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Epilogue
They waited a month, to allow the Duke of Tiverwell time to heal. The Duchess of Tiverwell, having heard of her husband’s infidelity, had gone to stay with her mother, in Bath. Following the wedding, she planned to split her time between Bath and Charles and Arabella’s home in London.
Charles stood up at the front of the church, which was filled with the ton, as well as a good many of London’s top barristers. In front of him, Arthur, Alistair, and Lord Dunsmore were in the first row, alongside Mrs. Osbourne. Having no blood relations, Charles felt proud to have his friends there to support him. On the other side, the Duchess of Tiverwell beamed at him.
He walked over to her. She offered him her hand. He pressed it with his fingers, bowing gallantly.
“Welcome to the family, Mr. Conolly,” she said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“From here on out, you must call me Mother,” she told him.
“If you wish, Mother,” he replied, happy to comply.
The organ began to play, and everyone stood up. Charles faced the altar, his hands clasped in front of him. Slowly, he turned around to see her.
She was dressed in a slim ivory silk gown. It had an empire waist, with bell sleeves. The lace veil was over her face, through which he could see her smiling at him. She held a handful of bright crimson amaryllis, tied with a thick white silk ribbon.
He only had eyes for her—the whole world melted away. When she neared, he finally looked to the Duke of Tiverwell, who’d been at her side as she walked down the aisle. Charles shook the Duke’s hand.
“She’s yours to take care of, now, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You’ll do well,” he said.
Charles turned to Arabella, lifting the veil over her head. She handed her flowers to Lady Emily Southrop, who went to sit down in the front row. Then, hand in hand, Charles and Arabella stepped up to the altar.
The priest began the ceremony. Charles could barely hear a word. Arabella stood, facing him, her hands in his, smiling at him angelically. His heart swelled with love. He couldn’t imagine life without her.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said. “You may kiss the bride.”
Arabella beamed at Charles, then leaned in. The whole church burst into thunderous applause. She and Charles then turned and walked down the aisle together. They exited the church getting into the carriage that awaited them. He helped her up and then climbed in. Once he was seated beside her they both looked at each other.
“Good day Mrs. Conolly,” he said. She warmed at her new name.
“Mr. Conolly,” she replied.
“Alone at last,” he said.
“Not quite,” she said. “We’re going to have to make it through all of the festivities, and then we can be alone.” She blushed, even though it was what she had been thinking about for the past year.
“Are you nervous?” he asked her, bringing her hand to his lips. Her skin tingled where his lips touched.
“No,” she replied. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
He smiled at her, his eyes going sultry. “Good. Me too.”
The carriage took off, bringing them through the London streets. As the daughter of a Duke, there was some fanfare, with people, lining the streets. Arabella waved, as they passed people in the streets. They cheered.
* * *
Charles didn’t know how he made it through the banquet—Arabella sat beside him. Soon, he’d take her to their home, and then they would spend their first night together as a married couple. He had thought about this night for nearly a year—although, he hadn’t known that it would ever come to pass.
He brushed his fingers against the back of her hand, which rested on the top of the table. His eyes met hers, his skin tingling in delicious anticipation, as he considered that in a few hours, he would finally make her his completely.
He couldn’t wait to unbutton the long row that rested overtop her spine, remove the soft satin that covered her skin.
