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And exactly as she had expected, Gwen watched her mother burst into tears. “Oh, Mama!”

“It’s… It’s just…another one of our babies, and there’s only Teddy left—”

“Mama!” hissed Teddy, clearly mortified.

“And I never thought it would come for little Gwenny—”

“Mama!” whispered Gwen, more than a little offended. Yes, she was the ‘baby’ of the family, but why on earth had her mother thought this day would never come?

“And—”

“Come on now. That’s enough dampness for one wedding day!” Lord Pernrith said brightly. “Mop yourself up and go and sit down, there’s a poppet.”

Somehow, her father was able to get the sobbing Lady Pernrith down the aisle, and then Teddy was somehow gone, and then—

Gwen smiled up at her father as he took her hand and placed it in the crook of her arm. “I suppose in a way, this is goodbye.”

A lump crept up into her throat as she said it. Goodbye to her parents, goodbye to her old way of life.

Her father shook his head, his own eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Goodbye? Oh, no. This is hello. Hello to a new beginning.”

It was all Gwen could do not to cry herself as she swept down the aisle in a rush of pinstripes, but it was happy tears that threatened to fall as she locked eyes with Ernest at the end of the aisle waiting for her. He looked so incredibly handsome, so adoring of her, so delighted to have her hands placed in his.

And when it came to recite their vows, Gwen had to remind herself this was truly happening: that this was not a dream, but very much her right now.

“…this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Gwen’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed down at the gold band now encircling the fourth finger of her left hand.

“I do.” Ernest squeezed it, and she was forced to hold back the instinct to launch herself into his arms and kiss him all over.

They were still in church, after all.

“…whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder,” the vicar trilled.

Great delight and applause rang out in the church as Gwen turned to see all those who loved her celebrating at her marriage.

It had happened.

She was no longer Miss Gwendoline Chance. She was Gwendoline Quintrell, Baroness Frasemere.

More importantly, she was the wife of the best man she had ever known.

“And now,” Ernest murmured in her ear softly, “I want to take you home and—”

“We have a wedding breakfast to attend,” Gwen said hastily, cheeks burning as the vicar looked most carefully away.

Ernest’s curse under his breath only made her smile all the more. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” she said lightly, squeezing his hand. “But we have all our lives to enjoy the rest.”

Truth be told, the wedding breakfast did feel like the rest of her life. Gwen smiled at the countless guests her parents had invited, only recognizing half of them—Sir Arnold Quintrell, his wife, and his daughters actually among them, putting on painted-on smiles, perhaps proud of their ‘country cousin’ now that he had married a Chance, the fools—and tried not to yawn as elderly ladies she could not name told her how delighted they were to see her married. With an emphasis on addressing her as baroness.

It seemed the ‘compliments’ were truly barbs designed to wound her and remind her she had once proclaimed her intentions of becoming a marchioness. Like the other Quintrells, what fools these women were, too.

And then there was the breakfast itself, an excellent meal served with ginger wine, which had made Gwen kiss her husband on the cheek and caused a few of the guests to look puzzled, one even wondering audibly where the red wine was.

And now here they stood, still hosting, still socializing, still unable to creep upstairs and consummate their marriage—officially—and trying to keep their hands off each other.