her.
She wore a gown of ivory silk taffeta, fashionable and yet suitable to her own taste. The skirt was full and so wide, she wondered if she would even be able to sit. Her hair, styled simply yet beautifully, had been twisted into a series of soft coils and pinned at the nape, with not a single false lock among them.
“And see,” Millie added, “your hair is simply lovely.”
“Yes, it is,” Charity said, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thanks to Jean and Stevens, who did it for me. They had the good sense to forego the false hairpieces Mother so loves.”
“Millie, I am so pleased with it all. Thank you—for helping me, for helping us.”
Millie waved her hand dismissively, though her cousin's gaze caught the emotion in her eyes.
“Please, think nothing of it.”
“Nothing? It was everything. You have stood by me since the beginning. You held my hand, you bore witness, you kept my secrets, and you rebuked me when I needed it. You are a sister to me. Eleanor feels the same.”
“Oh, do hush now,” Millie said, her eyes growing misty. “That is enough praise. The last step awaits, and then—to the chapel. Your groom is waiting.”
“Indeed. My groom.”
She could not help but smile. At long last, she was to be wed. Legally and technically, they had been man and wife for six months, though the falsified date on their registry certificate had remained undiscovered. There was no mending that without either confessing to the deception—which would cause scandal—or nullifying and repeating the process. Neither wished for such bother. And so they had told society that they deeply regretted having only married in a registry office and now wished for a proper church wedding, surrounded by family and friends.
Eammon had declared this would be their true wedding, the day they would both forever hold sacred. She had agreed.
With the assistance of his mother, they had secured St. George's, Hanover Square, one of the loveliest churches in all London. Lydia Hayward, along with her sister and daughters, and several of her other relations who were parishioners, had made this possible, despite it not being Charity’s home parish.
Charity followed Millie downstairs, where her mother and sister awaited.
