Lucas looked up, feigning innocence. “Whispering? I am sure I said nothing at all.”
The table erupted with laughter.
Elowen’s smile curved, mischievous despite herself. “Very well, we shall attend properly to our guests. Shan’t we, Lucas?”
“Of course,” he said gravely—then immediately lost himself in twirling a stray lock of her hair around his finger, his gaze far too admiring to be convincing. A faint flush coloured Elowen’s cheeks to general amusement.
Fortunately, the conversation soon turned to Catherine and Henry’s forthcoming wedding. Catherine spoke eagerly of flowers, lace, and the correct shade of blue for her ribbons, while Henry, patient as ever, agreed to everything with a good-natured smile.
Elowen let the laughter and chatter drift around her, content simply to listen. The world felt settled at last. Lucas had not only avenged the wrongs against their families, but had done so with honour and precision, restoring what had been lost. She could not imagine a partner more steadfast.
Shortly after, Eric and Margaret began to move among the guests, taking congratulations with composed grace. Each smile, each polite bow, carried the quiet triumph of vindication. Elowen watched them, a tide of gratitude rising within her. They no longer had to defend themselves; the truth stood for them now.
After a while, her father paused beside her chair. His expression, though proud, was softened by emotion. “My daughter is fortunate indeed,” he said to Lucas, “to have found a companion such as you. And I—” His voice caught for a moment. “I am fortunate to see justice served so fully, and happiness restored so completely.”
Lucas inclined his head with characteristic modesty. “It was not mine alone to win, my lord. Your courage, your patience,your faith in what was right—those were our compass. I am only grateful I was permitted to see it through.”
Margaret joined them, her eyes bright. “And I am grateful,” she said softly, “to see that what began in hardship has ended in harmony. I will never cease to marvel at how such trials can bring forth such beauty.”
Elowen reached for Lucas’s hand under the table, a quiet gesture unseen by the guests. “Nor will I,” she murmured.
Above the laughter and the music, the clock chimed the hour, clear and mellow. Outside, the carriages waited beneath the blooming magnolias; within, the air shimmered with light and warmth and the sense that, for once, every story in that house had found its peace.
***
As the carriage rolled away from the Tremaine estate, the world seemed to soften. The rumble of wheels over stone and the gentle sway of motion created a rhythm almost meditative. Behind them, the hum of society—the whispers, the watchful eyes—faded into the distance.
Lucas drew Elowen close, his arm a quiet promise around her shoulders. He kissed her, a tender meeting of certainty and devotion, the merging of hearts as well as minds.
“I cannot imagine a moment without you,” he murmured, his voice low and unguarded.
Elowen smiled against him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Nor I, Lucas. And yet, I feel our adventure—our life together—has scarcely begun.”
He brushed his thumb over her hand. “Then we shall meet each chapter side by side,” he said. “Every challenge, every joy, every uncertainty—together.”
Her laughter came softly, the kind that trembled with happiness. “Then I suspect, my love, we are quite unstoppable.”
Outside, the tidings of Victor and Colin’s ruin were already stirring through London’s parlours and drawing rooms. Their fortunes stripped, their titles forfeit, their names consigned to disgrace and exile, they had become ghosts of the men they had once been. Ambrose’s death, at last, was understood for what it had been: another casualty of Cherrington’s ambition, one more life consumed, and one less to trouble the living.
But within the carriage, such matters felt remote. Here, time had paused. Lucas and Elowen exchanged a quiet smile—a shared understanding of all they had endured, and of the peace that followed hard-won victory.
“The world may wait a little longer,” Lucas murmured, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “For now, I would rather remain here—with you—and let the silence speak for us both.”
Elowen’s hand slipped into his, her fingers fitting neatly between his own. “And I have never felt more certain,” she said softly. “Not of fortune, nor of circumstance—but of you.”
The carriage rolled steadily onward, the countryside stretching into the distance. With each mile, the weight of London’s intrigues seemed to dissolve behind them, replaced by the promise of gentler days.
Lucas pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Then we shall meet all that comes together,” he said quietly.
Her eyes lifted to his. “Always together,” she promised.
For the first time in many months—perhaps in years—the world outside could wait. Within the confines of the carriage, love and restoration reigned; the weight of the past had fallen away, and what remained was a quiet triumph that needed no proclamation.
The carriage carried them forward, and Elowen leaned her head against the window, watching hedgerows blur past. Lucas sat opposite her for a time, his gaze steady upon her face. Occasionally, his hand reached across the space between them tobrush a stray lock of hair from her cheek or to rest, lightly, upon hers.
“You seem lighter than I have ever seen you,” she said at last, half-teasing, half-tender. “Is this what happiness feels like?”
A faint smile curved his lips. “I believe it must be. Though I confess,” he added after a pause, “I never imagined I would find it in another’s arms—and yet I did.”
