She laughed through her tears, her heart soaring as she nodded.
Around them, applause swelled, but Eden saw only him—the wind teasing his hair, the sunlight catching in his eyes, that look of unguarded awe on his face as if she were the miracle.
Gabriel pressed her hand to his lips, then drew her into a kiss so reverent it made her knees tremble.
The crowd, far from scandalized, cheered louder, echoing with joy, as if they, too, had been waiting for this moment of truth and tenderness.
“Yes,” she said, her voice ringing clear as a bell. “Gabriel. I shall love you always.”
He swept her into his arms as the crowd roared its approval.
* * *
That evening, under a twilight sky ablaze with stars, the residents of Harrowsgate celebrated not only the promise of restoration but the triumph of love. Children danced barefoot across the lawn, trailing ribbons and laughter, while neighbors shared warm cider and stories beneath lantern-strung trees. A fiddler played a lively tune near the fountain, and couples, young and old, joined hands in a reel, their joy echoing beneath the canopy of summer stars.
As Gabriel made his way through the gathering, an older gentleman approached. Lord Alderton, a neighbor to the west and once one of his harshest critics. He paused, then extended a hand.
“My wife says I am too proud to admit when I am wrong,” the man muttered, eyes crinkling with a rare smile. “But you have proven yourself, Blackstone. You have done right by this village. And by Lady Eden.”
Gabriel clasped his hand firmly, gratitude swelling in his chest. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
The moment passed, simple yet profound—another brick in the foundation of trust and redemption he and Eden were building together.
Thomas raised a glass in the garden, grinning broadly. “To Eden and Gabriel!”
“To Eden and Gabriel!” the crowd echoed, laughter and cheers ringing out.
Eden leaned into Gabriel’s side, her heart bursting with happiness.
Nearby, Mr. Fitzhugh was spinning Lady Pavington in a lively reel, his boots sliding over the packed earth. “I daresay we have witnessed a transformation,” he called between turns. “From rogue to respectable!”
“He was always respectable,” Eleanor countered with a laugh, breathless and flushed.
In the shadow of a linden tree, Mrs. Weatherby sipped cider and leaned toward her neighbor. “I never thought I would see the day,” she murmured. “But perhaps… perhaps people can change, when given reason enough.”
A violin solo began, slower this time, its notes wistful and tender, like the hush of a promise fulfilled or the memory of a wish once whispered in the dark. Couples drew close. Eden found herself tucked once more against Gabriel’s chest as they swayed together. The manor glowed behind them, pale light spilling from its windows, and above, stars freckled the night in dazzling constellations.
Gabriel pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “We did it.”
She smiled up at him. “No, my love. We are just beginning.”
And as the stars wheeled overhead and the music rose on the summer breeze, Eden knew with a certainty deeper than the earth beneath her feet that she and Gabriel had built what they once only dreamed of—something unbreakable, something true.
Hand in hand.
Heart to heart.
Forever.
Seventeen
Eden stood at the window, watching the estate bask in the brightness of the day, her thoughts drifting to childhood summers filled with laughter and imagined futures beneath these same trees. Today, that girl’s dream would come true. The estate had been transformed into a paradise of roses, ribbons, and laughter. The gardens, bursting with blooms in every color, seemed to celebrate alongside the gathered guests for the much-anticipated event—the wedding of Lady Eden Thornton and Gabriel Langley, Marquess of Blackstone.
In the orchard beyond the hedgerows, servants and villagers gathered in clusters of joy, stringing lanterns high among the branches and hanging garlands from trellises. Even the lake shimmered with floral boats bearing candles that floated like tiny stars. Children darted beneath the tables, their laughter ringing out like bells. One small boy popped his head up near the dessert table and whispered conspiratorially to another, “I saw Lady Eden’s dress—it sparkles like fairy wings!” Nearby, a little girl in blue chased a ribbon caught on the wind, her giggles echoing across the lawn as she called out, “Catch it for the Bride!” Near the rose arches, Miss Eleanor Hargrove knelt to speak to a little girl clutching a posy of wildflowers. The scene was a tapestry of beauty and celebration.
Every corner of the grounds was alive with music and joy. String quartets played lively tunes, footmen bustled about with trays of sparkling wine, and tables were heaped with lavish platters of roast duck, herb-stuffed pies, glazed fruits, and delicate pastries that tempted even the most modest of appetites. The scent of fresh lavender, rose petals, and summer rain perfumed the air.
Eden turned to the mirror, a swell of anticipation tightening in her chest. Hope, nerves, and a deep, soaring joy stirred within her, stitched into every breath. Her gown of pale blue silk shimmered like liquid moonlight, the bodice embroidered with tiny pearls and silver thread. Her dark hair was arranged in an elegant chignon, woven with sprigs of baby’s breath and tiny roses. A soft, flowing veil fell from a circlet of pearls.
