She began the long walk down the aisle and the quartet played a lovely tune as she held her breath.
“Even though you’ve made things… difficult for your mother and me,” her father whispered, his voice so low only she could hear, “I suppose we should be grateful. The debts are paid. And we’re connected to a duke now. That’s worth something, at least.”
No apology. No acknowledgment of what they’d tried to do to her. Just cold calculation of what they’d gained from the wreckage. Eliza said nothing. There was nothing to say. They reached the altar. Her father placed her hand in Morgan’s without ceremony, then stepped back.
Morgan’s fingers closed around hers, warm, steady, real.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear, and she nearly melted then and there.
Eliza’s eyes burned with unshed tears, looking at her handsome husband, her savior. “Thank you.”
The vicar began to speak, and the ceremony passed in a blur.
Eliza heard herself making vows, to honor, to cherish, in sickness and health, and wondered if Morgan heard the tremor in her voice. If he knew how terrified she was. How grateful. How guilty.
“I do,” she whispered when asked.
“I do,” Morgan echoed, his voice steady and sure.
And then he was sliding a ring onto her finger, a simple gold band that fit perfectly, and the vicar was pronouncing them man and wife.
“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said.
Morgan hesitated for just a moment. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was chaste, brief, and somehow still managed to send heat flooding through her entire body.
When he pulled back, his eyes held a question. A promise.
Later, they seemed to say.We’ll figure this out later.
Eliza nodded almost imperceptibly.
After they had exited the chapel and were in the vestibule, the small group of guests descended upon them immediately.
“Aunt Ellie! Aunt Ellie!”
Arthur and Philip pushed through the adults, their faces alight with joy. They threw themselves at Eliza, wrapping their arms around her waist.
“We’re so happy!” Philip declared. “Now you’re Uncle Morgan’s wife!”
“Can we call you Aunt Ellie—I mean Aunt Eliza?” Arthur asked, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “Since we call Uncle Morganuncle?”
“I would be honored,” she said, her voice thick. “Absolutely honored.”
“Uncle Morgan!” Philip turned to Morgan, suddenly serious. “You have to take care of her. She’s very important.”
“The most important,” Arthur agreed solemnly.
Morgan’s expression softened in a way Eliza had never seen before. “I will. You have my word, boys.”
The boys hugged her once more, then were gently shepherded away by Miss Winslow. Imogen and Ambrose approached next, both beaming.
“Congratulations,” Ambrose said warmly, shaking Morgan’s hand. “To both of you.”
“Thank you,” Morgan replied.
“I wish you every happiness,” Imogen added, embracing Eliza carefully so as not to crush her dress. “And remember what I told you,” she whispered in Eliza’s ear. “You’re not alone in this.”
Eliza nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
