The sky, she could see through the window, was a clear blue. There was not a cloud in sight.

And then everyone, on their way to church, came to see her first. Vanessa and Averil and Jessica, Elliott’s sisters, exclaimed over her and smiled at her and declared they would not hug her and risk crushing either her dress or her hair. All agreed that Cecily, Elliott’s youngest sister, who was in imminent expectation of a happy event, would be very vexed indeed to be missing all this excitement. Mrs. Leavensworth clasped her hands to her bosom and declared that she had not been happier in her life—though she supposed she would be happier yet in three weeks’ time when it was Barbara’s turn.

Barbara did not care whether she crushed anything or not. She hugged Hannah tightly and wordlessly for a whole minute. Then she stood back and looked her over.

“This is what I have hoped and hoped would happen, Hannah,” she said. “I have even prayed about it. Laugh if you will. You have far too much love to give to squander it on mere flirtation. And Mr. Huxtable, or, rather, the Earl of Ainsley, is the right man. I thought so when we were at Copeland. I was almost sure when he scooped you up onto his horse in the park. And when I saw the two of you together at dinner last evening, well, there was no doubt left in my mind. And now that I have delivered that little sermon, I had better get off to church with Mama and Papa before the bride races us there.” She laughed.

“Babs.” Hannah hugged her again. “How would I have done without you all these years?”

“No better than I would have done without you, I suppose,” Barbara said. “Oh, there you are, Dawn. Mama and I are on our way out and will leave you with more room.”

And they were gone and only Dawn remained, standing uncertainly just inside the door.

“I am ready, Adèle,” Hannah said. “I can put on my own bonnet before I leave.”

Her maid slipped from the room.

“I don’t know how you do it, Hannah,” Dawn said, sounding almost aggrieved, “but you are more beautiful now than you were eleven years ago.”

“I am in love,” Hannah said, smiling, “and this is my wedding day. It is easy to be beautiful under such circumstances.”

“It is not just that,” Dawn said. “I used to think it was just your looks. But it was always what was inside you too. And now there is even more of that. The Earl of Ainsley is very handsome, is he not, though it is a pity about his nose. I should call him Constantine, I suppose, as he invited me to do last evening, but it seems presumptuous. You have done well for yourself, though it must have seemed that the old duke was going to live forever. That must have been a severe trial to you.”

“I suppose the whole world believes that,” Hannah said. “It is not the truth, but it does not matter if no one knows that but me—and Constantine. And now I am about to marry a man I love with all my heart. If you ever look back and feel a twinge of guilt, Dawn, let it go. All things happen for a purpose—sometimes a larger purpose than we can possibly see at the time. What happened led me to the duke and ten years of surprising happiness. And marrying the duke led me by slow degrees to today.”

“I don’t feel guilt,” Dawn said. “You could have had anyone if you had set your mind to it. You chose Colin, and he was dazzled for a while as all men are when they see you. But he really loved me, and I loved him. We have a good marriage, and we have good, healthy children—which is more than you have. I do not feel guilt.”

Hannah smiled.

“I am glad you are happy,” she said, taking a step closer to her sister. “And your children really are a delight, Dawn. I look forward to getting better acquainted with them as time goes on. I’ll be in Markle for Barbara’s wedding. We will be staying with Papa.”

“Barbara will be grand,” Dawn said, “having an earl and countess on her guest list. No one will talk of anything else for a month or more.”

Hannah took another step forward and hugged her sister. It was a reconciliation of sorts, she thought as Dawn’s arms came about her. They would probably never be as close as sisters ought to be. Perhaps Dawn would always resent her even though she had got Colin, of whom she seemed genuinely fond. And she had their five children, who really were good-natured and prettily behaved.

But at least now they had been restored to each other. At least now they could begin to build a new relationship with each other. There was the whole of the future ahead of them. There was always hope.

“I had better go,” Dawn said. “Colin and the children will be waiting for me.”

Hannah watched her go before closing the dressing room door. There was one more thing she needed to do before putting on her bonnet and going downstairs to join her father.

She reached down one side of her portmanteau and drew out a small square box. She opened it and set it on the dressing table while she looked down at her wedding ring and then slid it slowly off her finger. She held it for a moment and raised it to her lips.

“Good-bye, my dearest duke,” she whispered. “You would be happy for me today, would you not? You predicted it would happen. And you would be a little sad too, perhaps? I am happy. And a little sad. But you are with your love, and I will be with mine. And always a little part of us will belong to each other.”

She set the ring down carefully inside the box, hesitated a moment, and then closed the lid resolutely and set the box back in the portmanteau.

She reached for her bonnet.

And suddenly there was such a welling of excitement within her that her fingers all felt like thumbs as she tied the ribbons into a bow beneath her right ear.

***

THE CHAPEL WAS CROWDED to capacity, as Constantine had known it would be even though there were very few guests apart from family. There was the slight buzz of hushed conversation behind him and the fidgetings and louder, higher-pitched voices of all the children.

So many of them. The family was growing. And it had not stopped yet. Katherine and Monty were in the process of doubling the size of their family. Cecily was expecting to give birth any day now.

