“Not so fast, Your Grace,” Tristan said, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “You don’t have our approval yet.”
Cecilia rolled her eyes, trying to suppress her laughter. “Really? You two are going to do this now?”
Alistair nodded, “Of course, I apologize, I should have followed due process,” he paused, turning to smile at Cecilia again in a way that made her melt, “I just couldn’t hold it in anymore, I had to let her know how I felt.
“Oh, absolutely, I have been in your shoes all right, brother,” Nathaniel chimed in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now. We’ve got a wedding to plan, and it’s going to be spectacular!”
Tristan stepped forward, his demeanor transforming into that of an overzealous wedding planner. “First off, the invitations must be vibrant! Think bold colors, something that will make people stop in their tracks.”
“Right, because nothing says ‘love’ like a dark green and pink invitation,” Nathaniel quipped, unable to hide his grin.
Tristan nodded vehemently, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “And we have to invite everyone we know, of course! I’m talking about the entire town, all men, women and animals alike. Oh, Your Grace, you’ll need to prepare for a crowd.”
Cecilia couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Are you serious? You want to invite everyone?” Knowing what her brothers were playing at, she couldn’t help but join in, “What about the people who just wave from across the street?”
“Exactly! Everyone needs to witness this union,” Tristan declared, nodding enthusiastically. “And of course, everything must be fresh, absolutely non-traditional!”
“Alright, alright! No amount of apologies would erase my previous mistakes, would they?” Alistair chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“Payback’s a dish best served cold, Your Grace,” Nathaniel teased, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. The laughter that erupted from the group was infectious, the sound carrying in the breeze.
Just as the second round of teasing reached a crescendo, Louisa stepped off the carriage, her presence commanding yet gentle. “And who’s this man holding my granddaughter?” she inquired, her eyes narrowing in surprise.
Cecilia’s face lit up, her excitement bubbling over; the moment feeling all too surreal. She turned to her betrothed, soaking up his loving gaze with a gladdened smile before turning back to the dowager countess with a squeal.
“Grandmother! I’m getting married!”
EPILOGUE
Time often seemed to crawl by too slowly for Cecilia’s liking. Not the last three months, however. They had flashed by in the blink of an eye, and had been a metamorphosis unlike anything she could have imagined.
Where once Alistair had been an immovable, intimidating force— a duke whose very reputation could silence a room— she now understood the profound complexity beneath his carefully maintained exterior.
Their initial antagonism had been a delicate dance of misunderstandings, of two fiercely independent souls reluctant to concede ground.
The transformation had not been instantaneous. It had been a gradual unraveling, like carefully picking apart an intricate knot, each thread of their connection revealing something unexpected.
Cecilia reflected over the last three months, and all the choices that had gotten her and Alistair to this point. It still felt surreal most times, like she was in a dream and everything happening around her was too good to be true.
The faint sound of bells drifted through the chapel, their sweet melody a gentle herald of the day’s joy. The small, sunlit chapel at Holloway Estate was a sanctuary of beauty, its simplicity lending an intimacy to the occasion that no grand cathedral could replicate.
The winter light streaming through the stained-glass windows bathed everything in hues of gold and rose, a fitting backdrop for a ceremony that celebrated love and new beginnings.
Cecilia sat near the front, her gloved hands resting lightly in her lap, though her heart felt anything but calm. Her brother, Nathaniel, stood at the altar, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him as he waited.
He wore his finest coat of midnight blue, but it was his face that drew her attention —the mix of pride, anticipation, and love etched there made her chest tighten.
The soft strains of the organ filled the air, and every guest rose to their feet as Evangeline entered the chapel. Cecilia’s breath caught at the sight of her.
Evie’s gown was a vision of elegance, its pale ivory fabric flowing like water with each step. The delicate lace trim of the veilframed her face, and though she looked every bit the duchess-to-be, it was the joy in her expression that made her truly radiant.
She clutched a bouquet of winter roses in trembling hands, and as her gaze found Nathaniel at the altar, her smile deepened, soft and certain.
Cecilia glanced to her side, where Tristan stood with an uncharacteristically subdued expression. For all his rakish tendencies and biting wit, even he seemed moved by the sight of their younger brother’s bride walking down the aisle.
Beside her, Lydia Wexford sat with quiet dignity, her hands clasped tightly over a lace handkerchief. Cecilia had come to respect the dowager duchess in the months since they had first met.
Though Lydia was sometimes difficult to read, there was no denying the pride and love shining in her eyes as she watched her daughter approach the altar.
