In Which We Choose Happiness Over Circumstance
I can't stop smiling. . .
The royal audience had been mercifully brief, if monumentally condescending.
Their Royal Highnesses had swept into the drawing room with the sort of calculated grandeur that suggested they'd practiced their entrance, Prince Albert resplendent in military dress despite the decidedly non-military nature of a country house visit, and Ella...
Ella had looked like a porcelain doll someone had wound too tightly.
Oh, she'd smiled at all the appropriate moments, laughed musically when the Prince made his ponderous observations about "charming provincial customs," and curtsied with the fluid grace that had made her the toast of the court. But I'd spent years reading the subtle signs of distress in my stepdaughters, and everything about Ella's perfect composure screamed of barely controlled panic.
The way her hands remained clasped just a fraction too tightly. The slight rigidity in her posture that suggested she was holding herself together through sheer will. The manner in which her gaze never quite met anyone's directly, as if she were afraid of what they might see there.
And when the Prince had announced their intention to remain "for the duration of the week's festivities, to better understand the rustic entertainments of our subjects," Ella had gone absolutely motionless for just a heartbeat—the stillness of someone receiving devastating news and fighting not to show it.
But that was a concern for later. Right now, Percy and I had slipped away from our royal guests under the pretense of "consulting about household arrangements," leaving them to be entertained by an increasingly animated discussion between Prince Albert and Aunt Honoria about the proper cultivation of roses. Honoria, bless her, had taken one look at the situation and launched into such detailed horticultural discourse that I suspected we'd have at least an hour before anyone noticed our absence.
"Are you certain about this?" Percy asked as we made our way toward the small chapel that sat at the edge of Raventhorn's grounds. "Marriage in a garden chapel while royalty expects us to return with refreshment arrangements?"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life," I replied, surprised by my own conviction. "Though I confess I hadn't anticipated an audience of royal guests and heartbroken stepdaughters for our wedding day."
"The heartbroken stepdaughter seems to be rallying admirably," he observed. "I believe I heard her announcing plans for 'therapeutic gown selection' to combat romantic devastation."
Despite everything, I smiled. "Florinda has always believed that looking spectacular is the best revenge."
The chapel came into view as we rounded the path—a small stone building that had served the estate for centuries, ivy-covered and peaceful, with stained glass windows that caught the afternoon light like jewels. It was perfect for what we wanted: intimate, private, and blessedly free of royal interference.
"The rector should be arriving within the hour," Percy said, consulting his pocket watch. "I sent word this morning, before our... unexpected guests descended."
"And witnesses?"
"Mrs. Hathaway and Hodgekins, unless you'd prefer—"
"Actually," came a voice from behind us, "I rather think we can do better than that."
We turned to find Aunt Honoria approaching with what appeared to be a small parade in her wake. Florinda, resplendent in a gown of deep emerald that made her golden hair shine like spun gold. Drusilla in her characteristic blue, carrying what looked suspiciously like a small bouquet of late autumn flowers. And behind them both, moving with the careful grace of someone who was working very hard to appear perfectly composed...
Ella.
She wore a traveling dress of cream silk that probably cost more than most people's annual income, but it was the way she held herself that caught my attention—spine straight, chin lifted, every inch the princess. Yet something about her eyes suggested she was fighting a battle none of us could see.
"I do hope you don't mind the intrusion," Honoria said with the sort of bland innocence that fooled absolutely no one, "but it seemed rather selfish to marry without allowing your family to witness the occasion."
"How did you—" I began.
"My dear girl, I've been managing romantic crises for longer than you've been alive. Did you really think I wouldn't notice you and Lord Raventhorn exchanging meaningful glances during that tedious royal lecture about agricultural improvements?" She smiled with satisfaction. "Besides, someone needed to extricate you from Prince Albert's monologue about proper sheep breeding before he started requesting detailed tours of the lambing sheds."
Florinda stepped forward, her earlier devastation transformed into something that looked remarkably like excitement. "Margot, you're getting married! Today! How wonderfully dramatic and romantic!"
"It's hardly dramatic," I protested. "It's practical. We'd already planned—"
"To elope during a royal visit?" Florinda's eyes sparkled with delight. "While I'm recovering from romantic betrayal and Drusilla is secretly engaged and Ella is... well, whatever mysterious royal thing Ella is dealing with that she won't tell us about?"
All eyes turned to Ella, who had gone very still in the way that suggested she was calculating exactly how much truth she could safely reveal.
"I'm not dealing with anything mysterious," she said with the kind of careful precision that made it clear she was absolutely dealing with something mysterious. "Court life is simply... demanding."
"Demanding how?" Drusilla asked with her characteristic directness.
A pause that stretched just a fraction too long. "The usual palace politics. Protocol discussions. Nothing of consequence."
