“And you were right, as the world was.”
Very gently, he laid his hand over hers where she clutched the papers, grounding them both.
“So,” he whispered, “I changed the world.”
He watched confusion gather in her eyes, fragile and aching, as she tried to make sense of his words.
“I went to London the morning after the storm,” he continued, his voice unsteady.
“I’ve been there ever since. Petitioning. Waiting. Fighting. For you. For her.”
“What are you talking about?” she breathed. “William, I don’t—”
He lowered his gaze to the papers she held and brushed the page bearing the royal crest.
“This,” he murmured, “is a Royal Warrant of Precedence. It ensures Lily will never be treated as less than legitimate. She will be recognized. Protected. Addressed and received as though born within wedlock. No one—not a lord, not a law, not a whisper of society—may call her lesser.”
Violet stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned.
He indicated the second folded parchment.
“And this is the Trust Indenture. Lily cannot inherit my title, not under the laws of succession, but this secures both of you. Everything I own—my income, my holdings, myLondon properties—places her above the next male Ashford heir. You and Lily will be provided for all your lives.”
Her grip trembled around the papers, as though they might slip from her hands.
“And this…”
He touched the final document the Queen had granted him, his hand unsteady.
“…is a Special Marriage License. If you’ll have me, Violet—we can marry without delay.”
“William…”
His name broke from her like a prayer.
He moved without thinking, gathering her into his arms with a reverence that bordered on desperation.
Her arms wound tightly around him, clutching both him and the papers like a lifeline.
The soft, aching sound that escaped her shattered something deep inside him.
“Everything I am,” he whispered into her hair, “is yours. Everything I have done—everything I fought for—was for you both.”
She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his coat.
His eyes stung as she cried against him.
Then—
A soft sound behind them.
Small footsteps.
A quiet creak of floorboards.
A tiny, sleepy voice—
“Mama… who’s here?”
