The priest nodded, looking somewhat relieved to cede control.
Gregory turned to face the assembled guests, his expression serious but warm.
"Some of you may be wondering," he said, "whether you should be concerned about what was just said. Whether the rumors about Mr. Hartley's family should give you pause about this union."
He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
"I will tell you what I know about Oliver Hartley," Gregory continued. "I know that when his father left debts and scandal in his wake, Oliver took responsibility for cleaning up the mess.I know that he has worked tirelessly to repair his family's reputation through honorable actions rather than empty words. I know that he has been nothing but honest with my sister-in-law about his circumstances and his past."
He turned to look at Mr. Hartley and Veronica.
"But most importantly," Gregory said, his voice softening, "I know that he loves her. Truly, deeply, with the kind of devotion that is rare and precious and should be protected rather than questioned."
His gaze swept the crowd again.
"Love is not about perfect circumstances or unblemished reputations," he said. "It is about choosing someone despite their flaws and their past. About committing to building something together even when the path is not easy. And I have watched these two choose each other again and again. That is what matters. That is what we are here to celebrate."
He looked at the priest. "With your permission, Father, I believe this ceremony should continue."
The priest smiled. "Well said, Your Grace. Let us proceed."
The ceremony resumed. Vows were completed. Rings exchanged. And when the priest finally pronounced them husband and wife, the church erupted in applause that felt likedefiance—a collective rejection of Beatrice's attempt to ruin her daughter's happiness.
Anthea watched through tears she did not bother to hide. Watched Veronica and Mr. Hartley kiss with such obvious joy it made her heart ache. Watched Gregory return to stand beside her, his presence solid and reassuring.
It was perfect after all.
Despite Beatrice's interference. Despite the scandal. Despite everything.
Love had won.
As they processed back down the aisle behind the newly married couple, Gregory leaned close and murmured, "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Anthea said. And meant it.
But even in her happiness, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered:Where is Poppy?
And why had she missed her sister's wedding?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The wedding breakfast was held at Gregory's—their—townhouse, and the mood was jubilant despite Beatrice's attempted disruption.
Anthea moved through the receiving line in a daze, accepting congratulations and deflecting questions about the objection with practiced grace. But her mind kept returning to Gregory's words in the church.
Love is not about perfect circumstances or unblemished reputations. It is about choosing someone despite their flaws and their past.
Had he meant it? Or had it simply been a strategic speech designed to salvage the ceremony?
She needed to know.
"Your Grace?"
Anthea turned to find one of the footmen hovering at her elbow.
"Yes?"
"Forgive the interruption, but I thought you should know—Miss Poppy was at the ceremony after all. I saw her myself, standing at the very back of the church with the biggest smile on her face. She must have slipped in late and not wanted to cause a disruption by moving to the family pews."
