The next few weeks went by in a flurry of activity as arrangements were made for the wedding. Mrs Wiggins, delighted that her beloved charge was at last to be married, threw herself enthusiastically into organising the domestic side of things. Edward, enjoying the horse he had recently purchased from Max, drove himself over in the gig to visit the Rushmores. Both he and Arthur were doing their very best to make up for two hundred years of lost time. Seemingly the only time Phoebe and Duncan could be alone was on their daily ride. They went still to the home wood, to the place that was ever likely to be a sanctuary for them.
“I cannot believe we have reached this time, Duncan. Tomorrow we shall be married.”
“And at last I shall be able to call you mine.”
“I have been yours, I think, since the day you unashamedly accosted me here. So large you were and full of impudence. I did not know then that I would tumble headlong into love.”
“Whereas I knew immediately. I even told Beau of it as we returned to Cranford.”
She looked up at him, astonished. “You did?”
“I have loved you from the moment we met. You make me laugh, you have never bored me and only once or twice have you made me angry.”
“When? When did I make you angry?”
He looked down at her tenderly and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “When you would face Fawley alone and the day you entered the ice house without me, but my anger was born of fear. You are a fearless woman, Phoebe. It is one of the things I most admire about you. It shows itself even in the way you ride. And tomorrow we begin a great adventure.”
“Our marriage.”
“Yes, but that is only the start. I look forward to taking you to Kirkleas to meet Fergus and his family.”
“I am longing to see them, and to see where you were born and raised. If it is half as beautiful as you describe it could not disappoint me.”
Duncan had spoken truly. It would indeed be a beginning and, for Phoebe, the fulfilment of a lifelong dream. They were to travel from Scotland to France and onwards to Italy and Greece. The world she had always longed to see would be hers to explore. But for now, Duncan took her hand, kissed her fingertips, and helped her into the saddle. They rode side by side back to Glendale and forward into their future.
About the Author
Natalie is a published novelist and short story writer whose addiction to the books of Georgette Heyer and love of The Regency have been the inspiration for her latest book, The Ghost of Glendale.
Working on the premise that you never stop learning, she goes to any and every writing event and workshop she can. In addition she attends The Write Place Creative Writing School in Hextable in Kent, one of the rewards for which is an abundant supply of cream cakes to celebrate the frequent successes of its students.
Natalie is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, The Society of Authors and the Society of Women Writers and Journalists. She lives with her husband in southeast London.
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