Bess piped up. “He seems very solemn. He is nothing like your lovely Tobias, Fee. Are they really related?”
“Oh, he is harmless,” Adriana answered, leaning in a bit closer to whisper. “Though the vicar might disagree. The earl has been chewing his ear off about the passage for today’s service and how—did he know?—the translation from the Greek leaves much to be desired.” She grinned. “It is just as well you know your classical languages so well, Fee. No doubt your new household will be filled with lively debate.”
“I would enjoy that, I think,” said Sophia, panting a little.
As they neared the entrance, Lord Carthige detached himself from the small gathering and strode smartly up to the bride. He offered a stiff bow, his hand upon his heart.
“Miss Grant. An honor. Mr. Grant, my sincere congratulations.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Sophia’s father answered. “I’m afraid I have not been much of a neighbor to you, or anyone, for that matter.”
“It is nothing,” Lord Carthige replied kindly. “I’ve been told I am an even greater hermit than yourself. But I shall not mind if the new lady of the house wishes to have guests. As long as I am not expected to receive them. My library and my study are sufficient for my needs. Mr. and Mrs. Mannerly may make what they want of the rest. During my lifetime, at least.”
“Do you hear that, Fee?” Adriana nudged Sophia. “Mrs. Mannerly is to be lady of the house.”
“Mrs. Mannerly is yet to be made,” their father reminded them. “Let’s get you all inside before her husband-to-be wonders what has become of her.”
Freddy collected Adriana, and Lord Carthige offered his arm to young Bess. Sophia imagined it took every ounce of restraint for Bess not to squeal with delight. The vicar waited for them to find their seats, then he gestured for Sophia to enter.
She turned to her father. “I must do this on my own, Papa.”
He patted her hand, then wiped a stray tear from his eye. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. But I will still be here whenever you need me.” He reached over and kissed her brow. One last squeeze of her hand, and he set her free.
At the far end of the church, Tobias waited, his eyes trained on the door. The moment Sophia’s father walked away from her, Tobias began to rush forward, ready to take his place. Then he pulled up, as if by invisible reins. He folded his hands in front of him and waited.
Sophia took a deep breath, placing one foot gingerly in front of the other. It was perhaps twenty paces between them. They happened in complete silence. She felt buoyed up by a wave of encouraging thoughts that flowed from all present. Her eyes remained on Tobias as each step took her closer to him. She could see him almost vibrating with the urge to help her, and yet he stood still. With each step, she was more sure of herself, more certain of the man she was walking toward.
At last, they were but a breath apart.
“You beautiful miracle!” he exclaimed, just loudly enough for her to hear. “I always knew there was nothing you couldn’t do. I am such a lucky…”
Sophia quickly put her finger upon his lips. “Your miracle is about to collapse in the aisle. Help me to a seat by the altar.”
Together, they covered the last few steps. Sophia sank into the chair with some relief. Tobias did not release her hand.
“I am all right,” she whispered up at him. “You can let go now.”
“I have no intention of letting go,” he answered. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Good.”
Tobias smiled down at her. She leaned her cheek against the back of his hand.
Yes, she thought as he caressed her skin softly with his thumb,it is all so very, very good.And if the rest of her life was anything like this one moment, nothing could be better.
Epilogue
The September sunshone brightly upon Rome, and the Spanish Steps in particular, coating their marbled form in a creamy hue. Tobias stepped out onto the balcony of their second-story villa, overlooking the midpoint of the steps where they curved and divided. The table had been laid for breakfast. Sophia was dusting the flakes of a croissant from her fingers. His uncle was sipping coffee and working his way through a small pile of correspondence.
“Is there anything left for me?” Tobias teased as he pulled a chair up as close to his wife as he could without crowding her.
Sophia’s eyes, like the rest of her, lit up at his nearness. Her cheeks, tanned and rosy from her recent weeks outdoors, plumped with good food and wine, creased into a wide smile.
“I have buttered a croissant for you,” she said, “but did not want to pour your coffee, lest it get cold. Shall I do so now?”
Tobias gathered her hand to his lips. “Are these the fingers that will pour for me?” he asked while planting kisses upon them.
“Not if you hold them ransom.” She laughed. But she did not pull them away.
