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“Of course, Your Grace.”

Grinning like a cheeky schoolboy, Stanford faced his staff. “May I present your new mistress, my wife, Ophelia, the Duchess of Asherford?”

A polite smattering of applause and broad smiles met her as the staff acknowledged their master’s new wife.

Well, at least they were a friendly lot.

Ophelia glanced upward, meeting Stanford’s confident gaze.

He bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Nervous, love?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I confess, I am a bit.”

“I’m here. You needn't fear anything.” Drawing Ophelia closer, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her toward her new home.

To a new life. A life and a future with him.

Her tummy fluttered in giddy anticipation.

The truth slammed into Ophelia with such force that she stumbled.

At once, he steadied her. “All right?”

Incapable of speech because of the epiphany that nearly knocked her over, she somehow fashioned a smile and managed a jerky nod.

Heaven and all of the divine creatures abiding there.

Ophelia didn’t just like Stanford. Indeed, she might very well be falling in love with him.