“That was a beautiful ceremony.”
“Yours shall be grander, I will make sure of that.”
“Must you? Cassandra has told me that she will instruct you to do as I please.”
George could not help but chuckle at that. He was pleased that it had always been the two of them, for his sister was convincing enough without having someone agree with her.
Then the Dowager approached. George braced himself instinctively before remembering that the tension of previous weeks had subsided. It had not all been forgotten, but it had been forgiven, and his grandmother was trying, which was all that Cassandra had wanted.
She regarded Cassandra for a long moment, not critically, but thoughtfully.
“You carry the family name now,” she said.
“I understand the weight of it,” Cassandra replied quickly.
The Dowager’s lips curved gently upward. George had rarely seen her smile, but he liked it. It softened her immensely.
“And I believe you are strong enough to bear it.”
George felt the subtle shift. It was not said in reluctant acceptance. At last, Cassandra had her approval, and though it never would have made a difference to him he knew that it meant the world to her.
The Dowager turned to him.
“You have chosen well,” she acknowledged. “You were right, George. I misjudged her spirit. I should have known that you could be trusted to make your own way.”
Cassandra glanced between them, slightly bewildered by the exchange. She knew that everything had changed, but she was still surprised to witness it, which George could not help but find endearing.
“You have my support,” the Dowager told her plainly. “There is nothing more to it than that.”
Something in Cassandra’s posture softened at that.
During the wedding breakfast, speeches were waited for with a certain thrill. George stood first. He had prepared remarks, but when he looked at Cassandra seated beside him, he abandoned most of them. There was little use in what he had rehearsed when he wanted to speak from his heart.
“I have been told,” he began, “that marriage is an act of trust. I have not always been a man inclined toward trust, yet today I stand grateful to myself for trying. I am also grateful not only for the presence of our families and friends, but for the lady who has agreed to share this title, this estate, and this future.”
He paused, then turned to Cassandra directly.
“I do not promise perfection. I promise effort, and that will never change.”
The guests applauded, some of the older ladies sniffling into their handkerchiefs, and he sat. Cassandra rose after him.
“I have been told,” she said carefully, copying him teasingly, “that a duchess must be composed, capable, and endlessly gracious. I am not certain I possess all those qualities, but I can promise honesty, and I promise that Sherton Manor will not lack for music. Whether that is a good thing or not remains to be seen.”
There was laughter, genuine laughter, but George knew that it could only be a good thing. He could not wait to hear her play her violin again, and to watch her realize that she truly was talented.
As the meal progressed, George found himself observing traits in her that he had not seen before. She conversed easily with villagers and peers alike, and she did not cling to him for reassurance, nor did she distance herself either. When their hands brushed beneath the tablecloth, neither withdrew. They remained beside one another, and it was a greater comfort than George ever would have expected to feel.
Later, when the formalities lessened and guests dispersed into smaller clusters, he found himself alone with her briefly near the terrace doors.
“It is done,” she said softly.
“Yes. We are married.”
“Do you regret it?”
The question was direct, and he had not expected for her to ask it.
“No,” he answered. “Do you?”
