They held each other, the quiet rhythm of their breath the only sound, as if the world outside had paused to give them this moment, suspended in golden stillness.
And when they pulled apart, the world felt quiet—but not empty.
Together, they finished packing.
They shared one last meal in the common room, smiling at the same innkeeper who had welcomed them nearly a sennight ago, before everything had changed. He offered them a wink and a bottle of blackberry wine “for the road.”
By dusk, the carriage was ready.
Frances stood just outside the inn, the sapphire on her finger catching the golden light. She watched the horses being harnessed, the wheels checked, the bags loaded.
A quiet thrill ran through her limbs, her breath catching as warmth curled low in her belly. No fear. Only anticipation.
Johnathan came to stand beside her, the breeze tugging at his coat as he looked out across the hills. The clouds shifted above them, casting soft shadows over the landscape as if even the sky paused to witness the moment.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded. “I think I have been ready since the moment you pulled me from that church.”
He looked at her, eyes full of something deeper than joy—something like awe. “I will never forget what it felt like to see you turn toward me instead of away.”
Frances reached for his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, just above the pulse. “Then let us go show the world what we chose.”
Johnathan offered his hand, and Frances stepped up with a smile, skirts whispering against the polished step. Their hands remained joined as they settled side by side, the carriage swaying gently into motion.
As it pulled away, the village faded behind them, the chapel’s small spire dipping below the hill.
Frances rested her head on Johnathan’s shoulder.
And the carriage rolled on, carrying not a runaway bride and a reckless duke—but a wife and a husband, forging a new beginning, one chosen under starlight, sealed by fire, and held together by the unshakable truth of love.
