Gwen stood on Victor’s arm as they descended the church steps, the silk of her gown whispering with each careful stride, the veil light on her hair.
The world seemed to shimmer.
Arabella flung a handful of petals at them far too enthusiastically. “You are married!” she squealed, then clapped a hand over her mouth as if she had shouted something scandalous in Parliament.
Eleanor shook her head, though her eyes were suspiciously bright. “Do stop shrieking. People will think you have never attended a wedding before.”
“I have never seen my best friend become a duchess,” Arabella said, undeterred. “It is far more important than any other wedding.”
Gwen laughed. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but she did not mind.
Victor’s arm was solid beneath her hand. When she looked up at him, he was watching her in that quiet way of his, as if she were both an unexpected miracle and a problem he meant to study for the rest of his life.
They reached the waiting carriage that bore the Greystone crest. Footmen bowed. The air smelled of horses, roses, and a faint tang of incense from the church.
Before Victor could hand her in, someone cleared their throat behind them.
“Vic,” Roderick called. “If I might steal a moment before you are overwhelmed by congratulations and tedious aunts.”
Victor glanced at Gwen. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head. “Go. I shall speak with my mother.”
He squeezed her fingers briefly, then stepped aside with Roderick, both men moving a little away from the throng.
Gwen found Cordelia near the church wall, half sheltered from the crowd. Her mother looked fragile in pale blue silk, a spray of lilies trembling slightly in her gloved hands. Her eyes were red, but she smiled as Gwen approached.
“My darling girl,” Cordelia whispered. “You looked beautiful. So very beautiful.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “I am so glad you are here.”
“Where else would I be?” Cordelia answered, though the shadows in her eyes betrayed the ache of another absence.
Howard was not there. He had not been invited. Dorothea had been very firm on that subject.
Gwen slipped her hand into her mother’s. For the first time in her life, she felt that she might be the one steadying her, rather than the other way around.
Behind them, Victor and Roderick spoke in hushed tones. Gwen could not hear their words, but she saw the grave set of Victor’s shoulders, the way Roderick’s usual lightheartedness had dulled.
After a few moments, Victor approached. Roderick lingered back, giving them space.
“You are the most handsome man here,” Cordelia said quickly, as if she needed to fill the silence. “I do not think I have ever seen such a handsome groom.”
Victor smiled faintly. “You flatter me, Lady Fenwick.”
“Lady Cordelia,” Gwen corrected gently. “You may use her name now, Victor. Howard has lost the right to it.”
Cordelia flushed. “It hardly matters.”
“It matters to me,” Gwen insisted.
Victor’s expression sobered. “I have something to tell you both. A wedding is not the right place, but it cannot wait.”
Gwen’s stomach tightened. “Has something happened?”
Roderick stepped closer, bowing to her mother. “Forgive the intrusion on such a day, My Lady. Victor asked me to look into Lord Fenwick’s business dealings. I have concluded my enquiries.”
Cordelia’s fingers clenched around the lilies. “His business dealings?”
