“Well, are you ready to get married?” Rose asked from the other side of the bedroom. The cousins had spent the previous night giggling and gossiping far too late, until they fell asleep, just like old times.
“I suppose I can’t put it off any longer,” Poppy joked, feeling a tinge of melancholy. She truly would be putting her childhood away forever.
“There’s nothing to fear. Marriage is really quite wonderful if you have the right person at your side.”
“As you do with Adrian.”
Rose smiled. “I have no complaints. And he’s delighted that Carlos was able to win you at last, because it means that we’ll all remain linked, despite the distance between us.”
“Of course we shall. I have already promised Mama that I’ll visit as often as I can. Every year if possible.”
“Oh, Poppy, don’t make plans like that yet. You’ve got to settle in at your new home, and who knows? You may be breeding too much to set sail very often.”
“Nonsense. We’ve decided to delay having any children until we’re both ready. And that won’t be for years. We got this whole matter of a nation’s independence to settle first.”
“But with you stepping up, that will be sorted in a few months,” Rose said with gratifying confidence. “I overheard Carlos and Adrian talking yesterday at the house. Carlos seems to think that you will be like lightning to tinder, once you start writing for his cousin’s paper.”
“La Luz,” Poppy said. “A good name. I just hope I can help make some kind of change.” Carlos’s cousin had already enthusiastically responded to the suggestion that Poppy write for La Luz, thanks to an essay she’d written—and Carlos had translated—and then sent in one of the dozens of letters back to Santo Domingo. His family and friends appeared to thrive on correspondence, which made Poppy feel quite at home.
There was a knock at the door. At Poppy’s assent, Heather, Camellia, and Daisy all popped into the bedroom (they’d slept across the hall).
“Today’s the day!” Heather cried. “Ugh, I can’t believe you’re moving to the Caribbean. It’s literally half a world away.”
“My soon-to-be husband does own a ship, you know,” Poppy pointed out. “We can return to England whenever we need to.”
“I do hope so,” Daisy said. “It’s all well and good for us to be madly in love with our spouses, but friendships are irreplaceable. We must never drift apart, even though miles will separate us from time to time.”
“Well said,” Camellia murmured.
Rose hugged Poppy tight. “Oh, I’m going to cry.”
“Save that for the wedding ceremony,” Heather advised. “Speaking of which, let’s get you ready, Poppy. We’re going to make you the most beautiful bride in all of England this year.”
A couple of hours later, a polished Poppy arrived at the selected spot. By mutual agreement of all parties, the wedding was held at the Viscount Norbury’s London home. Poppy’s parents were quite happy with that option, since the idea of holding a wedding that included a duke, viscount, and earl on the guest list was a little unnerving for even the most successful of fabric importers.
In remembrance of the events that brought them together, Poppy wore a brand-new red dress with flowers embroidered all along the hem, and seed pearls sewn along the neckline and sleeves so thickly that the top of the dress resembled pearlescent armor. Her hair was pinned up, and gold ribbon had been threaded into it by Daisy, who also lent Poppy several diamond hair pins that sparkled in the light.
Poppy walked down the aisle, surrounded by friends and family, all of whom she wanted to kiss and hug and generally wish the world to. There were the Towers, and the Metcalfes, with a very attentive Mr. Lowry nearby. Daisy and her duke were seated in a place of honor, being the most high-ranking guests (after Poppy’s parents, who needed no titles to earn their place at the front). Rose sat with Adrian, her happiness for Poppy radiating outward from her whole being. There was Heather and her Scottish husband (plus several siblings, for the MacNairs appeared to travel in packs). Camellia was there, sitting next to Mrs. Bloomfield, no doubt so they could share handkerchiefs as they waxed sentimental about school days. There were the men and women her stepfather employed, looking very much at home—despite the fact that the home belonged to a viscount. Poppy beamed at everyone, her heart overflowing.
When Carlos saw her, he looked stunned.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered when she reached him.
“Nothing. It’s just that I’m used to seeing you covered in dirt and salt water…and now you look like a queen.”
She winked at him. “Well, I make no promises as to how our little revolution will end. Perhaps I’ll claim your island for myself.”
“You could,” he breathed. “I love you.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, her heart fluttering. “I don’t need to be a queen, you know. If I’ve got your adoration, I don’t need anyone else’s.”
“We might have another ceremony in Santo Domingo,” he warned in a low voice as they turned to the minister standing at the front. “According to their letters, my family is quite devastated to miss this one, and my parents will very likely want to see me married in a Catholic Church…even though we’re already married.”
Poppy waved her hand, dismissing the issue. “I’m happy to marry you a thousand times. That implies a thousand wedding nights.”
“You’re so wise,” he murmured, kissing her.
“That’s supposed to happen at the end,” the priest reminded them, with a chuckle.
