CHAPTER17
Two days later, they stopped in an English village.
They had already said the words.
Once, in haste. With wind-chapped lips and ash-stained clothes and hearts beating.
But this time, it was their choice—standing in a church, motivated by love alone.
Frances stood in front of the mirror in the little room off the chapel, the simple muslin gown she had chosen brushing against her ankles. There were no silks. No diamonds. No servants or society matrons to fasten her hair and whisper about dowries and reputation. Just her and the moment—and the weightless, wondrous certainty that she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Her breath caught as her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, anticipation curling tight and electric in her limbs. Not dread. Not fear. Just anticipation.
She touched the small sapphire ring on her finger—the one Johnathan had given her beneath the moon—and smiled.
Someone knocked once on the door.
She turned. “Come in.”
It was Johnathan.
He looked devastatingly handsome in a charcoal waistcoat and a fresh cravat tied with more care than he had probably ever given a cravat in his life. His gaze found her and softened. His breath caught. “Frances…”
She arched a brow, feigning calm. “You are not supposed to see me before the ceremony.”
“I could not wait.”
She tried to scowl, but failed miserably. “If this marriage starts with you breaking tradition?—”
He crossed to her in two long strides and kissed her forehead. “Then it starts exactly the way it should.”
She let her hands rest against his chest. “We are really doing this.”
He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “We are doing it the right way.”
And for the first time in weeks, there was nothing between them but stillness. No frantic gallop of horses or breathless declarations. Just a slow exhale of relief, of peace.
“I had a dream once,” she said, “when I was a girl. I imagined standing in a little chapel. No orchestra, no gowns, no guests. Just me, and someone who saw me—not as a bride or a name, but as a person.”
He touched her chin gently. “Then we are about to make your dream come true.”
She smiled. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Marrying you is the most sensible thing I have ever done. That is why I am doing it twice. No room for speculation. No room for anyone to deny the legitimacy of our union or our love for one another.”
Frances leaned in, their foreheads touching. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“No matter what the world says after this… promise me you will not let me go.”
His hands tightened around her waist. “Frances, my love, I will spend every day of my life proving that I am the man who deserves to hold on.”
He gave a teasing grin.
“And also the man who makes the best tea in our household.”
She laughed, the sound bursting from her as she pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes shining.
