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The advice reached her deeply, steadying her more effectively than any formal reassurance. She met his gaze, finding no distance or artificial formality in his expression—only Julian, looking at her as though she were the sole person present in the grand space.

I have made the proper choice.

A clear certainty washed over her. She squeezed his hands, and he returned the pressure.

The vicar cleared his throat softly. "Shall we begin?"

"Please," Julian replied.

The traditional vows proceeded with solemn brevity. The vicar recited the ancient liturgy, and Julian repeated the promises with a quiet gravity that stirred a deep emotion in Adelaide's throat. When her turn arrived, her voice carried clearly through the sanctuary without tremor.

"I take thee, Julian, to be my wedded husband."

The ancient words felt both momentous and natural. She was binding her life to his, stepping into a future she could not fully predict, yet choosing it with clear intent.

Julian drew a plain gold band from his waistcoat pocket—warm from his palm—and slid it smoothly onto her finger.

"You may kiss the bride," the vicar announced.

Julian lifted her fine silk veil, bending his head to press a brief, gentle kiss upon her forehead. The contact sent a comforting warmth across her skin, and when he drew back, his blue-gray eyes held a profound, unspoken devotion.

The church erupted into muted applause and joyful whispers. Octavia was already weeping openly into her handkerchief, while Charlotte dabbed her eyes using a silk handkerchief she had quietly borrowed from Lucien's coat pocket. Elowen pressed both hands to her cheeks in delight, and Verity offered a warm, steady smile.

Lady Beatrice, seated in the second pew, offered a single, approving nod—an expression representing, for her, considerable enthusiasm.

They executed the parish register in the vestry before walking back down the center aisle together, Julian's hand resting lightly at the small of her back through the soft blue silk of her dress. As the heavy doors opened to the street, the lingering crowd pressed forward, yet Adelaide found herself entirely indifferent to their scrutiny.

The wedding breakfast took place at the Ashbourne townhouse in Mayfair, where Cassian had arranged every detail with practiced efficiency. The broad drawing room had been transformed with white garden flowers and greenery, featuring a long table arranged with fine crystal, silver service, and an abundance of delicacies.

Lucien raised his champagne glass the moment the guests were seated. "To Adelaide and Ravensmere. May your marriage prove as harmonious as your botanical debates."

"That sets a remarkably low standard," Adelaide noted dryly.

"Then may it prove considerably more harmonious than your botanical debates," Lucien corrected smoothly, "which is hardly a high standard either, now that I consider the matter."

Charlotte laughed openly. "He proposed in a library over a botanical specimen. I suggest we temper our expectations regarding conventional romance."

"It was not over a pressed bloom," Adelaide clarified with a faint smile. "It occurred over a specimen catalog."

"That detail makes the affair even less romantic," Charlotte declared playfully.

Julian, seated beside Adelaide at the head of the table, turned to her. "Being teased at our own wedding breakfast!"

"You have married into our family, Your Grace," Cassian interjected, raising his own glass. "You will encounter teasing at every meal for the remainder of your days."

"I look forward to the prospect," Julian replied simply.

He spoke without a trace of irony. Adelaide, observing how his gaze moved across the table—taking in the lively expressions of her cousins, her aunt, and her closest friend—noted a quiet softening in his features.

He had spent thirteen years in solitary travel, navigating distant continents and earning international renown. Yet he had returned home to a gathering of people who bantered freely, shared handkerchiefs, and wept openly at church altars. He possessed the look of a man who had finally discovered a place of genuine warmth.

Octavia approached Adelaide once more, embracing her warmly. "I can scarcely believe you are married, Adelaide—that you are now a duchess, and that Aunt Beatrice offered a genuine compliment."

"Aunt Beatrice always means what she says," Adelaide replied gently. "She simply delivers her compliments with the tone of a military officer."

"That is the most accurate assessment of her I have ever heard," Lucien remarked with a grin.

Verity leaned across the table toward Julian. "Welcome to our family, Your Grace. I ought to caution you that we can prove thoroughly overwhelming."