She walked toward him. One step. Then another.
When they reached the front, Matthew placed her hand in Henry’s and said fiercely, “Take care of her.”
“With my life,” Henry promised.
The vicar began. Margaret heard the words as if from a distance—the same liturgy she’d heard once before in very different circumstances.
Then Henry spoke, his voice steady, his eyes never leaving hers. “I, Henry Dashfield, take you, Margaret Elizabeth Foley, to be my wife. I promise to choose you every day. To stand beside you. To be your partner, your friend, your home.”
Her vision blurred.
Then it was her turn.
“I, Margaret Elizabeth Foley, take you, Henry Dashfield, to be my husband. I promise to choose you every day. To trust you with my heart. To build a life with you—not because I must, but because I cannot imagine not doing so.”
The vicar smiled. “You may kiss your bride.”
Henry’s hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “My wife,” he murmured.
“My husband.”
Then he kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, a promise sealed.
When they broke apart, her siblings cheered, but Margaret only had eyes for Henry. For her husband.
Chosen. Wanted. Hers.
They’d invited justfamily and a few close friends to an intimate wedding breakfast. The table groaned with food, but Margaret could barely focus on anything except Henry’s hand wrapped around hers beneath the table.
Halfway through the meal, Tessie stood and cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Everyone raised their glasses.
“To the duke and duchess of Dashfield,” Tessie said, eyes twinkling. “May your marriage be filled with love, laughter, and”—she paused dramatically—“peas.”
Margaret’s head snapped up. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, we absolutely did.” Anna gestured to the table.
Margaret looked. Every single dish featured peas. Pea soup. Roasted vegetables with peas. A salad studded with peas. Even the garnish on the mutton included?—
“Peas.” Henry laughed. “They’re everywhere.”
“They’re hopeful,” Matthew said with a perfectly straight face. “And morally superior to most people we know.”
The table erupted in laughter.
Margaret pressed her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“We had to,” Tessie said. “It’s where it all started. The pea incident.”
Henry lifted his glass. “To peas. Hopeful, stubborn, and absolutely perfect, just like my wife.”
Margaret’s throat tightened as everyone drank.
“Though I have to say,” Henry added, leaning close so only she could hear, “we’ve caused quite a scandal with this menu. Peas at a ducal wedding breakfast? Unheard of.”
She turned to him, eyes dancing. “Let’s hope it’s not our first.”
