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The crowd pressed close to the carpeted walkway, their voices merging into an overwhelming hum. A woman reached forward to view her dress, while gentlemen lifted their hats to catch a glimpse of the duke's bride. Adelaide's heart hammered against her ribs, the loud noise blurring her surroundings.
Before her, the broad stone steps led up to the open oak doors of the parish church, where the interior sanctuary waited in shadow.
Halting at the base of the steps, Adelaide found herself suddenly unable to take another step forward.
"Adelaide?" Verity asked softly from her side.
"Are you unwell, cousin?" Octavia inquired with sudden urgency.
"Merciful heavens," Lady Beatrice murmured under her breath.
Adelaide stood frozen upon the stone steps, her breath catching as the overwhelming weight of the public spectacle, her impending marriage, and Julian's impending departure converged upon her all at once.
CHAPTER 11
"Come, my dear."
Cassian's arm settled around Adelaide's shoulders as she stood at the entrance of the sanctuary, her gloved fingers gripping her bridal bouquet until the stems bent beneath her grasp.
She looked up at her cousin. He offered a reassuring smile—the same warm expression he had worn when telling her she deserved a life of her own choosing.
"I am uncertain whether my legs will support me," she admitted softly.
"They shall," Cassian assured her smoothly. "They have carried you through far greater trials than a wedding ceremony."
"That remains open to debate."
Cassian tightened his grip slightly, guiding her toward the open oak doors. "Forward, Adelaide. One step, then another. That is all the moment requires."
She stepped across the threshold.
The sanctuary opened before her in a soft glow of candlelight and white floral arrangements. Pews lined both sides of the center aisle, filled with familiar relatives alongside figures from high society. The vicar waited at the altar in a crisp white surplice, and beside him stood Julian, tall and motionless in a dark coat and simple white cravat.
Julian turned to face her as she approached.
His expression had lost its usual guarded, aristocratic reserve. The rigid line of his jaw had relaxed into genuine warmth, softening his features completely as his blue-gray eyes fixed upon her.
A quiet relief settled over Adelaide, dispelling the lingering anxiety of the crowd outside. The curious glances of spectators and the hushed whispers of the ton vanished the instant the heavy doors closed behind her.
This is all that matters—him, my family, and the people who have stood by me.
The realization brought a steadying calm. She required no approval from curious strangers, nor did she care whether society understood the circumstances of their union. She needed only Julian waiting at the altar, Cassian's steady presence beside her, and Lucien, Charlotte, Verity, Elowen, and Octavia seated in the front pew with handkerchiefs ready.
That was more than sufficient.
Cassian guided her down the aisle with unhurried dignity. He walked with quiet pride, carrying her forward as though she were the most cherished lady in England. Reaching the altar, he lifted her hand from his sleeve and placed it carefully into Julian's keeping.
Julian's fingers closed around hers, his grip warm and steady.
Cassian leaned close to Julian's ear. "Look after her."
"I shall," Julian promised quietly.
Cassian stepped back to join the family. The vicar opened his leather prayer book, and Adelaide became acutely aware of the gathered assembly behind them—the weight of their curious stares and whispered speculation regarding the duke who had returned from foreign lands to marry an untitled gentlewoman from Kent.
Julian sensed her sudden tension. Before the vicar could initiate the service, he reached for her other hand, drawing both of her gloved hands into his own. He leaned close, near enough that she discerned the faint scent of starched linen and the small scar near his jaw.
"Do not grant strangers the authority to dictate how you remember this day," he murmured softly.
