Page 97 of Atone, Adonis

Especially when he held her gaze and whispered, “I love you, Julie-bug.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered back to him and then turned back to her husband. Fred squeezed her fingers lightly in his own.

“Ready?” he murmured.

“I am,” she said.

How different this felt from their first ceremony. How perfectly a mirror of that other one. All the same ingredients but a vastly different experience.

“You may read your vows,” the Bishop said, inviting them to speak.

Fred went first, his blue eyes never leaving hers as he spoke the words he’d written himself.

“Julianna,” he said, and she loved the sound of her name on his lips. “I stand before you today and I recite these vows of my heart.”

His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles as he spoke. “I vow to speak the truth to you, plainly, even when it costs me comfort. I vow to trust you with my fears, and to honor yours. I vow to walk beside you in lockstep, through whatever light or darkness may come. And I vow to make a memory worth being carried forward in your heart, every day for the rest of my life.”

She clung to his hands while he spoke. Emotion tried hard to sweep her away on its wave but she didn’t want to be overcome—not yet. She wanted to be here, grounded in this moment with her husband, for a little while longer.

“You may speak now, Lady Chester,” the Bishop said and Julianna took a deep breath before she began.

“Frederick,” she said, keenly aware of so many things at once: the warmth of the church, the weight of her mother’s gown, the tender press of Fred’s hands anchoring her own.

“I vow to meet you as you are, no matter which version of you has chosen to make himself known. I vow to offer you the most generous assessment of every action either of us makes, and I vow to offer and receive forgiveness with the most expansive heart I can. And I vow to build this life together with you, piece by piece. Truth by truth. Memory by memory until we have both grown old. I vow to love you—you, Fred—because you are extraordinary and fallible and wonderful and mine. Today, and every day that fortune and fate allow us to be together.”

Fred gripped her hands and she saw that it was his turn, now, to shed tears. She gently took his handkerchief and wiped them away from his eyes while the Bishop spoke the blessing.

When he finished, Fred reached into his pocket and produced a key on a chain. Instead of a ring, he slipped it over her neck.

“What is this?” she whispered to him quietly.

“A wedding gift.”

And then he lifted his hands to her face and cupped them there, staring into her eyes for a long moment before his lips met hers.

When they turned at last to face the small congregation, Julianna felt happiness bubbling out of her, like laughter rising up through her stomach and chest and throat. The crowd cheered for them and Fred held his hand out to her.

“Are you ready, dearheart?” he asked. “There’s a luncheon waiting for us at Farrow Cottage. That is, if its new proprietress allows us to eat there.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked as they made their way back down the aisle, hand in hand.

“The key, Jules. To Farrow Cottage. It’s not entailed, you know, only willed to the male relatives of your line. Or it was. Before I bought it for you.”

“You did what?”

“I paid your cousin off. For the cottage. The key is currently hanging around your neck.”

“Without asking me?”

He turned to her and tried to arch an eyebrow snidely but she knew he couldn’t help the grin he flashed her. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it.”

“Of course I want it,” she said. She’d never wanted anything more than this day with this man and this key hanging around her neck.

That glorious feeling of champagne bubbles and songbirds and joy traveled with her, back out of St. Oswald’s and through the carriage-ride to Farrow Cottage. The Cottage had put its best foot forward for their wedding day, just as the church had done. The garden outside was teeming with life, the hens were gossiping, and the windows had been thrown open to let in all that warm air.

The oak table just across the threshold was laden with their wedding luncheon, prepared by the new chef at Sedgewick Manor and Fred himself. They’d outdone themselves with the feast: platters of cold meats and roasted vegetables, hot hand pies and fresh bread still warm at the center, strawberries glistening in cream, and a wedding cake that was as generous as it was unfussy. For Thomas, an oxtail soup, a barley lentil soup, and a chicken broth seasoned to perfection.

Her brother sat near her, flushed and pleased, eating with more appetite than she had seen in a year or more. Mrs. Sykes sat on his other side, beaming her approval. Gilbert hovered at a respectful distance until Fred forced him down into a chair.