The church erupted in quiet cheers and applause. When Sebastian and his bride stepped outside of the church, the gathered villagers burst into celebration at the sight of the newlyweds. Rose’s hand was warm in Sebastian’s as they paused on the church steps, taking in the faces of the people who had chosen to welcome them despite everything.
“Lady Ashford,” Sebastian murmured near her ear. “Are you ready for the rest of our life?”
“Lord Ashford, there has never been a bride as keen as I to start a life with the man I love.”
Together they raised their joined hands to acknowledge the cheering crowd before stepping toward the carriage that would take them home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The entire villagehad turned out for the wedding feast, transforming the gardens of Wentworth Manor into a tapestry of celebration. Under the golden light of late afternoon, long tables draped with crisp white linens groaned beneath the weight of the harvest—platters of roasted lamb studded with rosemary, golden pastries filled with late summer fruits, wheels of local cheese, and bottles of locally made wine.
The air was perfumed with the mingled scents of honeysuckle and lavender from the nearby borders, roasting meat from the kitchen fires, and the sweet fragrance of roses that climbed the manor’s stone walls. A gentle breeze carried the sound of laughter and conversation across the grounds, rustling through the ancient oak trees that provided dappled shade for the guests below.
Farmers in their Sunday best raised pewter tankards filled with local ale, toasting the newlyweds while discussing the promise of the coming harvest. Their weathered faces were animated with good humor and the unaccustomed luxury of leisure on a working day. Children in their finest clothes darted between the tables like bright butterflies, their laughter ringing out as they attempted to snatch sugared almonds and honey cakes when they thought no one was watching.
The blacksmith stood deep in conversation with the baker and the village carpenter, all three men marveling at a master who had thrownopen his gates to celebrate alongside his people rather than retreating behind manor walls.
Near the musicians—a cheerful group with fiddle, flute, and drum—young women from the village clustered together, their best ribbons fluttering in the breeze as they stole glances at young men.
Rose felt certain there would be many more love stories that would come from this day of celebration.
Constable Stephens sat at one of the long tables with his wife and children, and Rose felt a warm satisfaction seeing him relaxed and smiling. This man who had risked so much to help them find justice would always possess a piece of her heart. His youngest daughter had fallen asleep against his shoulder, worn out by the excitement and the warmth of the September afternoon.
Sebastian had barely left Rose’s side since they’d come from the chapel as husband and wife, but now he stood with Mr. Hale and several tenant farmers near the estate’s prize apple trees, already deep in discussions about expanding the orchards for next year’s cider production. His animated gestures and the farmers’ nodding heads suggested plans taking shape that would benefit them all.
Arabella appeared at Rose’s elbow, linking their arms with the easy familiarity of true friendship. “What a day this is. I am delighted for you.”
“I never thought it possible to be this happy.”
“You deserve every happiness, dear friend,” Arabella said.
They wandered toward the fragrant lavender bushes that bordered the formal gardens, their purple spikes heavy with late-season blooms that hummed with the drone of satisfied bees. From this vantage point, they could survey the entire celebration—the swirl of colorful dresses, the gleam of polished boots, the flash of silver serving platters being passed among the guests.
“How is it possible? After all the ugliness, to have a day such as this?” Rose asked.
“It’s a reminder that we must never give up hope,” Arabella said.
The late afternoon light was beginning to take on the golden quality that spoke of autumn’s approach, casting everything in a warm glow that made even the humblest cottage garden flowers look like treasures. The harvest feast was in full swing now—platters being refilled, wine flowing freely, conversations growing more animated as neighbors who rarely had time to talk at length caught up on months of news.
“Lady Rose?” Prudence hurried over, slightly breathless and flushed with excitement. Her best dress, a soft blue that complemented her eyes, was slightly rumpled from helping in the kitchens, but her smile was radiant. “Sebastian is ready to make the toast.”
Rose felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. This would be Sebastian’s first public address as Lord Ashford, the moment when he truly claimed his place as master of the estate.
She excused herself from Arabella and made her way to the stone terrace where Sebastian waited, devastatingly handsome in his wedding finery. The crowd began to gather around them, glasses and tankards raised, faces turned expectantly toward their new lord and lady.
“Thank you all for celebrating with us today,” Sebastian began, his voice carrying easily across the garden, strong and confident. “Rose and I have great plans for Wentworth Manor. Ones that will bring prosperity to our entire community. Today we celebrate not just our marriage, but a new beginning for all of us.”
A great cheer erupted, the sound rolling across the estate grounds like thunder. Tankards clinked together, wine glasses caught the last rays of sunlight, and even those who had initially been skeptical of the former gardener now looked at him with evident respect and approval.
“And now,” Rose called out, her voice bright with joy, “please dance!”
The musicians struck up a lively waltz, and Sebastian turned to her with an elegant bow that made her heart race anew. “May I have this honor, Lady Ashford?”
“You may, Lord Ashford.”
He drew her into his arms, and they moved in slow, graceful circles on the grass, their steps perfectly matched despite the unconventional dance floor. The earth was soft beneath their feet, still warm from the day’s sunshine, and Rose could smell the crushed herbs that released their fragrance with each step.
Around them, other couples joined the dance. Finch boldly asked Prudence, who accepted with a blush that rivaled the sunset, and even some of the older village couples took to the makeshift dance floor with the enthusiasm of newlyweds themselves. Children clapped in time to the music, and those too elderly to dance tapped their feet from their seats at the tables.
