Page 58

“Did you doubt me?” he whispered, glancing down her from the corner of his eye.

“Never.” The word came without hesitation, surprising her with its truth.

Together, they turned toward the vicar as he launched into the service. He spoke of love and commitment, of choosing to bind two lives together. The words washed over her like water, distant and dreamlike. All her attention focused on the man beside her—the way his voice dropped low and clear when he spoke his vows, the way he looked at her not with theatrical passion but with something far more precious—absolute presence.

When he slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands were steady. Hers trembled, just slightly, and his thumb brushed across her knuckles—a wordless reassurance that sent warmth racing up her arm.

“By the power vested in me,” the vicar intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A pause. The chapel held its breath. Abigail’s heart hammered against her ribs.

“Is this the kissing part?” Heather’s voice carried clearly through the silence, far too loud and perfectly timed.

“It better not last too long,” Mary Ann added with prim disapproval.

The congregation’s chuckles rippled through the sanctuary like wind through wheat. Laughter bubbled up in Abigail’s chest and Graham’s mouth tightened as he tried not to laugh.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Best to be efficient, then.”

The kiss was warm, brief, genuine—not a performance for the crowd but a seal between them, witnessed by God and gossips alike. His lips were soft, careful, reverent. When they parted, applause filled the chapel, but all Abigail could see was the quiet satisfaction in Graham’s eyes.

I’m a wife, a mother, and a duchess. Heaven help me.

As they turned to process back down the aisle, Heather and Mary Ann emptied their baskets with wild enthusiasm, petals flying in every direction. Several landed in Lady Ponsby’s towering feathers, but the woman was too busy dabbing at her eyes to notice.

Graham leaned in. “Is she overcome with emotion—or simply allergic to her own hat?”

Abigail fought to keep a straight face, tightening her grip on his arm.“This is a sacred occasion, Your Grace. We are not holligans.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ms. Norwood.”

They walked together through the shower of rose petals and well-wishes, past faces both familiar and strange, toward the chapel doors and whatever waited beyond.

She didn’t feel like a duchess. She didn’t feel transformed or elevated or any of the things the gossip sheets would undoubtedly claim.

But she felt chosen. Claimed. Part of something larger than herself.

And that, for today, was more than enough.

CHAPTER 16

“My feet hurt,” Mary Ann announced, wiggling her toes after removing her slippers. “But it was the most beautiful wedding in all of England.”

“In all the world,” Heather mumbled into her pillow as she collapsed face-first on her bed, flower crown still askew atop her tangled hair.

Graham lingered in the doorway, pressing his shoulder against the frame. The corner bit into his skin through his shirt, but he leaned into it, grounding himself in the discomfort. Abigail moved with practiced assurance between the beds and all he could do was watch with fascination.

The ceremony had been the easy part. Standing before God and witnesses, claiming Abigail as his own—that had required no performance, no false smiles. Her gaze had held his, steady and true. In that moment, he’d known with bone-deep certainty that he wanted her as his wife.

She’s like sunlight in a darkened corner.

With a word here, a touch there, she coaxed the girls beneath their covers. He envied the quiet confidence in her gestures. He dared not go in any further and risk shattering the delicate order she had created.

“Uncle Graham, did you see me dance with the Admiral? He let me stand on his boots,” Heather said, stretching her arms upward and wiggling under her blankets in time to music only she could hear.

“He’ll have bruises on his toes tomorrow,” Graham said, immediately regretting the words. He looked to Abigail, hoping she might rescue the moment.

Abigail only smiled. “You danced beautifully,” she said, correcting his effort with gentle ease.