But her hand moved almost unconsciously to rest against her middle for just a moment—a gesture so brief I might have imagined it, except that I'd seen similar movements from other women in similar circumstances. Women who were trying very hard not to think about certain... developments.
"Well," Honoria said briskly, clearly deciding that whatever secret Ella was harboring could wait for a more private moment, "regardless of mysterious royal concerns, we have a wedding to attend. Florinda, did you bring what I requested?"
Florinda produced a small velvet box from her reticule with the flourish of a magician revealing a particularly impressive trick. "Mother's pearl combs. For something old."
"And something new?" Honoria inquired.
Drusilla stepped forward, offering her carefully arranged bouquet. "From the garden. The last roses of the season, with some ivy for constancy and..." She paused, her cheeks pinking slightly. "Some sprigs of rosemary for remembrance."
"Something borrowed," Ella said quietly, removing her own pearl bracelet with hands that weren't quite steady. "These were a wedding gift from Prince Albert's grandmother. They're said to bring... happiness in marriage."
The way she said 'happiness' suggested she had some rather complicated feelings about that particular blessing.
"And something blue?" I asked, touched despite myself by their thoughtful preparations.
Honoria smiled, producing a small silk ribbon from her own reticule. "Blue silk ribbon, to tie the bouquet. My own something blue from my wedding that never was, but perhaps it will have better luck with you."
I stared at them all—these women who had somehow become my family despite sharing no blood, who had rallied around me with such love and efficiency that I felt suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for whatever strange circumstances had brought us all together.
"I don't know what to say," I managed.
"Say you'll let us help you dress properly for your wedding," Florinda declared. "Because while I admire your practical approach to romance, you absolutely cannot marry an earl while wearing your second-best morning dress."
"But I don't have—"
"You do now," Ella said quietly. "I took the liberty of... borrowing something from my traveling wardrobe. We're of a similar size, I think."
She gestured to Mrs. Hathaway, who had apparently materialized from nowhere carrying what looked like a gown bag made of the finest silk.
"Your Royal Highness," I protested, "I couldn't possibly—"
"You can and you will," Ella interrupted with the first genuine smile I'd seen from her since her arrival. "Consider it a wedding gift from one woman who understands complicated marriages to another who deserves a simple, happy one."
The words carried an undercurrent that made me look at her more sharply, but she'd already turned away, ostensibly to examine the chapel's architecture with sudden fascination.
"Right then," Honoria announced with military efficiency. "We have forty-five minutes before the rector arrives and Lord Raventhorn begins to pace holes in the chapel floor. Ladies, to work."
The next three-quarters of an hour passed in a whirlwind of feminine efficiency that reminded me powerfully of preparing for Ella's own wedding, though this time the bride was considerably older and marginally more composed.
Ella's gown proved to be a masterpiece of understated elegance—ivory silk with delicate pearl buttons and lace so fine it might have been spun by angels. It fit as if it had been made for me, which prompted some rather pointed questions about how Ella had known to bring something so perfectly sized.
"Lucky guess," she said with studied innocence, but her hands were gentle as she fastened the tiny buttons up my spine. "Besides, you deserve to look beautiful on your wedding day."
"I'm thirty-eight years old," I protested. "Beautiful is rather ambitious."
"Nonsense," Florinda declared, attacking my hair with the kind of focused intensity she usually reserved for dramatic soliloquies. "You're radiant. Practically glowing with happiness."
"That's terror, not happiness."
"It's love," Drusilla corrected matter-of-factly, securing the pearl combs with careful precision. "You've been glowing like this for weeks whenever Lord Raventhorn enters a room. We've all noticed."
"You have not."
"We have," all three younger women said in unison, which rather settled the matter.
Aunt Honoria supervised the proceedings with the satisfaction of a general watching a particularly well-executed campaign, offering suggestions about the placement of flowers and the proper angle for pearl combs while maintaining a steady stream of commentary about the romantic potential of garden weddings.
"Much more sensible than those elaborate cathedral affairs," she pronounced, adjusting the blue ribbon around my bouquet. "All that pomp and ceremony distracts from the actual business of promising to love someone forever."
It was while Ella was pinning a delicate spray of ivy into my hair that I caught her wince—a quick, involuntary movement that she tried to cover by reaching for another hairpin.
"Are you quite well?" I asked quietly, taking advantage of the others' momentary distraction with hem adjustments.
"Of course," she replied automatically, but there was something fragile in her voice that made me study her reflection in the small mirror Drusilla had commandeered from somewhere.
"Ella."
A pause. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "I may need to speak with you soon. About... certain developments. But not today. Today is about your happiness."
"If something is wrong—"
"Nothing is wrong," she said with the kind of brittle brightness that suggested everything was wrong. "Nothing that can't wait, in any case."
Before I could pursue the matter further, Florinda announced with satisfaction that my transformation was complete, and I found myself staring at a woman I barely recognized in the mirror.
