They enjoyed the delicacies, still chattering away. To think, tomorrow he would be able to take Georgie into his bed. He was counting the hours until he could take her in his arms and show her just exactly how much he loved her.
*
The little stonechurch nestled just outside the village gleamed inthe morning light, its weathered arches softened by garlands of spring blossoms. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting golden patterns over the polished pews and flickering across the stone floor like blessings. The air was sweet with the scent of apple blossoms and old stone, touched by the lingering fragrance of beeswax candles.
James stood at the front of the nave, hands clasped behind his back, his heart thudding like a drum in his chest. The cool morning air from the open doors raised gooseflesh along his arms, but he barely noticed.This is real, he told himself, the words a prayer and a promise. She’s coming. She chose me.The vicar arranged the prayer book on the lectern with quiet precision. All around him, the pews were filled with friends, neighbors, and family. Faces familiar and beloved. Sophia sat near the front, Lavinia and Cecily beside them, all four looking emotional but joyful.
The doors creaked open.
A hush fell.
And then, Georgiana.
She appeared in a wash of light, her gown of soft ivory and palest gold glowing like candlelight against her skin. The silk rustled softly with each step, and her veil shimmered, pinned in place by a single rosebud. Her gaze found his immediately, steady and serene, but he caught the slight tremor in her breath, the way her fingers tightened just once on her bouquet.
And at her side, solemn and proud, walked Sebastian.
James couldn’t breathe.
The sight of his brother, leading the woman he loved down the aisle, moved him profoundly. For a moment, the years fell away—grief, loss, the long climb back from ruin. All of it dissolved in the sunlight, and in her smile.This is what redemption looks like. Sebastian bringing her to me. Me, finally worthy to receive her.
They reached the front, and Sebastian pressed Georgiana’s hand into James’s, his eyes glinting with quiet emotion. He leaned close, hisvoice rough with feeling. “Be happy, James.”
“Thank you,” James whispered, the words carrying the weight of everything unsaid between them. “For everything.”
Sebastian stepped back, and James turned to face Georgiana fully. She reached up with her free hand to straighten his cravat, a tender, wifely gesture that made his throat close.
The vicar began the service, his voice echoing gently through the ancient stone. James heard very little beyond the words he’d been waiting a lifetime to say.
“I, James, take thee Georgiana, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
Her voice, clear but trembling slightly, followed. “I, Georgiana, take thee James, to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
And then, it was done. After months of yearning and longing, she was his wife.
When the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, James did not hesitate. He reached for her veil with shaking fingers, lifted it, and kissed her gently. He would save passion for later that night. For now, he wanted his friends and family, as well as the lady before him, to know how he worshiped her.
James and Georgiana turned to face the congregation. Married at long last.
He bent his head and whispered, “Shall we go home, Lady Ashford, and celebrate?”
“Yes,” she whispered back, smiling through her tears.
They stepped out into the waiting spring, the air sweet with blossoms and possibility, the bells ringing their promise through the hills.
*
The reception spilledfrom the gardens into the orchards, where long trestle tables groaned beneath platters of roast beef and lamb, glazed ham studded with cloves, and golden capons that had been turning on spits since dawn. Bowls of creamed turnips and buttered parsnips sat alongside trenchers of fresh bread, wheels of aged cheese, and jellies that caught the light like amber. The wedding cake—a towering confection of almond paste and candied fruits soaked in brandy—held court at the center table, surrounded by smaller sweet treats: syllabubs, marchpane, and delicate biscuits dusted with sugar.
Bunting and paper lanterns swayed overhead, casting gentle light as dusk settled over the celebration. The air was sweet with the scent of roasting meat, fresh herbs, and lavender from the nearby hedgerows, all mingling with the warm laughter of guests and the lively strains of a small country ensemble. Two violins, a flute, and a cello played beneath a rose-draped awning, their music weaving through conversations and the gentle clink of pewter cups filled with ale and wine.
Villagers sat alongside manor staff at the long tables, social distinctions softened by the joy of the occasion. The baker’s wife shared stories with one of the parlor maids, while old Tom from the stables raised his cup in yet another toast to the newlyweds. Children darted between the tables, their faces sticky with honey cakes, while their mothers called gentle warnings that went largely unheeded.
Cecily and Nathaniel had claimed a spot near the musicians, tapping their feet to the rhythm as they shared a plate of syllabub. Lavinia held court with a cluster of village women, all of them debating the merits of various hat feathers with the serious consideration usually reserved for matters of state. Mrs. Ellsworth sat with the vicar’s wife and several townspeople, her cup of tea in hand, offering gentle smiles to everyone who passed. Mrs. Honeycutt was not shy, flitting about,taking compliments about her food as if she expected nothing less. Even Isherwood looked marginally relaxed, though he still supervised the servers with the careful eye of a man who believed celebration was no excuse for slovenly service.
As the evening deepened, couples began to gather before the makeshift dance area that had been cleared near the musicians. The fiddlers struck up a country dance, and soon the space filled with whirling skirts and stomping feet as villagers and gentry alike joined hands in the familiar steps.
James stood at the edge of it all, his glass forgotten in his hand.