And it was not just family. Phillip Grainger’s wife was large with child and had two others in the pew beside her. Phillip, one of Constantine’s oldest friends, was his best man.

It all felt very comforting, somehow. Family. And this morning he was to become a married man himself. A family man. Oh, he hoped he was to be a family man.

But he was not even married yet.

Would Hannah be late? It would be strange if she were not.

There were five interminable minutes to wait even before she was late. What had he said about cultivating patience?

He wished he had eaten some breakfast.

He was thankful he had not.

And he was, dash it all, getting nervous.

What if she was having second thoughts?

What if an old duke had popped up out of a deep chair somewhere in Finchley and eloped with her?

And then there was the sound of carriage wheels—after all of the guests had surely arrived. It was only three minutes to eleven.

The carriage stopped. Of course. There was nowhere else to go along this trail except the chapel.

There was a greater hush within. Everyone had heard what he had heard.

And then the vicar appeared in the doorway and instructed the congregation to stand. And he walked down the aisle toward the altar and left the doorway clear for Delmont, Hannah’s father, and for Hannah herself.

A vision of all that was beautiful in soft pink.

His bride.

Oh, Lord. His bride.

He took half a step toward her and stopped. He was supposed to stay where he was. She was supposed to come to him.

And she did so until she stood beside him, her arm still drawn through her father’s though she was smiling at him through the froth of a pink veil that was draped over the brim of her straw bonnet.

He smiled back at her.

And why they had spent so much time discussing where they would marry and how many people they wanted as their guests he really did not know. It did not matter where they were. And for the moment it did not matter who was there to witness them exchanging vows that would bind them in law and in love for the rest of their days.

It did not matter.

“I do,” he said when the vicar had asked him what he was prepared to do in order to make Hannah his wife forever.

“I do,” she said in return.

And then he was reciting vows, prompted by the vicar, and she was reciting them in her turn. And Phillip was handing him the shiny gold band of her wedding ring and he was slipping it onto her bare ring finger. And suddenly—

Ah, suddenly it was all over, the anticipation and the excitement, the baseless fears.

They were man and wife.

And what God had joined together, no power on earth could put asunder.

“Hannah.” He lifted the veil back from her face and gazed into her eyes.

They gazed back into his own, wide and guileless and trusting.

His wife.

And suddenly he was aware of shufflings and murmurings, a child’s piping voice, a single cough. And he was aware again of where they were and who was here with them. And he was glad that family and friends were here to celebrate with them.

He felt a warm rush of pure happiness.

Hannah—his wife—smiled at him, and when he went to smile back, he realized that he was already doing it.

***

THERE WERE NO CARRIAGES outside the chapel. They would all walk back to Warren Hall, the bride and groom leading the way.

But not immediately.

When they had stepped outside the church, Hannah looked at her new husband, her hand slipping from his arm so that she could clasp his hand instead.

“Yes,” she said softly as if he had said something.

Her husband. Oh, he was her husband.

And they turned together, as if they had discussed it beforehand, and made their way into the churchyard. They stopped at the foot of one small and simple mound of grass. A headstone bore the five-line inscription, Jonathan Huxtable, Earl of Merton, Died November 8, 1812, Aged Sixteen Years, Rest in Peace.

They stood side by side, looking down at it, their hands clasped tightly.

“Jonathan,” Hannah said softly, “thank you for living a life so rich with love. Thank you for living on in Constantine’s heart and in your dream at Ainsley Park.”

Constantine’s clasp on her hand was almost painful.

“Jon,” he said, his voice a whisper of sound, “you would be happy today. But you were always happy. Go in peace now, brother. I have kept you too long. I always was selfish. Go in peace.”

A tear dripped from Hannah’s chin to the neckline of her wedding dress. She dried her eyes with the gloved fingers of her free hand.

“I love you, Hannah,” Constantine said almost as softly.

“I love you too,” she said.

And they turned toward their wedding guests, who were crowded about the path outside the chapel doors, talking and laughing. Children darted about, their voices raised in high-pitched chatter.

Constantine laced his fingers with Hannah’s and they walked toward their family and friends, smiling with exuberant joy.

And the air rained rose petals.

Epilogue

IT WAS A PERFECT AUTUMN DAY. Not perfect enough for the baby’s nurse, perhaps. But then her anxieties would have denied him any outing at all until he had attained at least his first birthday. She would have made a hothouse plant of him if she had her way—which she had on all sorts of other issues since she had experience at her job and clearly loved the baby with all her grandmotherly heart.

Hannah had found her when her former “family” had outgrown its need for her and she had applied for a position at Land’s End, though she had admitted during an interview that she dealt better with infants than with the elderly. Beggars could not be choosers, however.

The day really was perfect. The heat of summer had gone, but the chill of winter had not yet arrived. There was not a sign of a rain cloud, or any other cloud for that matter. And the wind had taken a holiday. So had yesterday’s light breeze. The sky was a riot of color. Not the sky itself, of course, which was a uniform blue, but the tree branches against it. Reds mingled with yellows and oranges and browns of all shades, as well as a few hardy greens. And very few leaves had yet fallen to the ground.