Page 11 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

“T his seems like utter madness.”

“Perhaps it is, Rufus,” Margery said as she and her brother stood on the moonlit steps outside the beautiful chapel near Heron House. “But isn’t it wonderful madness?”

Rufus towered over her, a man of incredible strength and endurance, and his throat worked as if he was facing a battle of so many feelings. “Can madness be wonderful?” he prompted, clearly feeling fear for her future happiness. “This is all happening so very fast. Even faster than how I wed.”

“Think of how our lives have been for so long, and in just a few months, everything has completely and totally changed,” she exclaimed, as she lifted her hand and touched her brother’s cheek.

“But I thought you were going to have a proper wedding,” he protested, still clearly stunned by the quick change of events. “Everything was planned out, wasn’t it?”

She gave him a kind, patient look. For she knew he knew better. “A wedding like that would take weeks to plan. Of course, it wasn’t all planned out,” she returned. “I don’t want a proper wedding anyway. That’s what you wanted.”

“I did what I was supposed to do as a duke,” he explained as he took her hand in his, trying to explain.

“Well then, good,” she said softly. “I’m glad you did what you wished. But Nestor is not yet a duke, and I’m not going to be a duke,” she teased.

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Thank goodness,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it wonderful that, at last, I am being ridiculous, frivolous, full of life?”

Rufus stilled. He was such a good man, who had been rigid in his actions for years. He’d had to fight to tear down the prison their father had made for Rufus. His face softened.

“Yes, it is,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “All my life, I longed for the day that you could be free of our parents’ cruelty and that you could be playful, silly, full of life.”

His face creased with emotion. “You were not allowed to be a child, were you?”

She leaned forward, pushed herself up onto her toes, and gently kissed his cheek. “No, nor were you. We both struggled as best we could. We both tried to survive, and we both did. And now look at us!”

She opened her arms wide and gestured all around and then to the chapel nestled like a jewel in the landscape. “We are free and we are happy, and we have found the most wonderful sense of belonging in the world. We suffered, and now we are to have our reward.”

Rufus eyed her carefully. “Yes,” he agreed. “And no one deserves it more than you.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know about that. All of London seems to think that I don’t deserve him.”

“And you?” he prompted. “What do you think?”

She swallowed as a summer breeze danced through her hair, leaving the scent of wildflowers on the air.

She couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him that even after all of this, even after all of Nestor’s kindness, she feared he was marrying her for some purpose she couldn’t completely understand. Oh, he liked to kiss her. There was no question. But did he love her? Did he feel grand passion for her in that way? Did he feel terribly romantic about her?

She feared not. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

A part of her, an old part, feared that he was marrying her much as London suggested—that he had only picked her out of pity. Now, how could one pity the sister of a duke with a fortune as large as hers? But she had never had friends. She had never truly belonged. She had always been on the outskirts of those who belonged and had only been admitted to those circles because of her power and wealth.

No one had wished to speak to her. No one actually wished to dance with her, for her own sake. But she was getting better, and she would get better every day. And she would prove to Nestor that she did deserve him and that she did deserve to be a Briarwood and that she deserved his love.

She could work at it, and she would show him.

“Are you quite all right? Your face has gone funny,” Rufus said. “The thoughts that just flitted through your head, I should like to know them.”

He might not like it, but she wouldn’t share them. She couldn’t share them.

“I don’t know what I’m worthy of,” she replied to his earlier question. “Does anyone?”

Rufus let out a long sigh. “That is a very artful reply, but I fear you do not feel worthy of all of this because of what our mother and father did.”

She bit her lower lip and worried it, hoping to distract him from the core of what he was truly asking. “I’m doing exactly what they wanted, aren’t I? Isn’t that ironic?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is. You’re making one of the greatest marriages of the century.”

“There you are,” she said with a nod. “So, they would be pleased at last, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think they could ever be pleased,” he returned, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “And I would not try to please them ever again. And please, Margery,” he said, “be careful. Don’t try to please everyone else. Try to please yourself for once. As a soon-to-be duchess, you can do that. And Nestor wants you to be yourself, more than anything.”

“I see,” she breathed. “Then that’s who I will be.”

Even as she said the words, they felt strange. She was trying so hard to be herself, but she realized in that moment that, as a child, she had tried to be whatever her parents needed. So, it was very, very hard to know exactly who she truly was.

But she would find herself. And then nothing would get in her way.

Rufus leaned forward and took her hands again. “Nestor will help you.”

She swallowed.

