Page 172 of The Earl She Once Saved

No one had the right to give it for her or take it away.

Epilogue

On the morning Win married Ezra, frost silvered the churchyard wall and every branch above it.

Verity stood beside her in the little room behind the church. The window did not close tightly, and cold air found its way around the frame. Win wrapped a shawl over her wedding gown while Cordelia fastened the last button at her wrist. It was a simple gown of cream wool, made by a seamstress in the village. Win refused anything less practical for a morning in December.

“You may take the shawl off now,” Aunt Cordelia urged.

“In a moment.”

“You have said that three times.”

“I expect to say it again.”

Verity smiled. Win had managed servants, creditors, leaking roofs and the whole disordered household after Roland’s return. She could still be made nervous by the thought of walking twenty paces down a church aisle.

The gown suited her. Its sleeves fitted neatly, and a sprig of winter greenery rested in her hair. She insisted on dressing herself, but when Verity came in, she had been trying to pin the same cuff for several minutes. Verity took the pin from her and finished the work.

“There,” she whispered.

Win looked down at her sleeve. “You have done it more neatly than I could.”

“I have had practice following your instructions.”

“Never as much practice as I should have liked.”

Verity met her eyes in the small mirror. Win’s face softened. All morning they had spoken of gloves, buttons, and whether Ezra had remembered the rings. The things that mattered were too large to bring into such a little room.

Verity watched Win carry more than her share of worry through every hard year at Edgeworth. When there was almost no money for the household, Win found ways to make it last. When Verity could not sleep, Win left a lamp burning and never asked in the morning why it had been needed. They had begun as mistress and housekeeper. Verity could no longer remember when Win became the person she most trusted to tell her the truth.

“I hope you know you may change your mind,” Verity told her.

“About marrying Ezra?”

“About the shawl.”

Win laughed. It steadied her enough to remove it. Aunt Cordelia folded it over her arm, and the church bell began to ring.

Through the window, Verity could see people crossing the churchyard. Tunstall walked carefully over the frosted stones with his wife on his arm. Mr. and Mrs. Coombes followed, with their youngest son between them, well enough now to run ahead until his mother called him back. Harris held the gate for a pair of maids who had come from Edgeworth. More people had made the journey down the hill than Win expected.

“You told only a few,” she mused.

Verity smiled. “They told others.”

“I hoped to arrive without half the county watching.”

“You have a great many friends.”

Win looked at the figures entering the church. “I suppose I do.”

Verity saw what surprised her. Win had spent years making certain there was room for everyone else: a warm meal for a groom coming in late, clean linen for a sick child brought up from the village, a place at the fire for Ezra when his leg troubled him. Today, those people came for her.

Aunt Cordelia went ahead with the shawl. Verity offered her arm, and Win took it.

Inside, the church smelled of beeswax and cold stone. Someone had placed branches of holly along the pew ends. Sunlight came through the narrow windows and caught the red berries. The congregation turned as Win entered.

Ezra waited at the front beside Rafe. His cane rested lightly in one hand. He put no more weight on it than he needed to. All his attention was on Win. Verity had seen him brave about pain, quick with a joke when the stairs defeated him. She had never seen him quite so openly afraid of missing a single moment.