More cheers erupted around them.
“Kunigunde is a Wynchester!” Marjorie shouted.
“Not yet.” Elizabeth unsheathed her rain-speckled sword stick. “We agreed when Philippa joined our family that we would add ceremonial flair to the moment of official acceptance.”
“Didwe agree to that?” Jacob said doubtfully. “Or was it somethingyousaid whilst holding a knife, and no one chose that particular moment to disagree?”
“Knees,” Elizabeth commanded Kuni without remorse.
Without hesitation, Kuni sank to her knees on the wet wooden dock. This was the opposite of being rejected, of being not enough. This was being welcomed with open arms. Beingwanted. It felt every bit as momentous as becoming a knight in a royal accolade.
Despite the strong wind, the blade did not wobble in Elizabeth’s hands.
Kuni was about to become part of the one family who had never doubted her. Who had loved her even as she sailed away…and loved her even more when she sailed back home to them.
Elizabeth brought her rapier down on Kuni’s right shoulder. “By the power vested in me by…me—”
“Cut her, and I’ll kill you,” Graham growled.
“Cut her braids, andshe’llkill you,” Marjorie added.
Elizabeth ignored them. “I hereby dub you…” She lifted the rapier and brought it down on Kuni’s left shoulder. “…an official…full-blooded…Wynchester!”
The siblings clapped as though Kuni had been knighted by the queen.
As soon as Elizabeth sheathed her sword, Graham pulled Kuni up and back into his embrace for another kiss.
“Congratulations,” he said between kisses. “You’re stuck with us.”
She grinned at him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Epilogue
Two months later
One would not suppose that the neighborhood of Islington was merelysemi-fashionable from the quantity and quality of the many carriages cluttering the Wynchester property and stretching along both sides of the street in front of it.
The wedding ceremony had been a small, family-only affair, but the weddingbreakfastthat followed was already the best, loudest, happiest, most chaotic, and most memorable celebration Graham had ever seen unfold between these walls.
This, despite the fact he kept forgetting to pay any attention to his guests. How could he, when he was busy gathering Kuni in his arms to steal kiss after kiss at every possible opportunity?
She was resplendent in a flowing gown with skirts of rich pinkish-purple Balcovian amaranth, embellished with three rows of freshly picked white roses along the flounced skirts, and a white silk bodice. Glistening teardrop pearls were sewn to the golden ribbon traveling beneath her bosom. All the women present exclaimed that they had never seen a more beautiful bride or a more stunning gown.
Graham smoothed the epaulet on his lapel. It was a twin to the one beneath Kuni’s bodice. Pinning them had felt just as momentous as exchanging rings. Now that the ceremony was through, Graham was ready for the next step. He calculated how many more cakes he would have to eat before he could politely whisk Kuni upstairs to divest her of her pretty dress and make love to his gorgeous wife.
As a matter of fact, he was perilously close to whisking her upstairsimpolitely, royal guests be damned.
In addition to providing Kuni with a wedding dress and bejeweled tiara, the princess had brought Kuni’s belongings from Balcovia and arranged for all of her fellow companions—the friends Kuni had grown up with—to come along on this journey in order to attend the wedding celebration.
At the moment, Princess Mechtilda was conversing with Chloe and Faircliffe in the middle of the largest salon. She had been delighted by the preemptive portrait Marjorie had painted of Graham bowing to Her Royal Highness, and had not only suggested they reenact the image in exactly the spot depicted, but had even bowedbackto Graham in return.
Marjorie already promised to paintthatscene next.
Kuni’s brothers were currently inspecting the sideboards. It was a grand buffet, fit for a king…or a pauper. There was something for everyone. Even Balcovians.
Floris devoured several meat pies and returned for more. Reinald had discovered a weakness for oatcakes and refused to stray far from the tray. This unorthodox visit would not only appear in the gossip columns of tomorrow’s London newspapers, Graham suspected it would become legend back in Balcovia as well.
The royal guests had brought gifts for the entire Wynchester family. A large trunk full of expensive amaranth—paint for Marjorie, dye for Tommy. Another trunk full of books—a Balcovian illustrated manuscript for Philippa, and an enormous collection of political essays and parliamentary transcripts for Chloe and Faircliffe. A sword forged by the royal blacksmith for Elizabeth. And for Jacob, several translated volumes from the most celebrated Balcovian poets.