That was it then, wasn’t it? Why Nestor had married her. To help her. It stung for a moment, but she wanted him, and she wasn’t willing to let go of him. Even if he didn’t love her, she loved him. And that had to be something. Didn’t it?

Rufus had not loved Portia when he married her, and look what had happened. They were the happiest couple she knew, surely.

“Come then,” he urged, turning them towards the ancient opening of the chapel. Slowly, they went through the doors, over the tiled floor, and as soon as they stood at the top of the nave, organ music began to play.

Despite the fact that the chapel was not anywhere as grand as St. Paul’s, she knew that it was the perfect place. For it was full to the brim with Briarwoods.

There was laughter and chatter and joy.

But as soon as the organ music started and she made her entrance, all eyes turned to Margery.

Her gown was simple. She didn’t wish it to be elaborate. It was a beautiful, striped silk of pale ivory, and flowers had been put into her hair. Her brother took her by the arm and began to lead her quite slowly down the aisle as if each step held power to it. As if each step was a mark in her journey from girl to woman.

As they made their way, she couldn’t stop herself from noticing the large family that was about to truly be hers.

The pews were full of all the Briarwood aunts and uncles and their children and their adopted children too. Estella sat at the front with the dowager duchess.

Because of the children, all brought from the house despite the impromptu, fast nature of the wedding with its special license, there was much laughter and poking and pulling at each other. She and her brother had never been allowed to do such things. And she smiled as she caught sight of one little boy tugging at another little girl. The little girl picked him up and cuddled him and gave him a better view.

“She’s lovely!” the little boy exclaimed.

And Margery’s heart leapt at that because all society had been so determined to tear her down. Yet here, one small Briarwood child could say such a kind thing about her without jealousy, without an award. No, he was just being kind. She caught the little boy’s mischievous eyes and smiled. He gave her a gap-toothed grin as she and her brother carried on down the aisle.

As they crossed up to where the vicar and Nestor waited, her heart beat so quickly and so intensely she felt almost as if she was a bird, wings aflutter in open air.

His cousins all stood beside him: Calchas, Maximus, and Octavian. Three strong men. But she only had eyes for the man who had asked her to marry him.

Nestor held out his strong hand, and she slipped her fingers over his. As if in a dream, she stepped up beside him.

This was it.

This was what she had wished for and declared just as she had been told to do months ago in the Briarwood house, when she had been told not to settle but to declare the sort of man she truly wanted.

How she remembered that day when Rufus had pursued Portia.

Was it magic? How had she made this happen with those words she had spun into the air within Heron House? Had the Briarwoods made this happen? Were they all creatures of magic? She did not know.

But if they were magic, she loved that magic, and she hoped everyone could know it in their life.

Nestor looked down at her and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Somehow, this felt different, and her heart again leapt to her throat. But she wondered if he was telling the truth. She wasn’t really beautiful. She wasn’t exactly plain, but her features were not those of a diamond.

And for a moment, she hated the fact that he had called her beautiful because it didn’t feel true. But then he squeezed her hand again and insisted, “You are, Margery, so stop it.”

“Stop what?” she whispered back.

“I don’t know what exactly,” he murmured, leaning ever so slightly down towards her. “But the thoughts running around your head are written all over your face. You are not plain. You are better than all of the diamonds in the whole world. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

This time, her heart did not leap out of fear. Her heart leapt out of being admired for who she was and that he found beauty in her, even if she was not a beauty in any classical sense.

They turned to the vicar, who opened his book and began reading apace in a voice that was surprisingly enthusiastic, as if weddings were his very favorite thing.

In fact, the vicar paused and bestowed upon them a beaming smile as if he was positively thrilled by this wedding. Then he was off, the marriage ceremony tumbling out of his mouth.

Margery did not hear a thing, not really. All of it was a blur. So fast. So hard to believe! But it was true. Nestor, who she never could have imagined would be hers but a few months ago was putting a ring upon her finger. They murmured their vows.

Everything felt larger than life. The colors, the scents. She felt almost as if she was not there at all, but up above herself, watching.

It was heaven. She only prayed that it never became hell.

Surely, she had suffered enough in this life. All would be bliss now.

No, her marriage to Nestor could never go ill. Not like her mother and father’s. For her mother and father had not married each other because they had liked each other or been honest with each other. Their marriage had been arranged on paper. They had barely even met beforehand.

Nestor had picked her, not because of a dukedom, but because he liked her and wanted her for a reason she did not need to understand.

And she had picked him because she had fallen in love with him the moment she had seen him. So, when she smiled, she let the joy flow through her, certain that she would never know suffering again.