“I’m not,” she lied, clutching her bouquet a little tighter.
He leaned in, a rare softness in his voice. “You’re sure, then? Last chance to make a run for it.”
Charlotte laughed, the sound barely audible beneath the organ’s swell. “Very sure,” she whispered back. “Now hush, or I’ll trip just to spite you.”
Felicity and Miranda moved gracefully ahead of her down the aisle, pale gowns catching the light, their matching smiles steady and composed. Charlotte followed, and suddenly hundreds of eyes were on her. She kept her chin up, but the weight of all that expectation pressed heavily against her chest.
Until she saw him.
Henry stood at the end of the aisle, tall and impossibly handsome in his dark coat, his expression unreadable to anyone but her. But she saw it—the flicker of awe, the softness, the way his breath caught as she stepped closer. The world around her blurred into silence. There was only him.
As they approached, she noticed a man seated inconspicuously in the back pew, hair touched with silver and posture a little too upright for a disinterested guest.
Henry’s father.
He gave her a small, respectful smile, and she returned it. He and Henry had been getting to know each other over the past few weeks, and Charlotte had been included in that. Elias was a good man, and his face as he watched her and his son glowed with pride.
The dowager duchess had taken a while to come to terms both with the fact he was alive and with the prospect of having him in their lives. Apparently, the late duke had never told her about the money he had given Elias and had informed her some months after Henry’s birth that Elias had perished in the course of his new career at sea.
Fortunately, she seemed to be warming to him. Charlotte suspected that shock and embarrassment had made her cold toward him in the beginning but that might change with time.
William stopped just short of the altar and looked down at her, all mischief gone from his face. “You’re certain,” he said again, very quietly.
“I am,” she replied.
He let out a breath, then took her hand and placed it in Henry’s. His fingers closed around hers, steady and warm.
“You look like a dream,” Henry murmured. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, breathless.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Vows exchanged. Rings slipped into place. Her heart, she was certain, had never beat so loudly.
When they emerged into the sunlight outside, the cheers of the crowd seemed far away. Henry bent his head toward her, his lips brushing her ear.
“You’re mine now, Duchess of Arundel.”
“And you’re mine,” she said, unable to stop the smile from overtaking her face.
They took a carriage to her family’s home for the wedding breakfast, which was a blur of toasts, laughter, and far too many speeches. Charlotte nodded and tried to be gracious, but her mind was elsewhere—on the promise of privacy, of quiet, of being alone with her husband. She was excited but nervous.
What if she did something wrong?
She knew the bare bones of what happened between a man and woman on their wedding night, but that was all. And none of her friends were married, so she couldn’t ask for their help.
No, she realized,shewould be the one they would come to for advice.
At last, the carriage rolled them away from her former home and toward Henry’s London townhouse. As the streets passed by in a haze, her hand stayed firmly clasped in his the whole time.
When they arrived, the staff stood lined up, all tidy smiles and welcoming bows. Charlotte did her best to seem composed, offering kind words and polite thank-yous. Henry made quick introductions, his arm a firm, reassuring weight around her waist.
As soon as the last of the formalities was seen to, he swept her up into his arms without preamble.
“Henry!” she gasped, half laughing, half scandalized.
“Tradition,” he said with a grin. “Don’t tell me you expect me to let you walk upstairs on your wedding night.”
She looped her arms around his neck, heart thudding wildly. “Only if you promise not to drop me.”
