The ring was brought forth—a traditional wedding band, gold and solemn with meaning. Sebastian slid it onto her finger, his hands steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes.
“With this ring, I give myself to you, and with all that I have and all that I am, I make you my wife.”
The final words were spoken. A quiet murmur of approval passed through the chapel. Sebastian inclined his head and pressed a reverent kiss to her brow—a gesture tender, restrained, and unmistakably intimate.
“Hello, wife,” he whispered.
“Hello, husband.”
They turned to face the congregation, hands clasped, faces alight with happiness. Cecilia saw the Dowager discreetly dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Helena beamed without restraint. Evan grinned with open delight.
She was married. She was a duchess. She was—at last—home.
***
The wedding breakfast was held in the great hall of Ashworth Hall.
The tables had been arranged with the Dowager’s customary precision, laden with every delicacy the kitchens could produce. Champagne flowed freely. Toasts followed—some polished, some meandering, all sincere.
Cecilia sat beside Sebastian at the head table, still scarcely able to accept that this was now her life. That these people were her family. That this great, gracious house was her home.
“You are unusually quiet,” Sebastian observed, leaning close.
“I am attempting to commit everything to memory. In case I wake up tomorrow and discover it was all a dream.”
“If it is a dream, then we share it—which suggests it may, in fact, be real.”
“That is not how dreams behave.”
“How can you be certain?” he countered lightly. “Perhaps dreams are simply shared illusions, so convincing that we cannot distinguish them from reality.” He smiled. “If so, I hope we never wake.”
“Nor do I.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a brief kiss to her gloved fingers, then returned his attention to the toasts.
Evan rose to speak, glass in hand, and launched into an address composed largely of mortifying anecdotes from Sebastian’s youth. Laughter rippled through the hall. Sebastian endured it with admirable composure, occasionally offering corrections that only sharpened the humour.
“And so,” Evan concluded, “I welcome Cecilia into our family. You have assumed a considerable burden in marrying my brother. He is obstinate, opinionated, and firmly persuaded of his own infallibility.” A pause, and then his tone softened. “But he is also the finest man I know—and I have never seen him happier than he has been since he met you.”
The applause was immediate. Sebastian rose to embrace his brother. Cecilia felt tears slip down her cheeks—tears of joy, freely shed.
“Speech!” someone called. “The bride must speak!”
Cecilia glanced at Sebastian. He nodded, encouragement plain in his eyes. She stood, her hands trembling faintly.
“I am unpractised in public address,” she began. “For much of my life, I was taught to be unnoticed—to want little, expect less, and take up as little space as possible.” She paused. “Then I met Sebastian. And he looked at me—truly looked—and saw someone worth knowing. Someone worth loving.”
She turned toward her husband. “You gave me myself again. You reminded me that I was permitted to hope, to desire, to reach for happiness even when it seemed beyond me. You believed in me when I had forgotten how.”
Her voice faltered, but she continued. “I come to this marriage with few of the advantages the world so readily esteems. But I bring this—” She laid a hand over her heart. “A heart entirely yours. And I promise to spend my life striving to be worthy of the faith you have placed in me.”
The room rang with applause. Sebastian drew her into his arms.
“You are already worthy,” he murmured. “You always have been.”
“I am learning to believe it.”
“Excellent,” he replied softly. “Because I intend to spend the rest of our lives reminding you.”
