Evie’s steps slowed as she reached Nathaniel, who moved to meet her with a hand extended. When their fingers intertwined, the moment seemed to freeze, the chapel holding its collective breath. Nathaniel leaned in slightly, his words inaudible to Cecilia but evidently meant to reassure his bride.
The vicar began the ceremony, his voice steady and solemn as he guided the couple through their vows. Cecilia found herself clinging to every word, her gaze shifting between Nathaniel and Evie as they pledged their lives to one another.
“I, Nathaniel Everton, take thee, Evangeline Wexford, to be my wedded wife…”
Nathaniel’s voice was clear and unwavering, though Cecilia could see the emotion flickering in his eyes as he spoke.
When it was Evie’s turn, her voice faltered slightly at first, but she quickly found her strength, her words soft but full of conviction.
“…to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse…”
Cecilia’s eyes stung, though she refused to let tears fall. It was not sadness that overwhelmed her but the sheer beauty of the moment. She had not thought it possible to witness something so pure, so perfect.
“By the power vested in me,” the vicar intoned, his voice warm with quiet authority, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Nathaniel hesitated for the briefest of moments, as though he wished to savor this juncture in time. Then, he leaned forward, his hand gently brushing Evie’s cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
The guests erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the small chapel like a celebration of everything the day represented.
Cecilia clapped with the rest of them, though her hands slowed as she took in the way Nathaniel and Evie lingered, their foreheads touching even after they had parted. It was as though they had forgotten everyone else, lost in a moment meant only for them.
The newlyweds turned to face the guests, and Evie’s gaze swept across the room, her face glowing with happiness. When her eyes met Cecilia’s, she gave the faintest of nods, her silent gratitude unmistakable.
The chapel doors opened, and Nathaniel and Evie stepped out first, hand in hand, into the crisp winter air. The guests followed, the cold biting at Cecilia’s cheeks as she exited with Tristan at her side.
“Quite the spectacle, wasn’t it?” he remarked, though there was no edge to his words.
Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “A spectacle, perhaps, but a beautiful one. Even you can’t deny that.”
Tristan gave her a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t dare. It’s not every day you see our dear Nathaniel so utterly undone.”
Cecilia glanced back toward the chapel steps, where Nathaniel was helping Evie adjust her veil against the breeze. His hand lingered on hers, his expression still one of quiet awe.
“Undone, perhaps,” Cecilia said softly, “but in the best possible way.
An hour later at the wedding breakfast, Cecilia, seated at the grand table reserved for the bride's and groom's closest family, marveled at the radiance of her brother and his new wife.
She sipped lightly from a crystal glass filled with sparkling punch, the flavor sweet but fleeting, and listened as laughter and conversation swirled around her.
At her side sat Alistair, now no longer the gruff and impenetrable Duke of Holloway in her eyes but the man with whom her future lay.
They had spent the last few weeks navigating their own plans, their future as entwined as the ivy climbing the manor walls, yet the thought still occasionally unsettled her.
Marriage had always been a practical arrangement in her world— a merger of families, of estates, of social standing. But their connection was something more. Something deeper.
Alistair leaned closer, his baritone voice low enough to keep their discussion private amidst the clamor. "Have you settled on a date for our nuptials, or shall I resign myself to an eternity of waiting, my dear?"
Cecilia chuckled softly, her green eyes darting to him with feigned indignation. "An eternity of waiting may suit you well, Your Grace, if you insist on making light of everything I say."
"I would never dare," he replied, though the smirk tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.
"It must be summer," Cecilia said after a moment. "The gardens at Windgrave Estate are at their most splendid then. I refuse to wed under skies that do not match the blue of your eyes."
Alistair raised an eyebrow. "A poetess as well as a botanist? I fear I am marrying a woman of such talents that I shall appear woefully inadequate by comparison."
"Then I shall endeavor to keep my talents modest," she teased, though her cheeks warmed at the earnestness in his gaze.
Before she could add more, a footman approached to refill her glass, and the moment passed. Cecilia suddenly felt the need for air, the joyful but stifling closeness of the room pressing upon her. She placed her napkin gently upon the table.
