Her mother gasped, clutching her chest. “Your Grace… you dare speak to us thusly?”
“I do more than dare,” Sebastian replied with a hint of revulsion coloring his words. “I command. You will leave this house and live with the woman I found in Nantwich, the one Phoebe calls Aunt Celia. You will never return to London. Should you disobey, you will face my full wrath. And believe me, you do not want to see what that entails.”
Her father’s face twisted with rage and disbelief. “You will not order us in our own home! Phoebe, defend me! Support your father!”
Phoebe’s gaze met the Earl’s. She felt no pity for him and was compelled to ignore his entreaties.
But then, she decided on a different course.
“No,” she said flatly. “I will not defend your cruelty. You have never treated me as anything other than a burden, so I cannot feel sympathy for you now.”
Sebastian’s hand lifted briefly, and in a swift, precise motion, his fist struck her father squarely in the chest. The blow sent him staggering backward; the breath knocked from him.
Phoebe’s mother screamed, rushing to his side, her hands clutching at him hysterically.
Sebastian did not raise his voice, but the power behind his presence filled the room.
“He has had it coming for a long time,” he said simply. “And I will not allow him, or you, to harm the woman I love any longer.”
Phoebe stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You didn’t have to strike him,” she said softly, chiding him for his impulsive behavior.
He gave her a brief, dark smile, then stepped back, letting Phoebe stand alone in front of her parents.
Turning to her mother and father, Phoebe said in the gentlest voice she could manage, “I hope that one day, the two of you can be a family, a proper one. But you have a long way to go. Until then, I will live my life as I choose. And Sebastian will be by my side.”
Her parents could only gape, broken and silenced, as Phoebe took Sebastian’s hand. Together, they turned and exited the house. The night air felt sweet, liberating, as if the city itself exhaled its relief with her.
The carriage awaited silently at the curb. As they climbed inside, Sebastian’s hand found hers, fingers interlacing with a gentle squeeze. Phoebe leaned back against the cushions; her heart still racing, yet full, and brimming with quiet triumph.
Outside, the streets of London stretched on, and for the first time, Phoebe felt entirely free.
Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Oh, Phoebe,” Genevieve whispered, her voice almost breathless, “you look positively radiant. I cannot believe this is happening! You’re actually going to be the Duchess of Talwyn!”
Phoebe clung to her cousin, a mixture of nerves and joy swirling in her chest. “I can hardly believe it myself,” she admitted softly. “It feels… like stepping into a story.”
“Better than any story,” Genevieve said firmly, pulling back to examine her face. “You deserve every bit of happiness this world can offer. I’ve watched you struggle, and now, now it’s your turn to have it all.”
Phoebe smiled through her tears, drawing a shaky breath. “Thank you… for always being there.”
From the side of the room, Vincent, the Duke of Ravenwood stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a quiet strengththat belied his years in service, he gave Phoebe a gentle, encouraging smile.
He offered her his arm. “If you’ll allow me the honor; I would be privileged to walk you down the aisle.”
Phoebe’s chest tightened with gratitude. Her parents, uninvited and absent, could not claim their place here today. Yet Vincent’s presence brought comfort. He was Sebastian’s friend and confidant, and his strong hand was there to guide her forward.
“Thank you,” she said, slipping her hand into his.
Genevieve squeezed her once more, whispering, “Enjoy this moment. And remember, he loves you as you are.”
As Phoebe and her escort, the Duke of Ravenwood, moved toward the altar; the hush of the chapel settled around them. Verity and Percy, the Duke and Duchess of Whitestone, sat near the front, exchanging small smiles of approval.
At the altar, Sebastian waited. His emerald eyes swept the room before finally resting on Phoebe. He straightened as she approached.
The smallest flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, and just the sight of him made Phoebe’s heart thrum with anticipation. The soft gleam of candlelight reflected in his hair and eyes, illuminating the man she had come to know, beyond the title, beyond the masks, entirely his own.
