"You are impossible," Anthea informed him.
"Yes," Gregory agreed. "But you love me anyway."
The words hung in the air between them—teasing but also serious, a question disguised as a statement.
"I do," Anthea said quietly. "Heaven help me, I do."
Gregory's smile turned soft. "Then I am the most fortunate man in England."
He leaned forward and kissed her—gentle and sweet and tasting of tea and chocolate. Anthea melted into it, her hand coming up to cup his face, feeling the slight rasp of morning stubble against her palm.
When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, Gregory rested his forehead against hers.
"We should probably stop," he murmured. "You have a wedding to manage."
"Probably," Anthea agreed, but made no move to step away.
"In a moment," Gregory said, and kissed her again.
They stayed like that until the clock chimed the hour, reminding them both that the world existed beyond this room, beyond this moment.
Gregory stood reluctantly, helping Anthea to her feet. "I should go dress properly. And you should..." He gestured vaguely at her nightclothes. "Do whatever mysterious things women do to prepare for weddings."
"Very mysterious," Anthea said solemnly. "Absolutely arcane. You would not understand."
"Probably not," Gregory agreed. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I will see you at the church."
"You will," Anthea said.
He left through the connecting door, and Anthea stood there for a long moment, her fingers pressed to her lips, a smile she could not quite suppress tugging at her mouth.
She was in love with her husband.
And he loved her back.
The realization still felt new enough to be miraculous.
The rest of the morning passed in a controlled chaos of preparations. Anthea dressed with her maid's help, then went to assist Veronica with her own gown—a beautiful creation of ivory silk and delicate lace that made her sister look like something from a fairy tale.
"You are stunning," Anthea said, adjusting the final pin in Veronica's hair. "Mr. Hartley will not be able to form coherent words when he sees you."
"I hope he can manage his vows," Veronica said, but she was smiling. "Otherwise this will be a very short ceremony."
"Where is Poppy?" Anthea asked, glancing around. "She should be here helping."
"I saw her earlier," Veronica said. "She said she needed to check on something. She will be back."
Anthea frowned slightly. Poppy had been oddly distracted lately—distant during meals, disappearing for long periods, always with vague excuses about errands or correspondence. But today was Veronica's wedding day. Surely she would not miss helping her sister prepare?
"I am certain she will return shortly," Anthea said, pushing down the small flutter of concern. "Now, let me make sure your gown is perfect."
They fussed over details until Veronica looked absolutely flawless. Then it was time to depart for the church.
The ceremony was to be held at St. George's, Hanover Square—fashionable, prestigious, and large enough to accommodate the substantial guest list. Gregory had already departed with Mr. Hartley and the other gentlemen. Anthea would arrive with her sisters, playing the role of protective older sibling giving away the bride.
Except Poppy still had not returned.
"Where is she?" Anthea asked the maid. "Did she leave a message?"
