Lady Iona's Rebellion (32 page)

Epil
ogue

“It’s time,” Nathan’s mother said and gave his hand a squeeze.

Nathan had dreamt of this day ever since Iona had burst into his friend’s study and ignited his heart two years ago. In none of those fairytale-wedding-day dreams did he imagine he’d be feeling unduly queasy.

He emerged from the Callaway Abbey parlor and tugged on his gloves. By all accounts this morning was going to be perfect. The servants had outdone themselves, decorating the entry hall, staircase and ballroom with garlands of fragrant jasmine, honeysuckle and passionflowers. The Marquess’s cheeks were pink with health as he paced by the door, mumbling that they mustn’t be late.

“You are going to make every lady at the ceremony weep at the sight of you,” his friend, Viscount Evers, said. He pounded Nathan on the shoulder.

“Something isn’t right,” Nathan grumbled, his blue tailcoat beginning to feel too tight. His light gray breeches too loose. And he feared his white hose were in imminent danger of slipping down around his ankles.

Maryanne kissed his cheek as he plodded out toward the waiting carriage. “Everything will be fine,” she whispered in his ear. Edward, standing obediently at her side, scowled.

“If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be bumping up against the bridal party,” his mother warned as she hurried down the steps. “We can’t have that. Come along. Come along.”

“I am sorry, Mother.” Nathan marched back into the house. “But I’m not yet ready.”

* * * * *

“It’s simply nerves,” Iona’s mother said in a hushed voice to the Duke. “She will be fine once we get to the church.”

Iona dabbed her eyes, not at all sure why she was crying. This was her wedding day. And, unlike many young ladies in her position, she loved her intended. And he loved her. She was fabulously lucky. So why should her eyes be leaking so?

“Are you sure?” her father asked. “She looks damned miserable if you ask me. I won’t give her away to him if he’s going to make her this unhappy.”

“She’ll be fine.” Her mother pushed him toward the door. “The carriages are already lined up outside. Once the Portfrys have left for the church, we won’t have much time before we will need to follow. And there is still much to be done.”

“Very well,” her father said and left them alone.

“I do wish you would stop crying,” Lillian said and dabbed a handkerchief to her red-rimmed eyes. “Your tears are making the rest of us gloomy.”

“I can’t seem to stop. I truly don’t wish to weep all the way down the aisle. I truly don’t.”

“It’s simply nerves,” her mother reassured her.

“You said the Marquess’s carriages haven’t yet left for the church?” Iona asked. She jumped up from her chair. Gracie, her maid, gave a pained shout as over half the hairpins she’d used to diligently pin a long veil into Iona’s coiffure of elaborate curls sprang free.

Iona poked her head out the open window. The carriages were indeed still neatly lined up and waiting to be loaded. She heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“I have to see him,” she said and tossed open the door.

“No!” both Gracie and Lillian cried.

“It would be unseemly!” her mother shouted as she chased after Iona.

* * * * *

Before Nathan reached the top of the stairs, a flutter of silk-trimmed white muslin crashed into his chest. Out of sheer self-preservation, he wrapped his arms around the blur of pearly white fabrics and braced himself against the wall to keep them both from taking a tumble down the marble stairs.

A pair of tear-stained cornflower blue eyes blinked up at him. “I-I desperately need to tell you something,” his lovely bride-to-be said. “I’ve waited too long already.”

Nathan’s heart sank into his toes. “I was afraid of this.” Not giving her a chance to utter a sound, he scooped her up into his arms. “Before you say anything, let me first show you what I’ve done.”

With the Duchess of Newbury shouting the roof down with warnings for him to stop at that instant, Nathan charged down the stairs and out the front door. “Harry,” he called to the carriage driver, “get us to the Holme Crossing cottage without haste.”

“This is ridiculous, Nathan, put me down.” Iona beat her tiny fists against his chest. He refused to release her until he was seated in the carriage with her sprawled across his lap.

“Now see here,” the Duke of Newbury said. He swung open the carriage door and joined them inside.

“You aren’t planning to do anything reckless, are you, Son?” the Marquess asked as he climbed in from the opposite side. No sooner had the four of them settled on the carriage benches did Harry set the contraption into motion.

