"I am not going to faint." Vanessa accepted the glass gratefully. "I am simply... overwhelmed."
"Understandably so. You are a duchess now." Helena's eyes sparkled with mischief. "How does it feel?"
A duchess. Vanessa Hale, Duchess of Montehood. It still did not feel real.
"Ask me again in a week," she said. "When I have had time to process it."
"Fair enough." Helena clinked her glass against Vanessa's. "In the meantime, congratulations. You have achieved what half the young ladies in London have been attempting for years."
"I did not set out to catch a duke."
"No. You set out to cherish one, which is far more difficult." Helena's expression softened. "I am happy for you, Van. Truly. You deserve this."
Before Vanessa could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew her attention. She looked up to see Aunt Bertha holding court by the champagne fountain, surrounded by a captive audience of society matrons.
"…and I said to myself, 'Bertha, those letters must reach him.' A woman's intuition, you understand. I simplyknewthat if he read her true feelings, everything would fall into place."
"How remarkably perceptive of you," Lady Haberton said, her tone hovering somewhere between impressed and skeptical.
"Well, I have always had a gift for seeing what others cannot." Aunt Bertha preened, adjusting the elaborate plume in her hair, the plume that marked her place of honor, as Martinhad promised. "Some might call it meddling. I prefer to think of it as... divine guidance."
"She has been telling that story to everyone who will listen," Helena murmured. "I believe the version I heard earlier included a prophetic dream and possibly an angel."
Vanessa bit back a laugh. "Let her have her moment. She has earned it."
"Has she, though? From what I understand, she sent those letters entirely by accident."
"Yes. But without her accident, none of this would have happened." Vanessa watched her aunt gesture expansively, nearly knocking the champagne glass from a nearby footman's hand. "Sometimes the best things come from our mistakes."
"How very philosophical." Helena raised her glass. "To mistakes, then. And to the happiness they accidentally create."
They drank.
Across the room, Vanessa spotted Martin extracting himself from a conversation with Lord Haberton. He caught her eye, raised an eyebrow, and began making his way toward her with the determined stride of a man who had endured quite enough polite small talk.
"If you will excuse me," Vanessa said to Helena, "I believe my husband requires rescuing."
"Your husband." Helena grinned. "I do not think I shall ever tire of hearing you say that."
Neither would Vanessa.
She met Martin halfway, and his hand found the small of her back immediately, a possessive gesture that sent warmth spreading through her.
"Lady Haberton wants to know our plans for the nursery," he said, his voice low. "I told her we had not yet discussed it. She informed me that we should begin discussing it immediately, as I am not getting any younger."
"You are nine-and-twenty."
"Apparently that is quite advanced, in Lady Haberton's estimation." His lips twitched. "She also mentioned that her niece's husband fathered twins at our age, which I believe was meant to be encouraging but came across as vaguely threatening."
Vanessa laughed. "Welcome to matrimonial life, Your Grace."
“I fear I was quite insensible to the true nature of the obligations I so readily accepted.”
But his eyes were warm, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her back. "Dance with me?"
"Now? In the middle of the breakfast?"
"Why not? It is our wedding. We can do whatever we wish." He drew her toward the small space that had been cleared for dancing. "Besides, I have been waiting six years to waltz with you as my wife. I refuse to wait a moment longer."
