Spring had arrived at last, and with it, the day of Clara’s wedding. Per her request, it was to be a private affair. Given the excess of publicity her life had received during the past six months, she refused to wittingly provide more fodder for the gossips of London. In this instance, anyway, the ton’s unsophisticated attempts at speculation would be their only entertainment.

She’d been due fifteen minutes ago to meet her mother and sister upstairs, but had been delayed by the enthusiastic well-wishing of her friends belowstairs. Not everyone had been able to make the trek north to Essex, and in the case of Mrs. Malone, had steadfastly refused to leave the house in less capable hands, no matter how grand the circumstances. A small crew of domestics had stayed behind to assist the stubborn housekeeper, and William had ensured transportation to Silvercreek for the rest.

These faces surrounded Clara now, beaming with eager delight. It was only appropriate for her friends to be present at the conclusion of her hard-fought and daring adventure, especially since they had been such an integral part of it. They were also more than pleased, and even honored, to help usher her into this new chapter of life as the earl’s wife, the Countess of Ashworth.

The excited chatter flowed around her, and hugs assailed her from, what seemed to be, every direction. Stella, Gilly, Tess—they all wanted one last embrace, and she reveled in both their company and affections. The sudden appearance of Matthew on the staircase, however, was sufficient to disrupt the prolonged festivities.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mayfield,” said the dark-haired footman with a jaunty lift of one brow and an exaggerated flourish of his hand, “but the pleasure of your company has been requested upstairs. Repeatedly. By your mother.”

“She’s probably worried you’ve bolted!” Mrs. Humboldt exclaimed loudly, before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Apologies, miss. Mrs. Malone would have my head if she’d heard that.”

With a laugh, Clara reassured the cook. “Not to worry. Given my history with betrothals, she would be right to worry—”

The sound of more footsteps on the stairs preceded the sight of her sister, Lucy, looking gorgeous in an azure dress with ruffled skirts that did little to mask the growing curve of her belly. Her hair, a light caramel brown, was swept up elegantly into an intricate arrangement of curls. She set her hand on the wooden rail with a thump, and sighed in a feigned show of annoyance with her younger sibling.

“Well, I thought you wanted to wear a wedding dress today, but I suppose that will just have to do,” she said, eyeing Clara’s plain dress doubtfully.

At this proclamation, Amelia grabbed Clara’s left arm and Abigail seized her right.

“We’ll be right up, Mrs. Thompson!” cried Abigail in a panic, pushing her way out of the crowd with Clara in tow.

Lucy nodded succinctly with a tiny smile upon her lips. “That’s more like it.”

Clara had convinced her friend to serve as her personal lady’s maid at Lawton Park. She would share in Abigail’s companionship once more abovestairs, and Amelia could share in it below. The sisters were beyond thrilled to be working in the same house at last, and Clara had no doubt it was the best solution for everyone involved.

The group came to the green baize door at the top of the staircase, and Lucy turned to smile at the small group before extricating Clara from their hold.

“I’m going to steal her for a moment. She’ll be up shortly.”

Amelia and Abigail drifted away. Lucy hooked her arm through Clara’s and rested her head on her shoulder, leading her slowly toward the terrace. Clara huffed in amusement.

“I thought we were in a hurry?”

She could feel her sister’s laugh against her arm. “We are. I just wanted you all to myself for a moment.” Lucy sighed as they ambled through the dining room. “I was so worried about you, Clara. And I still can’t believe how much things have changed for us now.”

Clara leaned her head against Lucy’s. “I suppose there’s nothing quite like losing both your children to make you realize how much you love them.”

“To be sure. I believe your flight from Rutherford was the only thing that could have helped bring Papa round that way.” Lucy shook her head. “It’s unfortunate it took such an event, although I daresay you might not have met your charming earl otherwise.”

She knew the truth of her sister’s words. Not only had their parents sought to reconcile with Lucy after Clara’s hasty departure, they had welcomed both her and Douglas back into the family.

And Clara couldn’t deny that during her journey she had managed to land herself a peer of the highest sort. One who was gentle, not cruel. An earl who would never strike her, preferring instead to argue his points with wit and intelligence. A husband who used laughter to diffuse her tensions. A man who would save the unfair tactics of persuasion for use in the bedroom, if need be . . .

“Well, yes,” she answered, cheeks turning warm, grateful once more for her situation’s unexpected outcome. “But it’s been shocking to see how close Papa and Douglas have grown. In fact, I would never have guessed it possible.”

Lucy rolled her eyes in Clara’s direction, a sardonic grin spreading across her pretty features. “He has much more in common with Douglas than he may have thought at first. My husband is smart and ambitious,” she said proudly. “It’s part of why I fell in love with him.” Her gaze shifted toward the windows off the terrace, where the men had gathered in discussion. “I knew that if he were given half a chance, our parents would care for him just as much as I do.”

“I’m glad you were able to forgive them. There were moments after you’d left home when I’d had my doubts.”

The pair came to a stop in the sunroom, the warm glow of mid-morning sun bright in comparison to the shadowy interior. Lucy turned to face her sister.

