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A brief, genuine laugh escaped Julian, breaking the tension in his chest. He stood up from the armchair, the leather creaking beneath his movement, and drew the silver watch from his pocket. With a sharp, decisive flick of his wrist, he snapped the casing shut.

The metallic click echoed clearly in the quiet room. "Let us proceed."

Cassian stood and smoothed the lapels of his morning coat. "Excellent. I have prepared my toast for the wedding breakfast. It incorporates botanical taxonomy, unexpected rainstorms, and your total inability to concede an error in proofreading. Adelaide will find it thoroughly entertaining."

"She will find it entirely accurate," Julian noted.

"She will find it both," Cassian replied, moving toward the hallway before pausing at the doorframe. "Julian."

Julian turned to face him.

"Thomas would have held her in the highest regard," Cassian said softly.

The simple statement struck Julian deeply. He tightened his grip on the silver watch until the carved casing pressed against his palm. "Yes," he said quietly. "He did."

They exited the study together, stepping out into the broad hallway toward the carriage waiting below in Grosvenor Square—and toward the church where Adelaide Ashbourne waited to bind her life to his.

"The glass beadwork requires adjustment," Charlotte announced, adjusting the blue sleeve of Adelaide's dress with the practiced authority of a lady who had attended three London Seasons. "Verity, pass me another pin."

Verity Ashbourne, the eldest of Adelaide's female cousins—whose own quiet strength had demonstrated that happiness could be claimed despite past sorrows—handed over the dressmaker's pin with a steadying smile. Her fingers brushed Adelaide's wrist with gentle warmth.

"You are trembling, Adelaide," Verity observed softly.

"The morning air is cool," Adelaide offered.

"You are nervous," Verity corrected gently, squeezing her hand. "Yet you will remain steady when the moment arrives. You always do."

Elowen Ashbourne, the gentle middle sister, handed a delicate cluster of white orange blossoms to Charlotte. Her hazel eyes shone with quiet emotion as a bright smile touched her lips.

"I can scarcely credit the reality," Elowen confessed softly. "Our Adelaide, becoming the Duchess of Ravensmere. I have offered prayers for your happiness every evening for months, though I worried I was being overly ambitious."

"Your prayers were never overly ambitious, Elowen," Adelaide replied gently. "They were simply kind."

"They were sincere," Elowen corrected with a soft laugh.

Octavia Ashbourne, the youngest sister, embraced Adelaide warmly from behind without warning—an impulsive gesture characteristic of a young lady unaccustomed to hiding her feelings. Adelaide leaned forward slightly against the dressing table to keep her balance.

"You are finally receiving the future you deserve," Octavia declared firmly against Adelaide's shoulder. "I stated as much to Cassian repeatedly. You deserve every happiness, Adelaide."

Adelaide reached back to pat Octavia's arm, touched by her enthusiasm. "Thank you, Octavia—though I am uncertain whether anyone requires a special license from Lambeth Palace before breakfast."

"You deserve a grand cathedral," Octavia insisted, releasing her embrace. "With full choirs and fanfare."

"With considerably less haste," Verity added dryly, while Elowen smiled softly.

Charlotte paid little heed to their banter, focusing her attention upon securing the white blossoms into Adelaide's chestnut hair. She arranged the delicate petals so they framed her face naturally, eschewing a heavy lace veil in accordance with elegant Regency custom. Adelaide would face the altar fully visible, dressed in soft cornflower-blue silk embellished with fine glass beads along the bodice—the exact shade Thomas had once noted suited her complexion.

"Turn toward the window," Charlotte instructed.

Adelaide complied, her blue silk skirts shifting softly as the morning light caught the delicate glass beadwork. Elowen kneeled to smooth the hem, her movements careful and deliberate.

"The beadwork is perfectly straight," Elowen noted softly.

"It ought to be," Charlotte remarked, stepping back to inspect her handiwork. "I have devoted the morning to this bodice. Should His Grace fail to appreciate the execution, I shall deliver a lecture on fine textiles."

"He will appreciate it," Octavia asserted confidently. "He offered his hand, did he not? He possesses discernment."

"He possesses an eye for scientific detail," Adelaide remarked, "though whether that extends to dressmaking remains to be seen."