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She joined him with the ancient vows. ‘For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part?’ Her smile lit up her face. ‘So we get to join our estates at last?’

‘Ha! I’m expecting you to take mine over. You’re a much better farmer than I!’

‘All of them?’

‘Not quite. I’ve decided to give the Vernham estate to Freddie and Lucie as a wedding present.’

‘You have, have you? Since when did this impulse of generosity strike?’

‘Since a certain impertinent young widow gave me a lecture, and went on lecturing me.’ He paused and took her hand again. ‘But you haven’t answered my question, my darling.’ Turning her hand, he brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips, then looked deep into her eyes. ‘Sybella, will you marry me?’

Hearing him say her name at last shocked with its intimacy and melted her heart. She steadied herself for a moment while he watched her face closely. ‘So what do you say, my beautiful redeemer?’

Her mischievous spirit returned. ‘I’ve so missed love, so missed you, my dearest Mr Brabazon. If you promise to kiss me often in the way you kissed me in the orchard, then yes, Anthony, I will marry you.’ She looked demurely up at him.

He gave a shout of delighted surprise. ‘I did not expect the wise and oh-so-sensible Mrs Lovatt would prove to be such a naughty minx!’ Hugging her so powerfully he swung her off her feet and carried her laughing into the library where, with the heel of his riding boot, he kicked the door closed behind them.

EPILOGUE

The joint weddings of the Carey sisters were celebrated at the Manor within a month. It was midsummer and the county of Wiltshire had not seen such revelry for decades. The London friends mixed merrily with the countrymen and women who had known Sybella and Lucie all their lives. By the end of the day, the wedding feast had been eaten, the champagne had flowed, the dancing had swirled to an exhausted stop and the musicians had packed up their instruments at last. They and the guests drifted away to their horses and carriages lined up in the drive. The doors of the Brabazon ancestral mansion, Shotten Hall, were thrown open to everyone to stay in the well-appointed bedroom suites, just a mile or so away.

The Manor had never looked lovelier. Every room seemed alive with the verdant countryside gathered in; garlands, ivy and ribbons lined the staircase and urns spilled over with roses, honeysuckle, hollyhocks, lady’s bedstraw, love-in-a-mist, cornflowers and wild angelica. Even the bees had followed the flowers into the house to celebrate. The sweet scent filled the air as Mr and Mrs Brabazon and Lord and Lady Lynwood stood at the door and waved the last guests on their way. Lucie turned to her sister, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Bella! I’ve never been happier.’ She buried her face in her sister’s neck. ‘How can we be so blessed?’

As the last carriage clattered away, the men turned back into the house and their brides walked down the front steps and into the fragrant, velvety night. Their arms round each other’s waists, they gazed back at the familiar beloved house, its ancient stone-mullioned windows lambent in the flickering candlelight. Overhead, the pale sliver of a new moon floated like a silver fish on the dark sea of night. They both looked up at the canopy of stars, their protecting veil. Sybella thought of the beloved dead, their mother and father and her own Captain James, and she felt sure they would be glad to see her and Lucie now, beginning their new adventures after the years of loss. For indeed, the onward rush of life could not be stilled.

Luminous in the light from the open door, the sisters’ wedding gowns of creamy satin, chiffon and lace gleamed against the dark. Having danced most of the evening, their long hair was beginning to unravel from the upswept chignons, and soft tendrils were waving round their faces. They walked back into the house to meet the future.

Their husbands had cloistered themselves for a few minutes in the library. Mr Brabazon slung his arm over his young cousin’s shoulders. ‘Freddie, I have never thanked you for your part in making this day possible, one I feared would never come.’

‘Come on, Ant. You would have got round to marrying her, y’know. There’s no one else for you.’

‘Perhaps. But I was so lost in the toils of the past, I needed that bolt from you. You showed more wisdom than I. So, thank you.’ His words, usually so dispassionate, were serious and deeply felt.

Lord Lynwood caught his breath with the unexpected emotion between them. He turned to face the man who had been his guardian since he was a boy and grasped his hand. ‘I have to thank you too. All these years, you have been as good as any father to me, such an unlicked cub, a thankless scapegrace. And you, more generous than anyone could imagine or expect.’ They hugged each other hard and then broke apart.

‘Come on, my dashing buck. Let’s go and claim our brides.’ They walked together into the hall just as Sybella and Lucie entered through the shadowy doorway. The candles were guttering low, but the sisters seemed to glow with an inner light and the men, their hearts quickening, gazed on them, struck again by their beauty.

Lucie ran into Lord Lynwood’s arms and he swung her around with an exultant shout. She brought her bold spirit and bravery to everything she did and now, having found her true love, she could not wait for their life together to begin. They bade goodnight and with hands entwined ran laughing up the ivy-garlanded stairs.

Mr Brabazon put his hand out to Sybella. She was suddenly shy and rather formally placed her hand on his arm. As she looked up into his handsome aquiline face, she met his blue-grey eyes gazing back at her, intense and deep, and she smiled. This was the man she loved, the quiet centre of her hopes and desire. She knew it was the same for him. They walked together up the staircase past James’s room, past Lucie’s, and down the corridor that led to hers. Her lady’s maid, Alice, had been given the evening off and they were at last alone. Mr Brabazon enfolded her in his arms and held her close. ‘Are you happy, Mrs Brabazon?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her voice was muffled in his chest. She gazed up at him expectantly. ‘It was a wonderful wedding, but I’m glad everyone has gone.’ He bent his head and met her upturned face with a kiss that made her sigh: in his arms, she was home. He reached for her hair, and she pulled out the remaining pins and the dark cloud of curls tumbled down her back. He buried his hands in the luxurious silken mass of it.

‘I’ve wanted to do this from the moment I first saw you in the orchard here, and your hair was becoming undone. As I am now undone.’

She ran her hand through his hair. ‘Not undone, my darling, but restored. Isn’t that so?’

His eyes were full of amusement. ‘Perhaps so, my wise Sybil.’ An enigmatic smile flitted across Sybella’s face as she began to unfasten the long row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons down the back of her gown. Looking over her shoulder, she said, ‘You may be the best horseman in London but, my bold Corinthian, how good a lady’s maid are you?’

He started to expertly slip the buttons from their satin loops. ‘It’s one of my unheralded skills.’

Sybella looked over her shoulder and smiled. ‘You’ve done this before, Mr Brabazon?’

‘Perhaps, but not with a wedding dress. And not with my own darling, irresistible wife.’ He felt her tremble under his touch.

When Sybella awoke the next day, the dawn was already bright behind the heavy silk curtains. She put out her hand and there he was. It had not been a dream. It was real and with that came a radiating warmth that spread from her heart. He opened his eyes and was watching her with a soft expression she had never seen before. ‘Oh, Sybella, Sybella.’ His voice was almost a moan.

She turned onto her side and took his hand and raised it to her lips. ‘Oh, Anthony, Anthony. Thank you.’