"Shall we scandalise them some more, or should we pretend to be respectable?"
"When have we ever been respectable?"
He laughed, that rare, genuine laugh that she loved, and kissed her again.
The applause grew louder, mixed now with cheering and the stamping of feet. Somewhere, someone had started ringing the church bells, their joyful clamour carrying across the village and beyond.
They were married.
Against all odds, against all expectations, against everything that society had said was proper and possible, they were married.
And it was only the beginning.
The wedding breakfast was held at the manor.
It was the first large gathering the house had seen in decades, and the transformation was remarkable. Lydia had spent the past months opening curtains, airing rooms, filling the cold spaces with flowers and warmth. The result was a house that finally felt like a home; still imposing, still impressive, but no longer oppressive.
The long dining table that had once seated Frederick alone now held thirty guests, and even more people in the drawing room and in the garden. Servants moved through the crowd with trays of food and champagne. Music drifted from the ballroom, where a small orchestra was playing.
It was, by aristocratic standards, a modest affair. By village standards, it was the most elaborate celebration anyone had ever seen.
"You've done well," Helena said, appearing at Lydia's elbow.
Lydia turned, surprised. She hadn't expected Frederick’s aunt to attend because their relationship, while no longer hostile, remained cautious.
"Thank you for coming."
"I almost didn't." Helena's voice was quiet, meant for Lydia's ears alone. "I wasn't sure I would be welcome."
"You gave us your blessing. Of course you're welcome."
"A blessing given under duress isn't much of a blessing." Helena looked around the room, her expression unreadable. "I spent forty years making myself into someone who knew better than everyone else. Who was always right, always in control. It's difficult to admit that I was wrong about so many things."
"It's never too late to change."
"Isn't it? At my age, with my reputation?" Helena's mouth twisted. "The society pages are already calling me a traitor to my class. A viscountess who abandoned her principles to attend a scandalous wedding."
"Does that bother you?"
"Less than I expected." Helena was quiet for a moment. "Catherine would have loved this. The flowers, the music, the villagers mixing with the gentry. She always said that the rigid boundaries between classes were foolish, that people were just people, regardless of where they were born."
"She sounds like someone I would have liked."
"You would have. And she would have adored you." Helena met Lydia's eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it, and I'm not sure I would know what to do with it if I had it. But I wanted you to know that I'm glad Frederick found you. I'm glad he dared to choose what I never could."
"Helena…"
"Don't say anything. Just…" Helena took a breath. "Just be happy. Both of you. That's all I ask."
She moved away before Lydia could respond, disappearing into the crowd with the practised grace of a woman who had spent her life navigating social gatherings.
Lydia watched her go, feeling something she hadn't expected: compassion. Helena had made terrible choices. She had hurt people, including herself. But she was trying, in her own limited way, to make amends.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was all any of them could do.
***
The celebration continued into the evening.
