by Eva Devon
“Yes, yes,” St. John said, clearing his throat. He clapped Stanley on the back then pulled him into a gruff hug. “You’re a damn good friend.”
Stanley laughed. “Indeed, I am.”
St. John turned to her, his own gaze full of hope. “Shall we marry, then?”
Eloise’s heart soared. “We have a special license. We are here. Who should like such a situation to be wasted? Oh!” Eloise let out a tsk. “But there’s certainly no vicar. He must be asleep.”
“Easily managed,” Stanley declared before striding off into the dark.
“What is he doing?” Eloise asked, trying to follow him with her gaze.
“I think he’s going to wake up the vicar,” St. John said.
“How ever do you think he got a license without names on it?” she breathed, staring after their mutual friend.
“He’s the Duke of Stanley,” he replied, bemused, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And she knew that was exactly what Stanley would have replied too. He was a great man of resources and influence, the duke.
She drew in a happy breath. “Is this to be our wild wedding?” she said.
“Indeed, it is.” His brow furrowed in contemplation. “Though, it is a peaceful wedding here in the country, compared to one at Westminster or St. Paul’s.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “I should hate to give up on that. For, I wish to be just with you now.”
“And I, you,” she agreed. “But I must argue. This is as wild a wedding as any debutante or wallflower could ever imagine! To be taken by coach to the countryside to a small church at night? To have a duke be the witness? And to have a special license? This is wild, indeed, My Lord.”
A moment later, Stanley was marching out a groggy-looking fellow from the small cottage next to the church.
“Come, come,” Stanley called, as happy as she had ever seen him.
“He’s ready and willing,” hollered the duke.
St. John held his arm out to her. “Are you certain?”
“More certain of this than anything I have been in my entire life.”
He gazed down at her and asked, amazed, “Even of being a singer?”
She paused, cocked her head to the side, and smiled. “Perhaps just,” she replied. “Though I know how lucky I am, for I shall get to have both you and my song.”
“Indeed, you shall,” he assured, stroking an errant lock of her blonde curls back from her face. “I should never dream of stopping you.”
“I know,” she said, her heart full. “It never even occurred to me that you might try.”
With that, he walked with her across the green, lit only by the light of the moon.
And they entered the small stone church.
Its simple nave was perfect. There was nothing to distract them from each other and this moment.
Stanley stood by the vicar, looking like he was about to burst with the pleasure of his managing.
The vicar tugged at his robes, which were quite askew, and he fumbled with his book as he blinked, trying to put on his spectacles.
She and St. John stopped just before him.
Stanley whispered a page number sotto voce, and the vicar gave him a most annoyed stare before he cleared his throat.
“Dearly beloved,” he began, his voice reedy. “We are gathered together. . .”
Eloise gazed up at her soon-to-be husband.
She never would have imagined that barging into his chamber, so many weeks ago now, would have resulted in something like this. She’d wished independence, freedom, and now she was going to be married.
But to St. John, it wouldn’t be an imprisonment. She wouldn’t be giving up her dreams. Or becoming his chattel. She wouldn’t be sacrificing happiness for position. Or marrying because that was all a lady of the ton was meant to do.
No, marriage to St. John was exactly what she wanted.
He had made her more herself, not less. And she hoped with all of her heart she could do the same.
Happier than she had ever been, she looked back to the vicar, eager and ready to say, “I do.”
Epilogue
The next days had proved joyous ones. . .
Even when she had had to tell her parents the truth.
For, there was no point in lying now.
All of society knew Eloise Edgington and Mrs. Stella Cartwright were one and the same and that she was married to the Earl of Hollybrook.
Even her friend Helena Highbury now knew. Helena had even seen her perform at the opera. Eloise had received a note from her. And now that she was wed, she was eager to invite Helena to stay.
Her mother and father, far from being horrified, could not stop chattering happily about their daughter the countess, their good friend the duke, and how wonderful the arts were.
People were strange, indeed. Or perhaps they were not. Her mother and father had only ever worried about her future. And now, they knew it was secure. They could accept her dreams now because her dreams would not ruin her chances at security.
Few could claim more security or a better match than she.
She and her husband easily could have gone to his grand townhouse across the city, but instead, they chose the one they had first shared together. It was beautiful, small, perfect, intimate.
Eventually, she knew they would take up his official residence. But for now, the intimacy was most important.
He had not and would never ask her to give up the opera, and for that, she was overjoyed.
In fact, she had finished the Mozart opera, and they were preparing for an opera by Gluck.
She traced her hand over the red seat, savoring the fact that her husband owned this theater. That the heart and soul of it came from him.
She smiled to herself, thinking of the people who came every night to listen to her sing.
London had not torn her down as some had feared.
No, they had decided to laugh and think her ruse terribly clever. How marvelous that the wallflower of London was now the most dramatic of singers.
It did help that the Duke of Stanley was supporting them, for few would go against the duke.
Every day they spent together filled her more and more with happiness.
She adored helping him at the theater, too, in the moments when he allowed himself to pursue the passion he so admired.
She found he allowed her to spend more and more time in the running of the theater company, helping to make decisions about it. And her friendship with Mrs. Drake grew stronger every day.
She thought of her other friends. Her wallflower friends who had seized their lives and decided to no longer allow society to determine their fate.
Pippa and Helena had both struck out, changing their lives. They’d found love too.
She’d received a letter from Lucy this morning. She slipped her hand to the folded note in the reticule at her wrist.
Her dear Scottish friend had seemed to have met her match in a man who would brook no nonsense and could not be easily maneuvered.
Lucy sounded most frustrated, and Eloise hoped that her friend’s employer did not find himself brained in the middle of the night.
She smiled to herself. If she didn’t know better, for all her protestation, Eloise would have thought Lucy had feelings for the dratted man.
St. John strode down the long way between the seats and stopped beside her. He slipped his hand into hers. “What do you think of the new decorations and backdrops?” he asked easily.
There was nothing easy about the question. He had put hours into the new changes. He wished her to admire them.
And she did.
So, when she smiled and nodded, he beamed.
“They are beautiful, St. John. It was brilliant of you to adapt the Italian style.”
St. John led her closer to the stage through the dim and empty theater. Their hands twined together gently as they had once done and as, she was sure now, they would do for the rest of their lives.
“Well,” she teased. “Ladies sneaking into your chamber certainly happened to you often enough.”
“Don’t say things like that, my love,” he protested with a laugh. “Those days are done.”
“You’re not a rake any longer?” she queried. “I rather liked your rakish charm, you know?”
He stopped and turned towards her. Gently, he cupped her chin. “All my rakish ways are for you, Eloise. All of me is for you.”
“Then, I must make use of it, mustn’t I?”
He traced his thumb lightly over her lower lip. “Please do, my lady. Please do.”
And with that, he led her into a dark corner of the theater. He gazed down into her eyes, his own full of love.
He took her mouth with his, claiming her as his own, and she claimed him right back.
THE END
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