Emily’s heart soared. “Yes,” she said, barely able to contain her happiness. “There is nothing I want more.”
Charlotte let out a squeal of delight, clasping her hands together. “Oh, Emily. We must ready you at once.”
Beatrice was already tugging at Emily’s arm. “Come, come. We have not a moment to lose. You simply cannot be married in your day dress.”
“I brought an orange blossom wreath for your hair,” Lady Quinton said, stepping forward, Joslyn at her side.
As the ladies whisked Emily away, she glimpsed Nicolas’s radiant smile. Her stomach flittered, a mixture of nerves and excitement surging through her.
Once in her chamber, Emily found herself at the center of a whirlwind of activity. Charlotte fussed with her hair, arranging pieces that had gone astray, while Beatrice rummaged through Emily’s wardrobe.
“Ah, this will be perfect,” Beatrice said, her eyes gleaming as she pulled out a gown of ivory silk with delicate red rosettes. “You will look like a vision, Emily—he will not be able to take his eyes off you.”
As Emily changed, she could not help but marvel at the turn of events. “I can scarcely believe this is happening,” she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion.
Charlotte paused in her ministrations, meeting Emily’s gaze in the mirror. “My dear friend, you deserve all the happiness in the world. And Nicolas... well, he looks at you as if you are a priceless gem.”
Emily felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by the love surrounding her. As Beatrice helped her into the gown, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The ivory silk draped elegantly over her figure, the simplicity of the design lending her an air of timeless grace.
“We must not forget flowers,” Joslyn, Duchess of Langley, said, dashing to the dressing table where her mother had laid the orange blossom wreath. She returned to Emily’s side, then placed the wreath on her head, winding a few curls around it.
As the ladies stepped back, Emily took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I am ready,” she announced, her voice filled with quiet determination and joy.
Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the parlor, her gaze seeking Nicolas. He stood before the vicar, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering firelight. Mathew stood at his side looking every bit the lord of the house.
As her gaze met Nicolas’s, she saw a flash of awe and tenderness in his deep green eyes that made her breath catch.
Nicolas’s chest tightened as Emily approached, her beauty amplified by the soft glow of candles and the radiant smile that graced her lips. He extended his hand, unable to suppress a slight tremor as she placed her delicate fingers in his.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, his voice steady and warm.
Emily locked gazes with Nicolas. He stared back at her with an expression of earnest devotion that made her heart swell.
His hand trembled slightly as he took hers, his usual grin softening into something deeper, more heartfelt. “I, Nicolas,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “take thee, Emily, to be my wedded wife, my heart’s truest companion, from now until forever…” His eyes never left hers, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, bound by words that held the promise of forever.
As Nicolas recited his vows, she felt tears of joy threatening to spill. She blinked them back, determined to commit every detail of this moment to memory.
“To have and to hold,” he continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand, “from this day forward, for better, for worse...”
Beatrice and Lady Quinton dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs, while Charlotte and Joslyn beamed with pride and joy. The men stood sentinel, their gazes shining with approval and warmth while Mathew rocked back on his heels, a barely contained smile threatening to break free.
Happy tears threatened to spill forth as Emily spoke her vows. “I, Emily, take thee, Nicolas, to be my wedded husband...” Her voice faltered, not from hesitation, but from the overwhelming joy that surged within her. At long last, the aching loneliness she had carried in her heart was replaced by something far more beautiful—a love that was steady, enduring, and true.
Nicolas’s throat tightened as he listened to her words, marveling at how this remarkable woman had captured his heart so completely. He was filled with a profound sense of reverence for the moment and the woman before him.
As they exchanged rings, their fingers intertwined, both feeling the weight of the promises they had just made. The vicar’s final proclamation was met with a swell of affection from those gathered, but for Emily and Nicolas, the world had narrowed to just the two of them, united at last.
The room erupted in joyous applause. Emily’s heart lifted, soaring as Nicolas pulled her into his arms. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both tender and bold, a kiss that spoke of promises kept, of devotion unshaken.
“My darling wife,” he said, tasting the words for the first time. “I do believe we have caused quite the stir this Christmas Day.”
Emily’s fingers tightened around his. “Indeed, we have, my dearest husband. And I could not imagine a more perfect Christmas.”
As they turned to face their loved ones, the outpouring of affection overwhelmed Emily. She dabbed at a tear as slid down her cheek.
“Oh, Emily,” Beatrice exclaimed, a bright smile etched across her face. “You make such a beautiful bride.”
Joslyn nodded in agreement. “And on Christmas Day, no less. How wonderfully romantic.”
