“None of that,” Bethany said, her own eyes looking suspiciously bright.
After a watery smile and a kiss on the cheek for good luck, Bethany stepped outside, and then Greystone peered in, reaching his hand for Violet’s.
“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?” he asked, looking proud and oh, so very lovable.
She’d lost her only sister and her parents long ago, and Greystone had lost his parents as well, but the two of them had made do with one another—and Aunt Iris and Posy. They’d become a different kind of family.
And now, both of them were on the brink of expanding it.
“I’m so very glad you are here,” she told him.
“You are ready? You haven’t changed your mind about him?” Greys smiled. “Because I’ll take you back to Knight Hall if you have.”
“Oh, no. I am ready. I’ve been ready for a lifetime. And oh, Greys, I love him so much. I would have married him regardless,” she said.
Greys nodded slowly. “Then let’s put him out of his misery, shall we? I do believe he’s waiting at the altar now.”
Violet took her cousin’s hand and allowed him to lead her inside.
To Simon.
* * *
Simon had always thought he’d be sick with nerves when this moment arrived. The moment he stared down the church aisle, watching for his bride.
Instead, he felt only anticipation.
And when the organist struck up and Violet appeared with Greystone beside her, heat radiated in Simon’s chest. Marrying her brought him… joy.
He’d hoped to marry for love, a great love, but had never believed it would happen. Because any woman who married him, he’d always known, would have come to him first knowing she’d become the Duchess of Blackheart. He’d not thought it possible to separate his title from his person.
He hadn’t even realized he would want to do that.
But Violet had fallen in love with… him.
As she walked gracefully toward him, she glowed—partly from the rays of sunshine slanting across the sanctuary but also from within.
Unexpected emotion thickened his throat.
She wore a simple but elegant gown—one that suited her perfectly. Halfway to the altar, she glanced toward the pews where the guests he’d invited sat, smiling as though to welcome them all.
She’d agreed to marrying in secret, but he’d sensed a hint of sadness. Of course, she’d wanted the people she loved to be there. So, with but one day to plan, he’d invited the people who cared for both of them—those who would wish to witness this ceremony, not for their own status, or so that they could boast to their friends, but because they were happy for the two of them.
Her gaze locked with his and he forgot everything but his bride.
Joy. Unadulterated joy.
Joy at knowing she would be the person to go through life with him.
As his wife.
His duchess.
Losing that bet was the best thing that ever happened to him. But, damn, he was going to have to thank Greystone for that—despite the undignified dash they’d insisted he make.
Which, in all honesty, had been incredibly fair of them. Fair, considering all he’d been willing to sacrifice otherwise.
“Nervous?” Westerley asked from beside him.