“We’re going to the cottage,” Nathan said. He wasn’t going to let either man bully him into changing his mind.

The countryside raced past the window. And then the village. And finally the medieval and somewhat damp stone church crowded with wedding guests.

The carriage then made a haphazard turn and started to bounce down a grassy lane.

“We’re not going to the church?” Iona asked, her eyes growing wide with alarm. “What are you doing, Nathan?”

“You will see,” he said. “I won’t have you worried about your future with me. I won’t have you standing in front of the vicar, miserable with tears.”

“But, Nathan, I was running down the stairs to tell you—”

He pressed his lips to hers in order to keep her from telling him something he might not want to hear. She had to see what he’d done for her first. Then she would change her mind. Then her smiles would return.

“Well, I suppose if we’re doling out wedding gifts,” the Marquess grumbled, “I should like to give you mine. The Holme Crossing estate and manor.”

“That is where we are now,” Nathan explained to Iona. She peered out the window. Her mouth formed a delightful moue. “Holme Crossing’s lands are adjacent to Callaway Abbey.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said as they passed over a wooden bridge and an emerald trickling stream that fed into the Trent River.

“Father is giving us permission to live in the estate’s manor house and to have control over the property’s management.”

“Oh!” Iona smiled up at him through a haze of tears. “An estate of your own to run. That is wonderful.”

The Marquess cleared his throat. “There’s more, Nathan. The estate is unentailed. And this morning I signed over the deed to you. The land is yours.”

Nathan nearly fell off the bench. “You did?”

Iona squeezed his hand just as the carriage drew to a stop.

Before anyone could move, the Duke grumbled something under his breath. “I had planned a grand speech but if we are announcing the wedding gifts now,” he said. He reached in his pocket and drew out a scroll of foolscap. “I have purchased a London townhouse in Mayfair. It’s a block from our home, Iona.” His eyes grew misty. He gruffly cleared his throat. “I expect frequent visits.”

She gingerly accepted the deed to the property. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered.

“That is indeed generous,” Nathan said, his heart filling with joy at the sight of Iona’s returning smile. “And now, my love, I have a gift for you.”

He dropped a brass key into her lacy-gloved hand.

“What is this for?” She was frowning at the key when chaos broke out all around them. The rest of their families had chased them down and were wasting no time in piling out of the carriages.

“Where are we?” Nathan heard Lady Lillian’s shrill voice.

Once everyone was standing in front of the tidy little thatched-roofed cottage, Nathan prompted Iona, who was still frowning over the key, to open the door.

She gasped when she saw the inside. Her hands covering her mouth, she wandered into the cottage. “My art supplies.” She ran her hands over her sketchbooks.

“And the finest tools for sculpting,” Nathan pointed out. “As well as the best instructors London can provide. As I’ve been trying to tell you for the past several weeks, Thomas Barker was quite impressed with your work and he wants to introduce you to several of his friends in the artist community.”

“How wonderful,” the Duchess said.

Iona sighed. Her gaze returned to the brass key she was holding in her lacy-gloved hands with reverent care. “This is one of the finest gifts I’ve ever received.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “The key to my heart.”

And then she brushed his cheek with a tender kiss in front of her family and his. “I love you,” she said with a warrior’s conviction. “I love you, Lord Nathan Wynter. That is why I ran down the stairs. Because I realize
d I hadn’t yet told you. But you needed to know. There isn’t anyone in this world I would want for a husband save for you.”

All of a sudden Nathan understood her tears. Indeed he felt close to spilling a few himself. She’d given him the greatest possible gift—a declaration of her unconditional love in front of his family.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “We’re late for our wedding!”

He swept her up into his arms.

“Let them wait,” he said and gave her a slow passionate kiss.

Thank you for reading

LADY IONA’S REBELLION

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For Regency and mystery author, Dorothy McFalls happily-ever-after is more than just a fictional ending, having enjoyed every day of marriage to her sexy sculptor husband.  Formerly an environmental urban planner, she now writes full time. For information about Dorothy’s upcoming books, visit her website at
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