When she reached him at last, he turned fully to face her, offering his hand with quiet formality. The moment her fingers touched him, the pretense cracked.
“Madeline,” he murmured under his breath, too softly for anyone else to hear.
“Wilhelm,” she replied, just as quietly, her voice betraying her more than she had intended.
His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles, a brief, grounding touch that sent a shiver racing through her. They turned together toward the priest, though Madeline was painfully aware of Wilhelm beside her, of the heat of his body, of the way his presence filled the space around her until it felt impossible to imagine herself anywhere else.
The ceremony unfolded as ceremonies did. Words were spoken and blessings given, but Madeline heard it all as though from a distance. The meaning of each phrase struck deeper than its sound. She listened with strange, aching clarity, her mind flickering through memories she had never believed she would carry into a moment like this: the quiet terror of her childhood,the years spent measuring her worth in silence, the long practice of disappearance.
And now she stood here. Chosen.
When it came time for her vows, the world narrowed once more to Wilhelm’s face. The priest’s voice faded, and Madeline drew in a breath that trembled despite her resolve.
“I stand here,” she began, her voice steadying as she spoke, “not as the woman I was taught to be, nor as the woman I once believed I had to become in order to survive. I stand here as myself.”
Wilhelm’s gaze softened, something luminous breaking through his composure.
“I choose you,” she continued, her heart pounding with the force of the truth. “Not because you saved me, though you did. Not because you offered me safety, though you have. I will choose you because I see you. And because with you, I am seen, and because you have never asked me to be smaller than I am.”
Her throat tightened, emotion pressing hard against her ribs. “I promise you honesty, even when it frightens me. I promise you courage, even when it costs me comfort. And I promise you my love, freely given, without fear of consequence.”
She finished on a breath, her hands trembling in his.
Wilhelm did not look away as he spoke his own vows. He kept his voice low and resonant, carrying with it the weight of a man who had made his choice and would not waver from it.
“I have lived much of my life believing that duty was the measure of a man,” he said. “That restraint was virtue. That love, when it came at all, must be managed, contained, kept from interfering with the order of things.”
A faint murmur rippled through the congregation, but Madeline heard only him.
“You have undone all of that,” Wilhelm said, without regret. “You have taught me that love is not a weakness to be guarded against, but a strength to be claimed. I promise you my loyalty, my protection, and my truth. I promise you that you will never face fear alone again. And I promise you my heart, entirely and without reservation.”
Madeline’s vision blurred as tears gathered, unchecked and unashamed.
When the priest finally pronounced them married, the release was immediate and overwhelming. Wilhelm did not wait for instruction. He turned to her and kissed her with a hunger that was anything but restrained, his hand coming up to cradle her face as though the entire world might vanish if he did not anchor her there.
The kiss was brief enough to remain proper, but there was nothing reserved about it. It was a promise made physically, a claim and an answer all at once.
The chapel erupted in cheers.
Madeline laughed through her tears as Wilhelm drew her close, the sound ringing bright and disbelieving in her own ears. They turned together, faces alight, and for the first time she allowed herself to truly see the room.
London saw her now. There was no mistaking it in the faces before her—in the respectful nods, the curious glances, the warmth offered without pretense. Whatever whispers had once followed her name had been replaced by something else entirely. She stood here not as a scandal, not as a secret, but as a duchess beside the man who had chosen her openly.
Henry approached them first, his grin unapologetic. “I suppose this makes it official,” he said. “You’re stuck with one another.”
“I intend to be,” Wilhelm replied dryly.
Tessa threw herself into Madeline’s skirts with joyful abandonment. “You look beautiful,” she announced. “Papa cried.”
“I did not,” Wilhelm said at once.
“You did,” Tessa insisted, beaming.
Madeline laughed, bending to embrace her. “Thank you, love.”
Laurence and Edith, the Duke and Duchess of Alderbourne, followed with their children, offering their congratulations with easy warmth. There were embraces and congratulations and moments of quiet understanding exchanged without words. Through it all, Madeline felt Wilhelm’s hand at her back, reassuring her.
The wedding dinner was held beneath a canopy of soft light, laughter rising easily now that fear no longer shadowed every exchange. Madeline found herself smiling without calculation, speaking without measuring each word, allowing herself the luxury of ease.
