The music began—another waltz, slow and romantic. Alaric held her close, probably closer than strictly proper, but Marianne didn't care. They moved together perfectly, everything else fading away.
"I love you," he said quietly, for her ears only.
"Even after I insulted multiple peers and discussed grain prices at dinner?"
"Especially then."
"I love you too. Even if you are insufferably noble about everything."
"I'm only noble about you."
"That's the insufferable part."
They smiled at each other, and Marianne heard sighs from some of the watching ladies. Let them watch. Let them see that their perfect duke has chosen a baker and is happy about it.
As the dance ended, Lady Bethany approached. "Well," she said, studying them both. "This is unexpected."
"Aunt Bethany..." Alaric began.
"You love her."
"Completely."
"And you, girl? You love him?"
"More than bread," Marianne said, which made Alaric laugh.
"That's saying something," he told his aunt. "She really loves bread."
Lady Bethany looked between them for a long moment. "You know society will gossip."
"Let them," Alaric said.
"Your life will be more difficult."
"It will be more real."
"And you, girl—Mrs. Whitby. Can you handle this world?"
"No," Marianne said honestly. "But I can handle him. And together we can handle anything."
Lady Bethany nodded slowly. "The wedding will be in London."
"The wedding will be in Hollingford," Alaric corrected.
"That's not how ducal weddings work."
"It's how our wedding will work."
They stared at each other, aunt and nephew, wills clashing. Then Lady Bethany smiled, a real smile that transformed her face.
"Your mother would have loved her," she said simply. "She has spine."
"The best spine," Alaric agreed.
"Don't let society break it."
"Never."
