Page 41 of Duke of Bronze

EPILOGUE

A nna stood before a tall gilt mirror, her breath catching softly as she beheld the vision staring back at her. Swathed in layers of ivory silk and delicate lace, she looked every inch the bride, though her heart fluttered with a medley of nerves and wonder.

"Oh, no princess in any land could hold a candle to you this day," Aunt Petunia declared, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief already sodden from prior use.

"She's right," Elizabeth chimed in, her voice catching as she smiled.

"Absolutely ravishing," Peggy added, clasping her hands before her.

Anna gave a slow twirl, the voluminous skirts of her gown billowing slightly with the movement. "I still maintain that the skirts are rather excessive, Auntie," she said.

Petunia gasped in mock offense. "Excessive? They are magnificently Parisian! Entirely en vogue , if I may say so. And might I remind you, my dear niece, that you are already sewn and strapped into it? There is no turning back now."

"There's always the simpler gown we kept as a contingency," Sebastian remarked from the doorway, his voice warm with amusement. He sent a knowing wink in Anna's direction, which elicited a chorus of giggles from her cousins.

"Do not even think about it, Sebastian Sutton! Not a word more," Petunia cried, flapping her handkerchief in mock distress as the room erupted in laughter.

Later that morning, Anna was wed in a splendid ceremony at one of Copperton's country estates just beyond the city. The chapel had been adorned with roses in every shade of blush and cream, and the air rang with the jubilant harmony of violins and well-wishers.

As Anna stepped out on the arm of her new husband, the sun casting a gentle glow upon them, a roar of applause and cheers met them.

She smiled, radiant and near breathless, only for her stride to falter.

Her train—her lavish, baroque-inspired, gloriously impractical train—was refusing to move.

She looked over her shoulder and let out a laugh.

Seated squarely atop the trailing folds of her gown, as if he had every right to such luxury, was Titan.

"Oh, Titan," she murmured.

Colin blinked, then burst out laughing. "What in heaven's name is the thimble doing here? Was he not placed in the carriage?"

"You are still calling him a thimble?" she said with mock indignation, though her eyes danced.

"I stand by it. He's the size of one."

"Oh, Aunt Petunia," Anna turned with a laugh, "You've created quite the companion in Titan. He now believes every silk surface is his due."

Guests laughed and pointed with delighted chuckles as the tiny hound basked in the attention.

A flustered footman arrived, panting heavily. "M–my apologies, Your Graces. The dog slipped from the carriage. I have been searching everywhere."

"No harm done," Colin waved him off, still chuckling.

Sebastian stepped forward and scooped the reluctant pup from Anna's train. Titan gave a theatrical little yip in protest but allowed himself to be handed over.

And then, at last, it was time.

Farewells were said amidst tears and laughter. Sebastian, Giltford, and Sterlin remained behind to oversee the wedding breakfast while Anna and Colin prepared to depart for their wedding tour.

As the carriage rolled forward, its wheels crunching over the gravel, Anna leaned into her husband with a contented sigh.

"Are you still refusing to tell me where you're taking me?" she asked, tilting her head to study him.

"You are relentless, wife. I daresay you have asked me the same question nearly every day since our acquaintance began."

Anna raised a brow. "You cannot blame me for possessing an inquiring mind."

"No, but I may yet hold it against you," he teased, and she could hear the grin in his voice even as he reached behind her head.

Her world had turned dark a moment earlier when he insisted upon blindfolding her, and now, as the carriage slowed to a stop, anticipation fairly danced through her.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she muttered.

Colin only chuckled as he helped her descend from the carriage, his hands gentle and sure. "Patience, wife."

He guided her a few more paces, the air fresh and kissed with the scent of spring grass and water.

Then, with a soft breath against her ear, he murmured, "You may look now."

Her hands rose, lifting the blindfold—and she gasped.

"The lake," she breathed.

"Our lake," Colin corrected, his voice soft with affection.

There it was—the serene stretch of water that shimmered in the late afternoon light, the same lake where they had fallen in (both literally and otherwise), during their second date. And nestled beside it stood the charming stone cottage, its shutters painted a cheerful blue, and smoke curling lazily from the chimney.

"We are to spend the night here," Colin said, his eyes never leaving her face as she took it all in. "Before we depart for the country on the morrow."

A smile bloomed across her lips, wide and wondrous. "You brought me back to where it all began."

"I thought it fitting," he said, stepping behind her and winding his arms around her waist. "Besides, the dogs have already been sent on ahead to the country. So we shall have the entire evening to ourselves, uninterrupted."

"Good thinking," she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she tilted her head toward him.

His mouth found hers before she could say more, the kiss deep and sure and filled with the warmth of everything unsaid. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her, but his arms held her firm, steady as the earth.

"I love you, Anna," he whispered against her lips.

She smiled, breathless. "I love you t?—"

But he kissed her again, cutting off her reply with a chuckle. "I know you do," he murmured.

And there, beneath the wide sky and before the lake that had once sealed their fate, Anna knew she was home.