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“Was that fact ever in question?” Ashley asked, arching one playful brow at Sophia.
She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Never,” she confirmed with a smile. She turned to her mother. “But I don’t understand. What does love have to do with it?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “The fae are an odd lot.
They honor valor and deeds much more than ceremonies. For them, this ceremony isn’t even necessary. They’re only doing it because your father insisted upon it.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You did what lovers do. You committed yourselves to one another in the most basic way possible. You did it with forethought, and you did it despite the risk. It sealed the two of you together. Your wings are a reflection of what’s in your heart.” She looked longingly over her shoulder. “I wish I still had mine.”
Ashley looked at Lord Ramsdale, who looked up at them with a grin. “You haven’t given them to her yet,” he said to Sophia’s father.
Lord Ramsdale’s face flushed. “I was waiting for the right time,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket and held out a box. “Your father took these from you. And he wanted to be the one to return them to you. But with the way events transpired…” He let his voice trail off. It had been a fortnight since the old man’s passing, and his death and the respect they owed him was the only reason Sophia and Ashley’s wedding hadn’t taken place sooner.
A tear trickled down Sophia’s cheek. “You should open it,” she whispered to her mother.
Sophia had come so close to losing her own wings. She was the only one who could even begin to sympathize. But Lady Ramsdale put the box in her pocket and patted it reverently. “I’ll save them for later.”
“Open it,” Sophia protested.
“This is your day,” Lady Ramsdale said. “And I’m afraid they’ll feel foreign to me. I’d like to open them in private.”
Sophia nodded as though she understood.
Ashley looked down into Sophia’s smiling face. “You plan to make an honest man of me today, don’t you?” He shot a sly glance toward her father. “If you say no, I’m afraid he’ll resort to fisticuffs.”
“Let’s get married, shall we?”
Thirty-Four
Sophia squealed as Ashley scooped her up in his arms. “Put me down,” she cried.
“Not on your life,” he growled low in her ear. “I have waited for deaths, bereavement, negotiations, settlements, a wedding, and a party afterward, and I plan to wait no longer.” He kissed her soundly.
The door opened soundlessly at the little cottage by the river. “Magic?” he asked, raising his brows as he looked down at her.
She snorted. “More like a butler. Smythe, you can come out from behind the door!” she called. A cheeky, red-faced young man poked his head around the side of the door.
“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he said with a bow and a grin.
“Someone in the land of the fae respects a title,” Ashley mused. “I never would have expected it.”
“I respect your title,” Sophia said, as she tugged his cravat, bringing his head down to kiss her. When they were over the threshold, he lowered her feet slowly to the floor. She hadn’t been alone with him for a fortnight.
A cough behind them reminded them they weren’t alone now.
Ashley groaned in frustration. “Smythe, my fine fellow, I do hope I won’t offend you when I tell you to get the hell out.” He held Sophia close to him, as though he didn’t want to let her go.
“Not a bit, Your Grace. I have left provisions for you.”
Ashley looked around. “Where?”
Smythe’s face colored. “In the bedchamber, Your Grace,” he said, flushing even more.
“Perfect place,” Ashley murmured against her lips. “Where is this bedchamber, Smythe?” he asked. He cupped the side of Sophia’s face in his hand gently and tipped it up to his.
“Top of the stairs and to the right, Your Grace,” the butler said. He looked everywhere but at them.
