He understood so much about this wonderful woman now.
“So you see why I can’t marry you.”
He moved in closer to her, cupping her cheeks with both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I love you, Matilda Wilson. I don’t care about your birth. I care only about you. If you will do me the honor of being my wife, I will love you always.”
“Ambrose,” she whispered. “Surely?—”
“You’ve held onto this secret for so long, my love. Can you trust me to do the same? But if you want others you care about to know as well, I have no problem with that either. All I want is you, Tilly. Please say you will spend your life annoying me.”
Her laugh was more a sob, and then she was in his arms.
“Say yes,” he whispered into her hair.
“My father could have been a criminal, Ambrose.”
“I know you, Tilly. Headstrong, beautiful, challenging, and the woman I love more than life itself. I don’t want to wed some vapid maiden selected for me by her mother and mine. I want you, my little firebrand, so say yes.”
She eased back, cupping his cheeks now. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair a mess, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. “Yes.”
And then no more words were needed because he had her and she him, and the future stretched before them, filled with happiness and heated debates.
CHAPTER 29
“Thank God you decided to wed her here, Talbot. We were fearful we’d have to wait for the younger generation to grow up before we attended another wedding!”
The words had been yelled at him by Cambridge Sinclair, who was seated in the second row beside his wife and family. In fact, the entire Sinclair and Raven families took up nearly half the pews on the left side of the aisle. They’d chosen Tilly’s side this time, as she did not have much family.
“Glad I could help, Cam,” Ambrose called back.
He stood at the end of the aisle with Charles and Alex. They’d put their names in a hat, and he’d drawn out the ones who would stand beside him because Bram had insisted there were now too many men to have them all as groomsmen.
“Don’t look now, but the Crabbett Close women are all wearing lavender scarves and gloves. Mr. Greedy also,” Charles said.
“They made them at the knitting club in The Iris, Ibelieve,” Alex said, rocking back on his heels. “Nice touch that they are all matching, don’t you think? Plus, a small nod to Tilly’s late mother.”
The women were all at the end of the aisle of Ram’s donated carpet.
“I wonder that Miss Alvin can see,” Alex said.
“She is so wrapped up, only her eyes are showing,” Charles said.
“Do you have sweets, Alex?” Ambrose asked.
He sighed and pulled a twist of paper from his pocket. Ambrose and Charles took one each.
He then let his eyes wander over the guests and found his parents parting the purple-scarfed Crabbett Close residents to head for their seats.
When he’d told them what Tilly and he had decided, there had been an explosion from his mother. She’d yelled about the indignity of not marrying in a church and not having the guests she wanted. Cissa had pointed out that it was Tilly and Ambrose’s wedding, and she had no say in what they did.
After several harsher words, she’d told them she refused to go, to which Ambrose had said that it was of course her prerogative.
“Your mother looks happy,” Charles said in his ear.
In fact, Lady Chippington looked like she was sucking a sour lemon drop. Her nose was raised, and the feather in her new burgundy hat was quivering with indignation. The long matching coat she wore fluttered behind her as she stalked down the aisle.
“Lady Chippington, how lovely you look!”
His mother spun on her pale grey leather shoes to glare at whoever had dared to speak to her and encountered the Duke and Duchess of Raven, seated beside the Marquis and Marchioness of Braithwaite.
