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Whatever dignity an ivory gown demanded was promptly forgotten as Eliza threw herself into his arms. Richard caught her with a laugh, and she clung to him fiercely while his arms closed around her and one hand rubbed soothingly across her back.

“How are you here?” She pulled away only far enough to look at him before immediately reaching for his face, his shoulders, his arms, patting him quite absurdly as though she required physical confirmation that he was not some elaborate trick of the candlelight.

“You know what? I do not care. I am so happy I could weep.” Her voice caught on a laugh as she turned to Richard. “I am not entirely convinced this is real.”

“I had gathered that from the inspection.” Richard said.

A laugh escaped Eliza through the tears already threatening her eyes. There would be time for questions later—hundreds of them. Richard glanced beyond her towards Cecily, who made some impatient gesture with her hand.

“I cannot wait to catch up either,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but I fear we are already running late, and your husband frightens me considerably more than Cecily does.”

“My husband?” Eliza blinked.

“Yes. Terrifying fellow. Very tall. Scar on his face. Duke. You may have encountered him.”

“Richard—”

“Questions later, Trouble.” He offered her his arm. “For the sake of my continued existence, shall we get a move on?”

Eliza stared from Richard to Cecily, then towards the thousands of candles disappearing into the darkness ahead.

Still entirely uncertain of what awaited her, Eliza slipped her left arm through Richard’s and her right through Cecily’s, and together the three of them began to follow the candlelit path.

They had gone only a short distance when music drifted through the darkness.

Eliza slowed.

An orchestra.

Somewhere beyond the reach of the candlelight, strings had begun to play softly beneath the winter sky, the melody carrying across the grounds as thousands of flames flickered around them.

And then, in the distance, she saw him.

Arthur.

He stood before the great fountain at the heart of the garden, dressed immaculately in black, surrounded by candlelight. Before him, a small collection of oak chairs had been arranged upon either side of the path, each occupied by a familiar face.

Eliza’s breath caught.

Mr Didley stood beside Arthur.

Mrs Didley was there. Laurence and Radnor. Mary. Henry. Cora. Alice. Vinnie. Mrs Clapton. John.

Every person who had, in one way or another, become part of the strange and wonderful life she now called her own was seated before her, with her husband waiting just beyond them.

By the time they reached the fountain, Eliza could barely see through the tears gathering in her eyes.

Richard pressed a kiss to one cheek.

Cecily kissed the other. Then, without explanation, they released her and took their places amongst the small congregation, leaving Eliza standing in front of her husband.

Arthur held out his hand and she placed hers into his without hesitation.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

A smile touched Arthur's mouth.

“A rather incessant bride once informed me, in considerable detail, of the wedding she had always dreamed of.”