"It's not meant to be reassuring. It's meant to be honest. You're difficult, dramatic, and occasionally impossible, but Clara knows that and loves you anyway, which makes her either a saint or slightly mad herself."
"Probably the latter."
"Definitely the latter, but it's a compatible madness, which is the best anyone can hope for in marriage."
The ride to the church was both eternal and instant. Gabriel found himself cataloguing every detail, the way the morning sun caught on frost, the fact that someone had cleared the road of debris, the small clusters of villagers already heading toward the church dressed in their finest.
"They're all coming to bear witness,” Gabriel observed.
"Of course they are. The mysterious scarred duke taking his housekeeper as his wife after a courtship that included public proposals, family confrontations, and enough scandal to fuel gossip for the next decade?”
"I hate being a spectacle."
The church came into view, and Gabriel's stomach performed an elaborate acrobatic routine that would have been impressive if it weren't so nauseating.
They pulled up to the church, and Gabriel could see it was already fuller than he'd expected. Not just the villagers but neighboring gentry, some London faces he recognised, and…
"Is that Miss Ashworth?" Gabriel asked, spotting the young woman near the entrance.
"Penelope had insisted on attending. She said watching true love triumph over family machination was better than any novel."
"And her parents?"
"Conveniently elsewhere. I believe Edmund arranged for them to receive urgent news about an investment opportunity in Scotland that required immediate attention."
"You bribed them to leave?"
"I provided alternative incentives for their absence. There's a difference."
Gabriel climbed from the carriage, trying not to notice how many eyes were upon him. The crowd parted as he walked toward the church, whispers following in his wake:
"Look at his scar…" "Still handsome though…" "Can't believe he's marrying the housekeeper…" "Heard she's an heiress now…" "Heard other things about their courtship…"
Edmund's hand on his elbow steered him through the church doors before he could respond to any of the gossip, which was probably for the best since his responses would have ranged from sarcastic to violent.
The church interior was transformed. Someone, probably Mrs. Potter and Mary had decorated with winter roses and holly, creating something both elegant and wild, much like Clara herself. The pews were full of faces both friendly and curious, all turned toward him as he walked to the altar.
The vicar, Mr. Thornbury, stood waiting with an expression that suggested he'd been thoroughly briefed on the possibility of drama and was prepared to perform the ceremony at speed if necessary.
"Your Grace," he said quietly as Gabriel took his position. "Any concerns I should be aware of?"
"Beyond my general unsuitability for matrimony and tendency toward dramatic declarations at inappropriate moments?"
"I was thinking more of potential interruptions from disapproving relatives."
"Lady Agatha won't show. She's too proud to witness what she considers my downfall."
"And Lord Pemberton?"
"Has been thoroughly handled by Edmund, who apparently has enough blackmail material to keep him cowering in his estate for the foreseeable future."
"Excellent. Then we should have a straightforward ceremony."
Gabriel laughed, slightly hysterical. "Nothing about Clara and me has ever been straightforward."
"No, but that's what makes it interesting."
Edmund took his position as best man, and Gabriel tried to calm his racing heart. The church was warm, almost stifling with all the bodies packed in, and he could hear the whispers building like a wave:
