Ready for the rest of their lives together.
Josiah’s grip on her arm changed. “Ready?”
Harry smiled without a hint of nerves. “I have been ready for years.”
The church was full as they stepped inside, with everyone from polite society in attendance. No one turned down an invitation from the Earl of Chester—especially not after such gossip about the bride and bridegroom’s recklessness splattering the newspapers for weeks.
But Harry did not think about that. Her eyes and attention were focused on one person, and he was smiling with a hungry look.
She knew what Monty was thinking, and he wouldn’t get that until at least that evening. Unless he was lucky.
“Finally,” he breathed as they reached the top of the aisle.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
She jumped as a hand reached out for her flowers. Letitia had once again managed to fade into the background, but everyone did as Harry turned to face Monty.
He was so handsome, so kind, and all hers.
“Dearly beloved,” said the vicar. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to join together this man…”
There were vows, Harry was sure of it. She probably even agreed to most of them. But every moment was a blur as she could not take her eyes from Monty’s face.
She had thought this day, the day she would see Monty get married, would be the saddest, most desolate day of her life.
But this would be a day she would treasure forever.
“—declare them man and wife.”
The vicar’s words echoed into the silence, and Monty winked.
“There,” she breathed. “Now you can never escape me.”
“I don’t want to,” Monty whispered back.
Sunlight was streaming through his sandy hair, and his gray eyes were fixed on her. Harry stared in wonder, in amazement. He was hers, and she was his. She would never have to worry again about losing him to another, never have to panic that one day he would find someone who could entertain him like she could, care for him like she did, laugh at him as she did.
He was her husband, and she was his wife.
Ignoring the vicar’s gasping protestations, Harry took a step forward and kissed Monty hard on the mouth. He responded with even more ardor.
“Now, really!” the vicar spluttered.
Harry ignored him. All she wanted to do was kiss her husband, and so she did.
When she finally released him, there was a stunned silence in the church, other than a giggle, which Harry could tell, without looking around, was coming from Honora. Trust her sister-in-law to see the funny side.
Very slowly, Harry turned around to look at the congregation. They were all staring, a few matriarchs at the back muttering together.
“Do you deliberately go about trying to get me into trouble?” Monty murmured with a grin.
“No, it just comes naturally.”
They were cheered out of the church when the service finally came to an end, partly, Harry suspected, led by the Smythes and her brother. It did not matter. She simply could not care anymore whether society approved of her.
She was the Duchess of Devonshire now, and she could do what she liked.
As they stepped out of the church, Monty pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“I could get used to this,” he growled.
Harry pulled away, regretfully, and tried to pull her veil straight. “You fool, you’ve moved the veil! What will Letitia say?”
Monty ignored her. “Now then, your brother has organized the wedding reception and says we absolutely must attend, no matter what other things we may want to, and I am directly quoting here, ‘get up to.’”
Harry grinned as their guests poured from the church. “He knows you well, then. Do we have to go?”
Monty made a face. “I mean, ’tis our wedding reception. It would look strange if we did not make an appearance!”
As they walked to the house, Harry could see streamers and ribbons pouring from every window.
She groaned. “Josiah does have the worst taste in décor, Monty.”
The hallway was packed full of well-wishers, but there was one person Harry was looking for that she simply could not see. It was only after a second sweep of the drawing room that she saw her, hiding once again in plain sight.
“There you are,” she said, pulling her around a corner. “Letitia, thank you.”
Letitia had been standing by the wall, allowing conversations to wash over her, and at Harry’s words, she blushed.
“What for?”
Harry smiled and shook her head. “The mere reason you do not know why you are to be thanked is reason enough. But beyond that—”
“There you are.” Monty pushed through the crowd and beamed. “You found her, good. Thank you, Letitia.”
Letitia looked from one of them to the other. “I-I still do not understand—”
“You are my bridesmaid,” Harry reminded her.
Cheeks pink, Letitia shook her head, eyes downcast. “All I did was walk behind you, Harry.”
Harry glanced at Monty, who shrugged. Letitia had never been good at taking compliments, even those she warranted.
“They are making a set in the dining room,” said Monty suddenly with a smile. “With the doors to this room open, it will make for at least eight couples. Can I encourage you to join them, Letitia?”
Harry cast her new husband a warning glance, but it was too late.
Letitia blushed. “N-No one has asked me, Monty.”
“Why don’t you,” Harry started, but she was interrupted.
“Give me a moment,” said Monty, looking around quickly, “and I can—”
“Please.” Letitia’s voice was so strong, Monty stopped his search and stared. “Please, Monty. I beg you. No partners for pity.”
Harry’s heart twisted painfully. She had not been born with shyness herself, and so could not understand the freezing panic that overwhelmed her friend, but it had led to a lonely and certainly difficult life so far. If Letitia were to marry, she would have to find some way of overcoming her wallflower tendencies.
“Letitia,” she began but was once again interrupted—but not, this time, by her husband.
“Lady Harriet!”
Harry groaned. She knew that voice, and she was not going to enjoy the forthcoming conversation.
“I had better go,” said Monty hurriedly. “I think I am needed by—”
“Don’t you dare,” hissed Harry before turning around and beaming, “Mrs. Bryant. You are confused.”
Mrs. Bryant blinked. “Confused? I am no such thing, Lady Harriet, for I—”
“There you go again,” said Harry sweetly. “For you see, Mrs. Bryant, about an hour ago, I married Montague Cavendish. Do you know what that makes me?”
Mrs. Bryant swallowed, her cheeks pink. “Why, yes. The Duchess of Devonshire, but that does not mean—”
“And so, I am not Lady Harriet any longer,” Harry said. There were few people she would demand this from, but after everything that had happened, Mrs. Bryant was one of them. “I am ‘Your Grace,’ or ‘Your Ladyship.’”
Letitia had disappeared by this point, Harry knew not where, so there was only Monty to hear her. He forced down a chuckle.
Mrs. Bryant blanched. “You should not have played that trick on me,” she said defiantly. “It was very wrong, Your Grace, when you were engaged, and the whole shameful affair was going to be covered up.”
Pure fury rose in Harry’s chest, but before she could speak, Monty put his hand on her arm. The hard ball of anger in the pit of her stomach softened and melted away.
What did it all matter, when the outcome was marriage to Monty?
He smiled. “Mrs. Bryant, we have you to thank.”
He had not taken his eyes from her as he spoke, and Harry had not looked away, so she heard rather than saw Mrs. Bryant’s indignation.
“It was your gossip which b
rought us together,” Monty continued, finally breaking the connection between them and glancing at Mrs. Bryant. “But I will take it badly, Mrs. Bryant, if I see any other gossip come from your pen.”
Mrs. Bryant was blowing up like a balloon. “Are you—do you dare to threaten me, Your Grace?”
Monty smiled. “I own two of the biggest newspapers in the country, Mrs. Bryant. I could make your life difficult.”
Before she could say anything else, Monty took Harry’s hand and pulled her away. Harry looked back before they moved into the dining room and laughed at the look of shock and confusion on her face.
“Would you really do that?”
Monty shook his head as they walked slowly around the dancers. “No, I do not think I could bring myself to make up lies, even for her.”
Harry smiled. This man, what had she done to deserve him? “Look at you, making the world a better place for the next generation. I am proud of you.”
He laughed and pulled her into the adjoining room, a much quieter room which was barely used.
“I won’t have to worry about the next generation for years,” Monty said, pulling her into his arms and smiling. “All I want to worry about is you. Harry Stanhope, my best friend. My bride.”
Harry smiled. Her heart was already so full, and she had never thought it could contain any more happiness.
That was, until last week.
She placed her hand on her stomach, below her navel, and smiled. “I am not so sure you have years before you have to think about the next generation, Monty.”
His eyes widened, then crinkled as he broke into a laughing smile. “You—you are not. We didn’t?”
Harry nodded. “We must not have been as careful as we thought. In about seven months, there will be a new Cavendish in the world.”
Monty crushed his lips onto hers and tightened his arms around her. When they finally broke apart, there were tears in his eyes.
“I could never have guessed,” he said shakily, “just how much our friendship would mean to me. My best friend.”
About Emily E K Murdoch
If you love falling in love, then you’ve come to the right place.
I am a historian and writer and have a varied career to date: from examining medieval manuscripts to designing museum exhibitions, to working as a researcher for the BBC to working for the National Trust.
My books range from England 1050 to Texas 1848, and I can’t wait for you to fall in love with my heroes and heroines!
Follow me on twitter and instagram @emilyekmurdoch, find me on facebook at facebook.com/theemilyekmurdoch, and read my blog at www.emilyekmurdoch.com.
Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4) Page 18
