It amused him greatly, and so when he closed the gap entirely and kissed her, he was grinning. She melted into it, falling against him with not an ounce of restraint. She did not think to chastise herself for waiting so long, for she was simply grateful to herself for letting herself be vulnerable. He would not hurt her again, and she had been right to believe in that.
When they pulled apart, she was dizzy, and he held her steady. They laughed at themselves for it, and after a moment she was content to stand for herself again. She could not stop smiling, and she could see that he was the same. They were happy, truly happy, and it was only going to grow from there. She was going to be a wife.
It had once been the very last thing she had once wanted to be, but now she wanted nothing more than for it to be her wedding day. She was in love, and that had changed her entirely.
And yet, she had never felt more herself.
Epilogue
George had imagined his wedding day many times in his life. In none of those imaginings had he been calm.
Yet when the morning came, calm was precisely what he felt; not joy, not dread, not even the iron discipline he usually relied upon. It had all been replaced by something steadier, something chosen, and it had made all of the difference.
He stood before the long window of his dressing room, watching the early light spill across the grounds of Sherton Manor. They had agreed to be married within the week, and had thought that not much would therefore be known of their arrangements, but of course word traveled quickly even in the countryside. A duke’s wedding was spectacle enough to draw attention even without scandal.
He adjusted his cuffs himself, smiling into the mirror.
Marriage had never been a true desire of his. It had been an expectation, a necessity if he planned to continue his family line, but nothing more. He had prepared to endure it one day. He had not expected to anticipate it.
A knock came.
“Enter.”
Philippa stepped inside, dismissing the servant behind her with a soft gesture. She studied him carefully, as though she were searching for cracks in his exterior. Given all that had happened, he could not blame her for that, but the truth was that he could not have been happier.
“You look intolerably composed,” she said.
“I slept,” he replied. “Surprisingly enough, that has been possible of late.”
“That is rather interesting of you.”
“You seem to be searching me for something. Are you nervous on my bride’s behalf?”
“I am hopeful,” she corrected. “And in all honesty, I am also rather excited about that.”
Hopeful. It was not a word often associated with him, but if that was how he was to be seen then it was a welcome change. There had been many changes since he had met Cassandra Burrow, and all of them were ones that he was grateful for.
“Is she well?” he asked.
Philippa’s expression warmed.
“She is. That surprised me, for between the two of you there is always some sort of excitement. That is why I was studying you, if you must know. The two of you both being at peace struck me.”
“It should not.”
Philippa tilted her head.
“No, I suppose it should not. In any case, I shall soon adapt to that.”
When she left, the quiet returned. George took one last look at himself in the mirror. He saw the Duke of Sherton at last, a man who had once sworn he would never allow sentiment to dictate his future, but had eventually seen sense and understood that there was one thing that he could not outrun.
The church bells began, his signal to leave.
The ride there passed in contented silence. The village had gathered outside the church in polite clusters, hats lifted, heads bowed as he entered. It was an intimate event, just as they had wanted, but that had not meant that they would be alone.
He took his place at the front of the church.
The interior was unchanged; narrow windows and polished pews that he had to confess he had studied at church more than what was being read to him. His parents had stood there once before. Their vows had echoed in the same space.