“One would need to be carved of stone to resist Father’s pleas. He made it clear that he loves both of us, more than any kind of approval that the ton could provide,” she said softly. “I am certain it was only after you left, though, that he truly came to know it. And oddly enough, once he stopped caring about society and their opinions, you came back to us . . . set to marry the Earl of Ashworth.”

Clara swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. After years of insisting that their happiness did not matter to him in the grand scheme of things, Mr. Mayfield actually found it did. In the aftermath of his choices . . . in the absence of his children . . . his priorities were found to be cold comfort, indeed.

“Girls!”

Clara and Lucy glanced up to find their mother approaching, skirts swishing wildly around her in her haste. She was accompanied by Eliza and her friend, Lady Caroline Rowe, who had journeyed in from Hampshire for the impending nuptials. Between Eliza’s exquisite golden beauty and Caroline’s striking auburn locks, the two women made for an eye-catching pair. Eliza winked at Clara as Mrs. Mayfield approached her, breathless.

“There you are, Clara, my goodness! Lord Ashworth has been ready for over an hour . . . I think he is very much in a hurry to be wed, while you have been dithering about belowstairs!”

“You are mistaken, Mother,” laughed Clara, craning her neck to view the gathering of men standing outside behind the main house. “I am also eager to be wed, it’s just—”

Her speech paused when her gaze found the earl through the panes of polished glass. He was standing, Rosa in his arms, his burnished gold hair gleaming, the fine angles of his face caught perfectly in the radiance of morning light. He was entirely relaxed among the gathering, engaged in conversation with Lord Evanston, Douglas, and her father.

She remembered the uproar he had created in Mayfair with his inability to attend the lavish ball. Could still see his waxen, haunted features, panic-stricken and pale. But there was no sign of that man here today. She smiled as he nearly doubled over in hilarity at something Douglas said, and could imagine him acting in much the same way before the accident. Handsome and at ease, lighthearted and charismatic, he stood dressed in his finest attire, talking and laughing with her family as if they were old friends.

Was it possible for a heart to burst with joy? She felt that perhaps it was.

In the midst of his sentence, Ashworth’s eyes found hers through the glass, and he faltered. His incomparable green eyes turned warm, and his smile acquired a sultry overtone that caused her whole body to light aflame.

Just moments following his abrupt interruption, Rosa planted her tiny hands on Ashworth’s face and manually rotated it back toward the group, who had already turned where they stood to determine the reason for his distraction. Viscount Evanston grinned and stepped to the right, effectively blocking his friend’s view of his betrothed, while Mrs. Mayfield gasped in horror.

“He can’t see you before the wedding! Upstairs, now . . .”

Lucy went to her mother’s side and took her hand. “Be at ease, Mother. All will be well.”

Her large blue eyes widened meaningfully at Clara and she tipped her head toward the dining room. “Lord Evanston is a pleasant man,” she said in an attempt to divert her mother’s anxiety as they made their way en masse inside the house. “You and he are closely acquainted, are you not?” she asked Eliza.

“We are,” answered the earl’s sister.

Lucy smiled good-naturedly. “I only ask because I see his eyes follow you quite often. I was curious if perhaps—”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” came Eliza’s amused reply. “We’re just friends, and barely even that sometimes.”

Lucy glanced at Clara with a suppressed grin. It was obvious she had detected the same heat whenever the viscount’s gaze lingered on Lady Cartwick, but it seemed the only person who could not see it, or refused to, was Eliza, herself.

Upon arriving at the base of the stairs, Mrs. Mayfield slipped her hand into Clara’s. “Allow me to walk you upstairs?”

Clara murmured in acquiescence and the ladies turned to retire to the drawing room. Her mother pulled her closer while they made their way up the staircase, leaving the commotion of the wedding preparations behind them for a moment of quiet.

“I’m so very sorry for what you’ve been through,” her mother said in a low voice. “You told me . . . I know you did . . . but I just didn’t understand. Didn’t hear you the way I should have.”

Clara shook her head. “No, no. We’ve moved past this now.”

“Perhaps, but it still keeps me up at night. You should never have had to run away for us to understand how desperate you were.”

Clara paused on the landing and turned to face her, squeezing her hand gently. “I won’t disagree with that. But here we are, and it’s all worked out for the best.” A gleam of tears shone in her mother’s eyes, and Clara hugged her close to whisper in her ear. “Sleep well tonight, Mama. Today I am marrying the man I love.”

“Well, then you had better go and get dressed,” her mother laughed, backing away to dab at her eyes. “Abigail and Amelia are already in your chambers, and as you saw for yourself, the earl is ready.”

After one last embrace, Clara raced upstairs in a most unladylike fashion. Shutting her bedchamber door behind her, she glanced over at her wedding dress, hanging in the corner. A lovely dress, as it always had been. White satin, lace, pearls . . .

The memory of that fateful night came rushing back. Her dress had appeared like a ghost in the gloom, the crickets’ song had bid her farewell, and she had known her life was about to change forever . . .

Clara also recalled the good-bye note she had tearfully pinned to the front of her wedding dress. With a start, she realized that the note was still there.

Except it wasn’t quite right. She stepped closer for a better view.

The original note was still in place:

But to her surprise, there was now another note beneath it, pinned carefully to the shining fabric. She leaned forward to read it, then began to laugh.