Lilianna laughed, warmth flooding her cheeks and heart.
Marcus lifted his glass. “To Lilianna,” he said, wonder and pride braided together. “A woman who walked through the world on her own terms, and by some miracle, agreed to walk beside me.”
She lifted her glass, lantern light catching the gold. “To Marcus,” she said, teasing just enough to make him flush, “a man who never once stood in my way, except to make certain I didn’t fall.”
Laughter blossomed, rich and joyful.
Marcus leaned close, murmuring for her alone, “You undo me.”
She whispered back, “You undo yourself.”
His answering smile, wicked, lovestruck, unguarded, made her entire future blaze into clarity.
They drank.
The guests applauded.
Henry began directing a celebratory march.
Mrs. Denning dabbed at her eyes.
Mrs. Dove Lyon murmured, “A perfect match.”
And beneath the lanterns, surrounded by those who had helped pull them from the edges of their own shadows, Marcus and Lilianna stood together, no longer seeking the light, but creating it.
Chapter Forty-Six
The afternoon sunslanted warmly through Wolfton Hall’s front windows when the carriage arrived. Marcus had been told only that a guest wished to see Lilianna. He remained close but not intrusive, standing just behind her as the footman opened the door.
The woman stepped down slowly, the veil she had worn now removed. Her face was bare to the light, and to her daughter.
Lilianna’s breath caught.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Her mother’s eyes, soft brown, rimmed faintly with fatigue and years of unspoken worry, swept over her daughter’s face with aching reverence.
“Lilianna,” she whispered.
NotGräfin.
NotOttilie.
Notchild.
Her name. Spoken as though she had not dared say it aloud for two years.
Lilianna moved first. Her steps were slow at the start, then faster, hope breaking through fear, and the countess lifted both arms, gathering her daughter into an embrace that trembled with held-back emotion.
“My darling girl,” her mother breathed into her hair. “My brave, stubborn, impossible girl.”
Lilianna clung to her, eyes burning, the familiar scent of lavender sachets collapsing the distance between them.
“You’re here,” Lilianna whispered.
“I am,” her mother murmured. “And I am sorry. I should have been the one to help you run. Or the one to help you stay. I did neither.”
Lilianna drew back just enough to see her face. “You were caught between two impossible choices.”
