The chapel doors opened with a gentle groan, and every conversation faded into silence. Seraphine lifted her eyes towards the altar unwillingly. For one dreadful heartbeat she feared she would find it empty.
Is he there?
Foolish though the thought was, part of her still expected Damien to have reconsidered. He had spoken of duty, responsibility, obligation. None of those words resembled affection.
Yet there he stood beneath the carved oak cross, tall and immaculately dressed in black, his broad shoulders impossibly straight.
Relief swept through her so suddenly that it almost stole her strength. He had come. Of course he had come. Damien was many things, infuriating, stubborn beyond reason, but he was not a man who abandoned duty. She hated herself for doubting him, yet the fear had lingered all morning. Seeing him waiting eased a tightness she had scarcely acknowledged until it disappeared.
As she began walking down the aisle, Damien's eyes lifted to meet hers. The entire chapel seemed to vanish. She scarcely noticed the Duke of Northwick standing beside Damien wearing an expression of shameless curiosity, nor Thalia smiling through suspiciously bright eyes beside Caspian. There was only Damien. His usually unreadable face softened, imperceptibly, as his gaze travelled over her gown before settling upon the white silk scarf wrapped gracefully about her shoulders.
For the briefest moment, something flickered behind his guarded green eyes. Admiration perhaps. Or relief mirroring her own. Whatever it was, it warmed her more than the summer sun streaming through the stained glass. She found herself smoothing the scarf unconsciously. His gift rested against herskin like a silent promise. She wondered whether he noticed she had obeyed his note. The smallest corner of his mouth lifted, and somehow, she believed he had.
When she reached the altar, Damien stepped forward before anyone prompted him. Without a word he extended his hand. Seraphine hesitated only an instant before placing her gloved fingers into his. His grip was warm and steady. The simple contact soothed her racing heart far more effectively than it ought to have.
She glanced up at him. "Your Grace," she whispered.
"Sweetheart," he answered quietly. "You are here."
She fought the urge to smile too broadly. "Were you expecting otherwise?" she asked under her breath.
Damien's eyes held hers. "Given your recent habit of making impulsive decisions," he murmured, "I considered every possibility."
The vicar cleared his throat with gentle amusement. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
His measured voice filled the little chapel with quiet dignity. "Marriage is an honorable estate, instituted by God, signifying unto us the mystical union betwixt Christ and His Church."
Seraphine listened, though much of it blurred beneath the thunder of her own heartbeat.
The vicar turned first towards Damien. "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
The chapel became still. Seraphine scarcely breathed.
Damien never looked away from her. His voice, when it came, was low, unwavering, and certain. "I will."
Two simple words. Yet they settled somewhere deep inside her heart. Duty might have brought him here, but he had spoken without hesitation. That mattered.
The vicar smiled gently before turning to her. "Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"
Seraphine swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. She lifted her chin and met Damien's eyes once more.
"I will," she answered clearly.
The words came easily.
The vicar beckoned them to join hands fully. Damien turned towards her and enclosed both of her hands within his own.
"Repeat after me," the vicar instructed.
Damien spoke first, his gaze never wavering. "I, Damien Harrington, take thee, Seraphine Fairchild, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to cherish, till death us do part."
When it came to her turn, Seraphine repeated the vows steadily. As she spoke each promise, she wondered whether they would one day become more than ceremonial words.
Could affection grow where duty had planted the first seed? Could two stubborn hearts learn one another slowly?
The wedding breakfast transformed Wexford House. Long mahogany tables stretched across the grand dining hall beneath glittering crystal chandeliers, their polished surfaces laden with silver platters of roasted meats, glazed hams, smoked salmon, fresh breads, delicate pastries, preserved fruits, and towering cakes adorned with spun sugar. Footmen moved with practiced precision, filling crystal glasses with wine while a quartet played cheerful music near the tall windows overlooking the gardens.Conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glass filled every corner of the room, giving the usually disciplined house an unfamiliar warmth.
Damien stood near one of the windows with a crystal glass untouched in his hand, watching the guests mingle. Laurent laughed at something Rosaline whispered into his ear, while little Jeremy toddled determinedly between the adults before Caspian scooped him effortlessly into his arms.
