Page 55

She swallowed against the galloping of her heart. This was the man–the awkward, wounded, steadfast man–who caught her when she fell, hung laundry beside her, and tried so hard to be what they needed.

How can a heart be so full and so fragile in the same moment?

“We should go,” he said, pulling slowly away from her. There was a rough hint of regret hanging around the words as he stood. “It would be a poor show for us both to oversleep after everyone has been anticipating the spectacle.”

She rose, grateful for the night air that cooled her cheeks. “Heaven forbid we disappoint the gossip columns,” she said. “I believe they’ve predicted swans and cherubs.”

He laughed and offered his arm. “Shall I escort you home?” His manner had slid back to his ever stiff formality, but warmth and promise lingered in his eyes.

“Yes,” she replied, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Though I believe after tomorrow, home will be wherever you and the girls are.”

Let them write what they will. Tomorrow, I walk toward the life I have chosen.

CHAPTER 15

“Blasted monks,” Elias muttered. “Did they really believe spiritual elevation required literal elevation?”

Graham kept his gaze fixed on the Thames below, the river a dull silver ribbon under the morning mist. His mind circled back to Abigail’s face in the moonlight. The admiral’s boots scraped against the ancient stone as he climbed the last few steps, breathing hard.

Graham tightened his hold on the weathered stone parapet as his friend caught his breath. “Perhaps they simply wished to discourage visitors, A pity the strategy failed.”

Elias scoffed as he set his hands on hips, taking in the view. The gothic arches of St. Dunstan-in-the-East that stretched around them like skeletal fingers reaching for heaven. Below, the river moved sluggishly, and the distant sounds of London stirring—cart wheels, church bells, vendors calling their wares—drifted upward like smoke.

“If you were any harder to find, I’d have assumed you’d bolted for the Continent.”

Graham inhaled the damp air. The weight of the day hadn’t simply settled on him. It had dug in, clamping around his chest like a fist that would not let go. In less than an hour, he would be a husband and Abigail would be bound to him–to his name, his failures, his darkness.

He’d meant what he’d said to her last night when her fingers wrapped around his like they belonged there. And the thing that terrified him wasn’t the marriage—it was that he’d begun to want it. Want her. The girls. The chaos of it all.

He’d begun to hope.

And hope, he knew too well, was where the fall always began.

It’s too late to turn back.

“I needed air,” he said finally.

“Air’s all well and good, but your bride’s household is in full uproar. The Countess is convinced you’ve fled to Scotland. Poor woman is in a state.” Elias moved to stand beside him, scanning Graham’s face with a penetrating gaze.

He picked at the moss covering the stone beneath his hand. “And Abigail?”

“Steady as a ship in calm waters.” Elias said, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate casualness. “Still planning to appear at the altar, then?”

Graham’s mouth quirked despite himself. Last night in the garden, Abigail’s hand in his, the moonlight catching in her hair—that moment had burned away his doubts like morning fog before the sun.

“This is one engagement I fully intend to keep.”

“Thank Christ for that. Because if I had to tell the Countess I couldn’t find you, I’d have thrown myself off London Bridge.” Elias clapped him on the shoulder. “Come along. At least it’s downhill from here–well, at least this part is.”

Graham fell into step beside him. Abigail was waiting.

He stepped up into the carriage and settled next to Elias as it lurched into motion. His solicitor, Mr. Nedley, sat across from him. His case perched precariously on his knees, the only spot not swallowed by his considerable girth. Nedley shuffled papers and wheezed as they rumbled through the streets.

“I’ve brought the finalized marriage contract for your review, Your Grace,” he said, handing a set of documents to Graham.

Graham scanned the familiar terms. “I see you added the provision,” he said, reviewing the addendum and Abigail’s neat signature at the bottom.

The solicitor shifted, causing the carriage to sway. “For the young ladies, yes. A separate trust to be administered in their names, independent of the estate.”