For several more minutes, with pleasure, delight, and hope in their hearts, they remained at the window and looked down upon what Fate, with their help, had wrought.
EPILOGUE
AUGUST 26, 1854. AISBY GRANGE, LINCOLNSHIRE.
The Earl of Aisby got his wish and, smiling proudly, walked his elder daughter down the aisle.
The wedding was celebrated in the beautiful old church of St. Michael of All Angels, the local parish church located not far from the gates of Aisby Grange. Early in the planning, the chapel at the Grange had been dismissed as far too small to accommodate the necessary number of guests. Although that number proved significantly larger than Nicholas and Addie had hoped, the event was nevertheless deemed to be “select,” meaning that the guest list was restricted to the families, connections, and close family friends.
With that, Nicholas and Addie had decided to be content.
Indeed, once Nicholas’s mother had returned from Ireland with not just her husband but also Nicholas’s sister, Prudence, and the ladies of the wider Cynster family had become involved, all of whom knew Addie as Miss Flibbertigibbet, she’d greatly feared that their wedding would become something of a cause célèbre.
To her eternal relief, Nicholas’s mother had taken pity on her and Nicholas and had acted as a bulwark of sorts against the tide that had pressed for the wedding to escalate to major-event status.
Consequently, when Addie had paced down the aisle, preceded by an ecstatic Angie and Nicholas’s younger sister, Meg, as bridesmaids, followed by his older sister, Pru, in the role of matron of honor, it was under the eyes of only four hundred or so people—three hundred guests and about a hundred staff and locals who’d crowded into the church to see a well-known local young lady wed.
Now, with the ceremony, the wedding feast, the speeches, and the first two waltzes behind them, on Nicholas’s arm, Addie circulated among those three hundred guests in the ballroom of the Grange. In between the inevitable chatting, the teasing comments, and the rapturous envy generated by her exquisite gown, she found herself looking back with joyful if quiet delight on those moments when she and Nicholas had stood before the altar, painted by the jewel-toned sunbeams which had poured through the stained-glass windows, and exchanged their vows firmly and intently.
Her father had surprised her and the rest of the family as well. Ever since Phillip had returned to the Grange and he and their father had reconciled, and at Addie’s mother’s insistence, Viola had come to stay as well, her father’s mind had remained steady. He hadn’t suffered another bout of vagueness, which was a huge relief. He’d insisted on walking her down the aisle and been so pleased to be able to do so that it had been plain that the action had meant something special to him.
She’d made a mental note to ask her mother about that later.
But for now, all was unalloyed joy and happiness as everyone about them—Cynster, Sommerville, connection, or close friend—joined them in celebrating their big day and the promise of all to come.
“No matter what your inclinations,” Louisa, Marchioness of Winchelsea, warned, “you will need to come up to London occasionally.” Louisa’s look was polite yet pointed. “Because you’re so observant and courtesy of your four Seasons, your knowledge of the ton is extensive, and your insights have already proved illuminating. At least to me, which, I’m sure all will agree, is quite a feat.” Her pale-green gaze ensnared Addie. “We can’t afford to lose such a source of sound intelligence.”
Having learned that Louisa’s husband, Drake, was deeply involved in ensuring the security of the realm, especially when plots involved members of the ton, and having also, by then, taken Louisa’s measure, Addie merely smiled, inclined her head, and stated, “We’ll see.”
Moments later, as she and Nicholas moved on, Addie leaned close and whispered, “I never before thought of myself as ‘a source of sound intelligence’!”
Nicholas laughed and squeezed her hand. “I should have warned you. I truly can’t see the Cynster ladies—our generation as much as that past—allowing you to molder in Newmarket all year. They of all groups will value your talents and the contributions you’ll be able to make to their social plans.”
“Hmm.” Somewhat to her surprise, Addie discovered that the notion of being one of a coterie of ladies who supported each other socially wasn’t as off-putting as she would have thought.
One thing of which she was certain was that, despite the limited guest list, with the avid interest of the wider ton focused on her and Nicholas, Miss Flibbertigibbet was now well and truly dead, buried, and never to be resurrected. No matter that she still looked the part and always would, no one would ever believe that the lady who had married Nicholas Cynster and was intent on becoming his partner in all things was a featherbrain.
Another waltz was in progress. Addie and Nicholas paused at the edge of the dance floor. Surveying the swirling couples, Addie saw her parents dancing. Her mother’s face was tilted up, and the happiness investing her features made Addie’s breath catch.
There’d been so much worry and anxiety over recent years, to see her mother—and her father, too—made so happy by this day brought tears to her eyes.
Nicholas noticed. Gently, he squeezed her hand. “You’ve lifted the cloud that hung over the Grange.”
She met his eyes. “We have.” She looked back at the dancers, finding Phillip and Viola in the crowd. “And now Phillip and Viola will keep the cloud at bay.”
Given that Addie and Nicholas’s wedding had needed to be at least this size and, inevitably, would garner much social attention, it had been agreed that Phillip and Viola—their connection, now formalized in an engagement, made widely known through this event—would marry in a few weeks, in early September, in a private service in the chapel at the Grange, essentially allowing the ton’s focus on Addie and Nicholas’s event to divert attention from theirs.
By the time the majority of the ton caught up with the changes, Viola’s installation as the future Countess of Aisby would be a fait accompli.
His gaze still on the dancers, Nicholas dipped his head to Adriana’s and murmured, “I heard you promise Viola that you would be in London next Season to hold her hand.”
Adriana shrugged. “I could hardly leave her to manage on her own.” Glancing sideways, she met his eyes. “And as you just heard from one of the younger major hostesses, no less, I possess a great deal of useful social intelligence.”
Nicholas laughed. “True.”
He still found himself amazed by how everything had worked out. It was as if the universe had simply been waiting for him to find her and persuade her to be his. So much had just fallen into place, without them having to fight or even push to make things happen.
When he’d left the Grange to take The Barbarian to the Cynster Stables, Adriana had elected to come, too. In the end, her mother and Sally as well as Rory had accompanied them and Young Gillies, the intention of the ladies being to inspect the farmhouse that Adriana and Nicholas would call home. For his part, he’d been glad to have Adriana along to keep The Barbarian in line.
