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“It is one thing to desire paradise. Quite another to walk through its gates with open eyes.”

Impressions of England by an Unrepentant Foreigner

DECEMBER 7, 1821

“What about a special license? How long would it take to procure?”

The baron cocked his head thoughtfully. “Given my rank, I believe we could secure it within a day or two. Simon arranged for Vicar Stone to conduct his ceremony in the garden, so we might call upon him to perform the service. However, it would require that you convert formally to the Church of England.”

“I am already baptized in the church,” Marco replied. “My mother converted before marrying my father during their time in England, and we attended Anglican services in Florence.”

The baron’s brows lifted, clearly pleased by this revelation. “That is excellent.”

“But … I should like Madeline and Simon to attend,” Molly interjected, to Marco’s frustration.

He struggled to banish thoughts of her nearness. He was determined to give her heart’s desire, but sending word for Simon and his bride to return could take up weeks at this time of year.

Molly must have noticed his agitation, her fingers reaching out to touch his. He glanced down to find she had made sure the folds of her skirt disguised the motion.

“I cannot wait that long, mia bella.”

Molly colored, and her lashes dropped to fan her cheeks.

“Oh.” She sounded rather pleased.

“We should send word for them that it is safe to come home, I suppose,” mused John. “It seems the danger has finally passed.”

Marco nodded. “I sent a letter this morning.”

“Then summon our man of business. I shall have him procure the special license. A letter from me should be sufficient to persuade the archbishop. I will explain that it is a matter of urgency to secure your position in England because of my health. We must present a unified family front, and your marriage to an Englishwoman will be advantageous to establishing your place within high society and strengthening your claim to the title.”

Molly leaned forward, her lovely face creased with concern. “I thought your health was improving.”

The baron grinned with a mischievous glint. “I am, but he does not know that, does he?”

Marco rose from his place to ring for a servant, eager to set their plans in motion now that his course was clear.

Molly. My future is Molly.

He pressed a hand briefly to his cheek, faintly embarrassed by how thoroughly she had occupied his thoughts. This wedding could not happen fast enough.

Molly and Miss Dubois were getting along rather better since Marco’s intervention. The servant’s skills were far more suited to the office of lady’s maid, and she did excellent work in that capacity. In fact, Molly was on the verge of tears as she examined the gown she had chosen for her wedding vows, which the servant had retrieved from storage and refreshed for the evening’s ceremony. It was the gown she had purchased with her mother when they had planned to finally bring her out in society, and she had never worn it, because shortly after ordering it, Molly had entered deep mourning for her beloved parent.

Lawks!

She pressed a lacy square to dab at the tears, which no longer threatened but had already escaped her restraint. How she wished her mother could have lived to see this day. Then Molly realized that, had her mother not been called to glory, she would not have come to reside in the baron’s household. And without the macabre events of recent weeks, she would not have met Marco. Everything that had transpired had led to this moment, where she found herself weeping like a ninny over a pretty garment.

From the ashes of the past, they would fashion something new.

“Ah, you will be beauteeful in zis!” The exuberant declaration from Claudette Dubois was unexpected but appreciated. For once, she agreed with her French poodle, who had become quite tolerable over the past day.

“We shall see.”

Miss Dubois assisted her, buttoning the bodice and tweaking the folds and sleeves, until she bobbed her head to the mirror in satisfaction.

Molly shut her eyes, hoping that the gown would not disappoint now that she was in it, a key component of the final presentation. Turning toward the mirror, she glanced up and gasped with awed delight.