Epilogue
This is the happiest day of my life.Even better than playing head-to-head with Miss Pearson at Wimbledon Commons.
~From the diary of the Marchioness of Aylesbury—Jun 1895
My God, I should hope so.
~Added by the Marquis of Aylesbury five minutes later
––––––––
The chapel at Dinton Grange
Aylesbury, England
June 1895
––––––––
“Are you ready for this, Blossom?”
Fiona hardly spared Francis a sidelong glance as he guided her up the aisle to meet her future husband.Harry waited for her at the altar, looking extraordinarily handsome.It had nothing to do with the way his charcoal grey morning suit hugged his muscular frame or the charisma that fairly radiated from him.
It had everything to do with the way he watched her as she neared.
The organ was deafening, bellowing as wretchedly as a drunken sailor, but Fiona didn’t care.All she could hear was the pounding of her heart as Harry smiled down at her with that same devastating smile that had captured her body and soul so long ago.Beneath his dark brows, his beautiful blue eyes lit with humor, life and joy.
They were always like that now, but something new had been added as well: a fiery light of love and desire that warmed Fiona to her toes each time he looked at her.Which was often.Fiona knew already that their life might not be the impeccable paradise she had long dreamed of, but it would be the perfect life for them to share.
In what was fast becoming the new MacKintosh tradition, they were marrying by special license just two weeks after Fiona thought she had indeed lost Harry forever.Two weeks—which was two weeks longer than most of her brothers had managed—to allow Harry to heal from his injuries.Though she would have wed him with his head still lying in her lap that day, Harry had jested that he would need all his strength to cope with her night and day.
Fiona tolerated the wait only because she was sure he would.
“Yes, Francis,” she said through a broad smile.“I’m very ready.”
In short order, her brother handed her over to the man who would soon be hers forever.Harry’s warm hand closed over hers and squeezed.
“You are absolutely radiant,” he murmured as they completed their short walk together.“I like your dress.”
The wedding gown Fiona had chosen of ivory silk moiré was not as lavish as some women might wear when marrying a marquis.With simple lines and only modest leg-o-mutton sleeves, it was only sparingly detailed with pearl and braid trim and inset chiffon at the low-cut neckline.The subtle detail was in the shining contrast of the ivory satin that was inset in the large open pleats around the skirt and at the belt around her waist.
Much more time and effort had been put into choosing everything else she wore.
“Just wait until you see what I’ve got on under it,” Fiona whispered with a wicked smile that sent the flame in his eyes leaping.
Aylesbury grinned down at his soon-to-be wife.She was undeniably luminous, exuding all the life, love, and mischief he loved about her.She would undoubtedly keep him on his toes in the years to come.There was even less doubt that theirs would be the tranquil, contented marriage he had once hoped for, but he and Fiona both had agreed that anything as subdued as contentment was not for them.
