Page 93 of The Duke Says I Do
“What’s this?” He pulled back to see her face. “I won’t have you crying on our wedding day. It’s against the rules. Anyway, everything worked out.”
“I couldn’t bear thinking I might lose you.”
“I couldn’t bear thinking I might lose Jupiter.”
That elicited a watery chuckle. “I was impressed with how you stood up for your dog.”
“So was he.” Granville dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it to her. “I won’t let Jim Jones cast a pall over the best day of my life. Let’s look forward to our wedding instead. I love you so much, Portia.”
“And I love you,” she said, voice thick with emotion. The kiss was sweet and leisurely and held no shadows. It spoke of promises made and a life to be shared.
“I like your friends,” he murmured, keeping hold of her hand but moving back. “And I appreciate their tact. I was desperate to kiss you.”
“I think they noticed.” She rose on her toes to kiss him quickly.
He stared down into her lovely face, so in love that he was drunk with the emotion. “No second thoughts?”
“Heavens, no.” She returned his searching stare. “What about you?”
“I’ve never been so happy.” Heartfelt sincerity roughened his voice. “You make me happy, Portia.”
Her eyes softened, and she cradled his cheek in a tender hand. This time, the kiss was more thorough. By the time he lifted his head, Portia was flushed and breathless. So was he.
She glanced down at her gown. “Perhaps we should get married before my dress is crushed to glory.”
He laughed. “You’re a beautiful bride, my darling. I don’t deserve you.”
Her smile was misty, as she raised his ungloved hand to kiss his knuckles. The act of overt homage made his heart cramp into an aching lump of adoration. “You deserve everything in the world that makes you happy, my dearest.”
Gratitude flooded him as he smiled down at her. He was feeling rather misty himself. “That’s you, my beloved.”
The smile that she bestowed upon him was dazzling. “Make me your wife, Alaric. Let’s find Kate and Leighton and go to the church. I want the world to know I’m yours and you’re mine.”
One more quick kiss before he caught her hand. “Forever, Portia.”
“Forever, Alaric,” she echoed.
They opened the door to find Leighton and Kate coming up the corridor toward them with an extravagant array of tulips and cherry blossom and irises. Portia accepted the flowers with thanks, then took Granville’s arm.
Together, they stepped forth to claim a glorious future.
Epilogue
Lancers, Devon, August 1828
August in Devon was heavenly, especially on a sunny day like this, Portia couldn’t help thinking, as she sat in a gazebo with a view of the Duke of Evesham’s magnificent gardens. On a wicker table beside her chair rested a glass of barley water and a plate of dry crackers.
The expansive grounds resounded with children’s laughter. Children’s laughter and barking dogs. Over the years, Portia had found homes for many of her strays with her sisters and their families.
“It’s lovely to see they’ve become friends,” Juliet said from the chair next to her. She was as beautiful as ever, with a glow of contentment and achievement that warmed the hearts of everyone who loved her. Juliet had indeed turned out to be a perfect duchess. Partly because she now was more forgiving of human frailty. Her own and everyone else’s.
Portia glanced across the manicured lawns to where the dukes of Evesham and Granville were involved in an engrossing discussion. “Yes, something of a miracle,” she said drily.
Meetings between the reluctant brothers-in-law had been awkward for the first few years, even after Alaric discovered the true reason behind his first fiancée jilting him. But both Lucas and Alaric loved their wives too much to try and keep the sisters apart. Time and familiarity had gradually smoothed most of the rough edges between them.
Lucas had started hosting a house party every August to celebrate Juliet’s birthday. Something about being in the country and in the kind of large family gathering that Alaric had never known as a boy had led to a rapprochement betweenthe two dukes. By now, as Juliet said, one might even call them friends, if of the competitive, sardonic kind.
“They’re talking about tomorrow’s cricket match.” Viola looked up from her book. With motherhood, she’d developed the skill of reading and knowing exactly what was going on at the same time.