The ivory gown transformed my practical figure into something almost elegant. The pearl combs caught the light in my dark hair, making it shine with unexpected richness. The flowers and ribbons added just enough color to keep me from looking like a ghost, while Ella's subtle application of rose water had given my cheeks a bloom that took years off my appearance.
I looked... well, I looked like a bride.
"Oh," I breathed, surprising myself.
"Exactly," Honoria said with deep satisfaction. "Now then, shall we go marry you to that poor man before he wears a groove in the chapel stones?"
The small procession that made its way from the house to the chapel would have been worthy of a royal wedding, if royal weddings involved significantly more laughter and considerably less protocol. Florinda insisted on scattering late rose petals along the path, despite my protests that it was entirely unnecessary. Drusilla had somehow acquired a small hand bell that she rang at irregular intervals, claiming it was "traditional." Ella walked beside me with the careful grace of someone concentrating very hard on appearing normal.
And Aunt Honoria supervised it all with the satisfaction of someone who had orchestrated the entire affair according to her own mysterious plans.
"I still can't believe you managed to extract us from royal supervision," I said as we approached the chapel.
"My dear girl," Honoria replied with a knowing smile, "I simply informed Prince Albert that I wished to discuss his theories about modern agricultural improvements with someone who shared his passion for innovative farming techniques. By the time he finishes explaining his ideas about crop rotation to poor Mr. Hartwell, we'll be safely married and back to serve tea."
"Mr. Hartwell is here?"
"Marcus arrived an hour ago with his candle collection," Drusilla explained, her cheeks pinking with pleasure. "I may have mentioned that he has some experience with estate management, given his family's holdings in Derbyshire."
"Holdings?" I blinked. "I thought he was a candlemaker in Bath."
"He is a candlemaker in Bath," Drusilla replied with the patience of someone explaining obvious facts. "He's also Viscount Pemberton's youngest son, but he finds the candle-making more interesting than the estate management, so he doesn't mention the title often."
"Your fiancé is the son of a viscount?"
"Was that important?" Drusilla asked with genuine confusion. "You always said character mattered more than connections."
"I... yes, but..." I stopped, realizing that my practical daughter had managed to fall in love with someone both genuinely passionate about his work and possessed of excellent family connections, without any scheming whatsoever. "Never mind. You're absolutely right, of course."
The chapel doors stood open, revealing an interior transformed by late afternoon light streaming through stained glass windows. Percy stood at the altar in his finest dark blue coat, looking remarkably composed for a man about to marry during what was technically a royal house party. Beside him, the rector waited with the patient expression of someone accustomed to unusual circumstances, while Mrs. Hathaway and Hodgekins flanked the small space like guards of honor.
When Percy caught sight of me in the doorway, his entire expression transformed. The careful composure melted away, replaced by something so raw and wondering that I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, with the kind of honesty that made ceremony unnecessary.
"You're biased," I replied, but I was smiling as Honoria placed my hand in his.
"Absolutely," he agreed, and kissed my knuckles with reverent care. "Completely, thoroughly, helplessly biased."
The ceremony itself was brief, simple, and perfect. We spoke the ancient words with voices that shook slightly with emotion, exchanged rings that Percy had somehow acquired between royal audiences and chapel preparations, and kissed as husband and wife while our small congregation applauded with enthusiasm that echoed off the chapel's stone walls.
"Well," I said when we finally separated, slightly breathless and grinning like a fool, "that was considerably less complicated than I expected."
"The day isn't over yet," Percy replied with a grin that suggested he had plans for the evening that definitely wouldn't be less complicated.
As we signed the register and accepted congratulations from our witnesses, I caught sight of Ella standing slightly apart from the group, her composure finally beginning to crack around the edges. Her hand rested against her middle again in that unconscious gesture, and when she thought no one was looking, her expression held a sadness so profound it made my chest ache.
Whatever secret she was carrying, whatever had driven her to seek refuge at a country house party while her husband discussed agricultural improvements with unsuspecting estate managers, she was running out of time to keep it hidden.
But that was a concern for tomorrow. Today, I was married to the man I loved, surrounded by the family I'd chosen, in a chapel that smelled of roses and candlewax and the promise of happiness.
"Ready to return to our royal guests, Lady Raventhorn?" Percy asked, offering his arm with playful formality.
"Lady Raventhorn," I repeated, testing the sound of it. "I rather like that."
"Good," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made my pulse quicken, "because you'll be hearing it for the rest of your life."
As we walked back toward the house, the others trailing behind us in animated conversation about the success of their romantic conspiracy, I found myself thinking that perhaps the most inconvenient timing could sometimes turn out to be absolutely perfect after all.
Even if it did mean serving tea to royalty as a newly married woman who was desperately trying not to think about her wedding night while making polite conversation about sheep breeding.
Some prices, I was discovering, were entirely worth paying.
💐 Some weddings are planned. Others happen between royal lectures and family secrets.
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