"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Thomas stepped forward from his place in the front pew. His voice was gruff with emotion.
"I do."
He placed Lydia's hand in Reverend Clarke's, who, in turn, placed it in Frederick’s. The touch was electric; two hands joined, two lives intertwining, two futures becoming one.
The reverend led them through the traditional vows, the ancient promises that had bound couples for centuries. But when it came time for the personal vows, Frederick turned to face Lydia directly, taking both her hands in his.
"Lydia," he said, his voice carrying through the silent church. "Six months ago, I was a man who had forgotten how to feel. I had spent my entire life building walls around my heart, convinced that emotion was weakness and love was a liability. I was cold, and I was lonely, and I thought that was simply my fate."
His voice cracked slightly, and he paused to compose himself.
"Then I met you. And you looked at me and saw something worth knowing. You challenged me to be better. You demanded that I feel, that I want, that I love. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to."
Tears were streaming down Lydia's face now, but she didn't bother to wipe them away.
"I promise to love you without condition," Frederick continued. "To stand beside you in joy and in sorrow. To choose you, every day, for as long as I live. To never let fear make me forget how lucky I am to have found you. And to spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice when you said yes."
The church was utterly silent except for the muffled sounds of people crying—not just Mrs Thompson now, but half the congregation.
Lydia took a shaking breath.
"Frederick," she said. "Before we met, I thought you were the most arrogant, insufferable man I had ever encountered."
A ripple of surprised laughter passed through the congregation.
"But then I got to know you. I saw the man beneath the title; the man who was trying so hard to feel nothing because feeling was terrifying. The man who had been hurt so badly by his own family that he had forgotten how to hope. The man who walkedinto my forge and asked to learn, not because he needed to, but because he wanted to understand my world."
She squeezed his hands, feeling them tremble in hers.
"I promise to love you," she said. "To challenge you when you need challenging and support you when you need supporting. To remind you every day that you are more than a title, more than a legacy, more than anything your family ever expected you to be. To build a home with you—a real home, full of warmth and laughter and everything your childhood was missing. And to never, ever let you forget that you deserve to be happy."
Frederick’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"With this ring," he said, his voice rough with emotion, sliding a simple gold band onto her finger, "I thee wed. With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
"With this ring," Lydia echoed, sliding a matching band onto his finger, "I thee wed."
Reverend Clarke smiled, his own eyes suspiciously bright.
"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. For as much as Frederick and Lydia have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth to each other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of rings, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together."
He paused, his smile widening.
"You may kiss your bride."
Frederick kissed her.
It was not a restrained kiss, appropriate for a church setting. It was thorough and passionate and full of promise, and it went on considerably longer than was strictly proper. When theyfinally broke apart, both of them slightly breathless, and the congregation erupted in applause.
"I love you," Frederick whispered, so quietly only she could hear.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
"Hello, wife."
"Hello, husband."
