There’d been notes, too—from Cicely, Rosalind, and Miranda, her sisters, from her two brothers, and her mother and father, too. From Juliette and Robert, and the de Rochers.
But it was the present Cicely, Rosalind, and Miranda had hidden in the top of her night case that reduced her to tears. A scandalous nightgown of silk and lace, all but diaphanous, with a note pinned to the abbreviated neckline:
You gave us our dreams—we hope this helps in making yours come true.
She’d been laughing and crying at the same time.
Gaston had looked at her warily, then carefully taken her into his arms. He’d kissed her forehead, then after a moment murmured, “I know you are crying because you are happy, mignonne, but I cannot say that I like to see you cry.”
She’d cried even harder then.
After she’d dried her eyes, and with Gaston’s help changed into the traveling gown someone had helpfully left out, while she’d checked her jewelry, brushes, and combs, Gaston summoned the footmen and sent her trunks down to the carriage waiting to whisk them to the coast.
At her insistence, they’d come up to the tiny gallery; Gaston had seen no reason to go anywhere near the wedding breakfast and the hordes of people attending, but she’d pressed and he’d bent and agreed she could look from afar.
Now that she knew her family and the de Rochers, and Robert, too, had been in on his plan all along, she wasn’t so surprised to see no anxious glances being cast about, no hint of any tension marring the joy of the gathering below.
His gaze on her face, Gaston said from beside her, “The organization was done—your role, and mine, too, were played and complete.”
She nodded.
He stepped back to the curtains at the rear of the gallery.
Hands on the railing, she turned.
He captured her gaze, his eyes dark and intent, and held out his hand. “Come. You have started enough couples on their roads to happiness—it is time to step out along your own path.”
She held his gaze, then without a single glance back, she turned from the railing, turned her back on the noisy gathering below, placed her hand in his and let him draw her on—into life, into love, into their shared future.
August 1820
Drawing Room, Lady Osbaldestone’s town house, London
“ ‘In an exclusive report, this publication can advise its readers that Lady Margaret Dawlish, eldest daughter of the Duke of Durham and widely regarded as the ton’s most successful organizer of exclusive weddings, has married the Duc de Perigord in a very private ceremony in Paris. It is rumored that the bride and groom, both having reached a certain age, saw no reason to indulge in the pomp and circumstance customarily attendant on marriages of such eminent scions of ducal houses, and thus chose to marry quietly.
“ ‘An alternative hypothesis is that, having just concluded the organization of the recent royal wedding of the Prince du Garde, a close relative of the duc, in London, Lady Margaret and the duc opted for a smaller family ceremony in order not to be seen as in any way competing with the younger couple for society’s attention.
“ ‘Regardless of which of these theories holds most water, it is known that the couple, having been granted the required royal assent from Loius XVIII, were married in the family chapel of the elegant Hotel de Perigord in Paris on the sixteenth of July. The bride’s family is known to have been vacationing in Paris over that time.
“ ‘Sadly for all young ladies in any way connected with the House of Durham, we must report that our sources have indicated that Lady Margaret is unlikely to resume her previous hobby. She is believed to have returned with her husband to his estates in the south of France with the stated intention of devoting her considerable energies henceforth to assisting the duc in ruling over and rebuilding the far-flung de Perigord family holdings.
“ ‘It is with sincere regret that we at this publication bid Lady Margaret a fond adieu. In view of the many events she has organized which have provided our readers with such vicarious excitement over the years, with all due regard we take this opportunity to wish her well.’
“Well! That was very nicely put, I must say.” Cicely laid the morning paper aside. “I must remember to post a copy to Meg—she’ll appreciate that last bit.”
“Indeed.” Lady Osbaldestone’s black eyes gleamed. She nodded at Cicely with overt approval. “You did well, child. There are weddings, and weddings, and while Meg may have been expert in organizing the first sort, you did very well. Clearly she isn’t the only Dawlish who can plan a wedding and pull it off.” Catching Cicely’s eye, Lady Osbaldestone asked, “Are you going to tell her? Confess that it was you that devil Gaston enlisted to aid him?”