The guests arrived in elegant rolling waves, carriages bearing ladies in dove-gray and pale pistachio, gentlemen with stiff collars and sharper tongues. They offered compliments on the ‘upcoming wedding,’ meaning, of course, Lord Barrington and Mrs. Bainbridge, and told Leticia what a splendid future hostess she herself would be one day. She thanked each one politely, though some deeper part of her smiled to think how little they knew.
Her aunt, newly at peace, presided over everything with a kind of calm majesty. She floated from room to room, correcting place cards, soothing ruffled dowagers, and yet managing to place her fingertips lightly on Leticia’s shoulder each time she passed, as if anchoring them both in this moment rather than the harrowing nights they had already survived.
Leticia worked without complaint or hesitation, taking on the quiet burdens that Mrs. Bainbridge had left behind in her haste to London. Others remarked upon it with pleased approval. Leticiaherself, between the bustle and sleepless flickers of wondering if Gabriel had arrived safely, if he was eating, if he had caught a chill, rarely had a moment alone that did not ache with longing.
On the sixth evening after Gabriel’s departure, she could not sleep and wandered outside. Fog clung close to the grass, silvering everything it touched. In the distance, an owl called once. Her heart reached across the miles toward London like a lantern trying to catch fire in another man’s hand.
Come back to me,she prayed. And quickly.
The house rose on the morning of the wedding to find Sommer Castle alive with preparation. The autumn sky beyond the windows was pale blue, but within the walls, the staff moved with brisk efficiency, carrying tiers of cake, arranging champagne flutes, and stringing garlands of ivy and roses along the carved beams of the great hall. The vast hearth blazed at either end, throwing warmth across the polished floor as tables were laid with linen, silver, and crystal.
Leticia, dressed in lavender silk to stand with her aunt and welcome guests, smoothed her skirts and ignored the way her pulse skipped every time a carriage rattled up the lane.
The next coach delivered a familiar laugh before its door even opened. Her cousin Felicity spilled out in a flutter of dove-gray silk, cheeks pink from travel. “Did you think I would miss Barrington’s grand wedding?” she asked as she reached Leticia and kissed her cheek. Her gaze swept the garlands being carried past and the footmen struggling under crates of roses. “Heavens, if the flowers multiply any further, they’ll need their own pews.”
Late morning bled toward noon. Guests filled the pews in the chapel, their whispers and laughter rising like the hum of an orchestra tuning before a performance. Some speculated on delays, a misplaced reticule, a lame horse, but Leticia’s nerves wound tighter with each quarter hour.
At last, the sound of hooves on gravel reached her ears.
She turned sharply. At the crest of the drive, a small traveling carriage and two mounted riders were visible. Lord Barrington rode tall and composed. The other rider was Gabriel, looking dusty, windblown, and more beautiful than any creature had a right to be. Mrs. Bainbridge waved enthusiastically from inside.
Relief shot through her so swiftly her knees went weak.
The carriage halted. Barrington dismounted first. Gabriel handed Mrs. Bainbridge down with exaggerated gallantry. They approached to stand before the assembled guests. Murmurs stilled. Fans fluttered.
Lord Barrington stepped forward, composed and clear-voiced, as the hush of the chapel deepened.
“My esteemed friends and family. Thank you for gathering so loyally on such short notice.”
A few obliging chuckles met the understatement.
“Before I speak to personal matters, you know we were called to London by the king. I am proud to deliver news of official import.” He paused, letting the silence settle before he continued. “His Majesty has authorized the creation of a permanent military post near Sommer-by-the-Sea.”
A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd.
“The post will be led by Major Felix Townsend, whose character and service are beyond reproach. I have no doubt he will safeguard the region admirably.”
Townsend inclined his head in acknowledgment as murmurs of approval spread.
“Brave hearts have broken the Order of Shadows.” Barrington’s gaze swept the room, pausing on each of his six men. “I am honored to have led you, worked beside you, and to call each of you my friend. Now, the Brigade has earned its rest. Still, keep a weather eye. Should trouble rise again, you may find a gold coin on your doorstep when you least expect it.”
“To the Brigade,” came a shout from the guest.
“To the Brigade,” came the thundering answer.
When the quiet returned, a faint smile touched Barrington’s lips.
“And now to matters dearer to me. While in London, we paid a visit to His Majesty. Upon learning of our intentions, he made a request, rather firmly, that the archbishop marry us at once.”
A low hum of astonishment rippled through the pews.
“He delivered the order to my lady directly, before I had time to object.”
Laughter bloomed.
“It is, therefore, my great pleasure to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Barrington, Honoria Bainbridge Barrington.”
Honoria curtsied, radiant and composed. Her dimples were shameless.
