22 November, 1817

“Exquisite,” Eleanor said, admiring Margaret before her. “I do not believe I have ever seen a more beautiful bride.”

Margaret’s bright blue eyes shone, her expression alight with joy, her deep red hair arranged with care beneath her veil, its rich color heightened by the white silk of her gown. “I cannot stop smiling,” she said, almost breathless with it. “I cannot believe the day has finally come…” She turned slightly toward the looking glass as Bessie adjusted the fall of her skirts. “It felt as though it would never arrive, and now the days have vanished all at once.”

“I remember feeling that too,” Eleanor said with a soft laugh, though it faltered as a sudden wave of nausea came over her just as a servant entered with a tray of refreshments.

Margaret’s gaze fixed on her at once. “You have avoided my questions thus far, but you cannot deny me on my wedding day, Eleanor.”

Eleanor moved toward the window and opened it slightly, drawing in the fresh air until the feeling began to pass. “I have missed my last two cycles,” she said, her voice low. “But I am not certain yet, and I do not wish to tell James until I am sure.”

Margaret stepped toward her at once, her excitement impossible to contain. “I knew it. Rawlings remarked upon how radiant you look, and I would wager James suspects it as well. I heard him instruct Mrs. Patches to keep certain windows open for fresh air near where you sit, and to see that no fish is served until further notice.”

Eleanor paused, the realization coming to her as she thought back over the past weeks, how attentive James had been, more so than usual; how certain dishes had disappeared from the table when they did not agree with her; how breakfast had been served later and dinner earlier, as her fatigue had grown more constant. “Goodness… I believe you may be right,” she said, a small laugh escaping her. “He must suspect it.” She drew in a breath. “But it is still too early to know for certain.”

“I believe this is the happiest news I have received since my father was granted permission to perform the ceremony for our wedding,” Margaret said with a warm smile. “Congratulations, my dear friend, you and James will be wonderful parents.”

“Thank you, Margaret, but enough,” Eleanor said, taking her hands with gentle insistence. “Today is yours and Rawlings’s day, and my thoughts are entirely on you. Come, you must eat something and take some tea. We are running short of time, and I will not have you fainting in the church for want of it.”

They arrived at the church where their friends and family already gathered inside, along with Rawlings and James. Eleanor glanced from the carriage window at the familiar building where she had married James, and a soft smile touched her lips at the memory. She turned then to Margaret.

“You look beautiful. Now, Miss Blythe, are you quite ready to become Mrs. Rawlings?” she asked, smiling as she took her hand.

“Most definitely,” Margaret replied with bright excitement. “I cannot wait to see Edward. I managed to persuade Mr. Wesson to tell me that his tailcoat is to be dark green. I imagine he will look very handsome in it.”

“Well then, let us discover for ourselves,” Eleanor said with a laugh.

A footman stepped forward to assist her from the carriage, and then turned to help Margaret descend, carefully managing the fall of her silk skirts, while Bessie followed close behind, ensuring that not a trace of the ground marked them before they entered the church.

The ceremony was both beautiful and deeply touching. Margaret’s father delivered the sermon with a warmth that carried through the church, his voice filled with emotion as he looked upon his only daughter and the man who was to become his son. Eleanor had come to learn, in the weeks before, how highly he thought of Rawlings, and how he had once remarked that he could not have parted with his dear Maggie for anyone less worthy of her.

As the vows were spoken, Eleanor’s gaze shifted briefly to James, who stood beside Rawlings with pride, his posture composed, and his expression one of delighted support. A thought came to her then, as she watched him, of how he would make a wonderful father and how she could not wait to start their family together.

Her attention returned to the couple before her, and in that moment she saw something new in Rawlings. Gone was the man of dry wit, charm, and keen observation; in his place stood a man entirely given over to love. His expression, as he looked at Margaret, was open and sincere, filled with a devotion so evident that there could be no doubt, he believed himself the most fortunate man alive.

Before long, the vows were complete, and the church filled with joy and celebration.

By early afternoon, they had returned to Thornfield, where Eleanor and James hosted the wedding breakfast in honor of the newly married couple. The house, once marked by tension and uncertainty, now stood full of light, laughter, and easy companionship. Rawlings and Margaret were to remain with them for the week before departing for Scotland, and as Eleanor moved among their guests, she could not help but feel that all which had once threatened to divide them had, at last, given way to something lasting and good.

When the meal had progressed and glasses had been filled, James rose from his seat, drawing the attention of the room.

“It gives me great pleasure,” he began, his gaze turning to Rawlings, “to stand here today and speak for a man for whom I have long held respect, long before I had the honor of calling him my friend. His character, his integrity, and his loyalty are qualities I have come to value above many others, and I am proud to stand at his side on this day.” He paused, a hint of amusement touching his expression. “And yet, for all his many good qualities, I believe he is still most decidedly outmatched by his bride.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

“But in that,” James continued, lifting his glass slightly, “he is, without question, the most fortunate of men.”

Lady Hargreave, smiling warmly, added from her place, “I am quite delighted in the union and hope you will both return to the neighborhood often, for you shall always be most welcome.”

James nodded his head in agreement. “Indeed, Thornfield will always stand open to you both. You are to consider it a home whenever you wish it so.” He raised his glass fully then. “To Rawlings and Margaret.”

The toast was echoed throughout the room, accompanied by warmth, laughter, and the happiness of those gathered.

“And now, Mr. Blythe,” James said, turning with a smile toward Margaret’s father, “I believe we should all be glad to hear from you.”

Mr. Blythe beamed with pride as he looked upon Margaret. Turning aside, he dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief before clearing his throat and beginning.

“My dear daughter, you have brought so much light and laughter into my life that you have made being a father a far easier task than I ever deserved, though I will admit, your spirit has not always made it a peaceful one.”

A wave of gentle amusement moved through the room.

“Captain Rawlings,” he continued, turning toward him, “I find I have no need to offer the sort of warnings so often given on such occasions. I know you to be a man of honor, and it gives me great comfort to see Margaret place her future in your care.” He turned back to Margaret, his expression softening. “Maggie, my dear, I only wish your mother could see you now. I see so much of her in you, and I remember our own wedding day as though it were yesterday.” His voice faltered for a moment before he went on. “I do not give you away as though you are lost to me, but rather with the hope that you will always return. My home remains yours, for both you and Captain Rawlings, and you shall always find in it a place of welcome, counsel, and love.” He lifted his glass slightly. “May your life together be a happy one.”

Eleanor, moved by what Mr. Blythe had said, dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, noticing that James, beside her, cleared his throat and glanced down, equally affected. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, and when he looked back at her, they shared a smile, both happy to be part of Rawlings and Margaret’s day.

Then Rawlings rose, glass in hand, and drew in a breath before allowing a small smile to form. “I have addressed many in my time,” he began, “but I confess I have never felt nerves such as these.”

Laughter moved through the room.

“I am not, as many of you will know, a man particularly at ease with compliments, and I generally do my best to avoid them altogether. Yet Lord Ashcombe, and Mr. Blythe, you have both spoken with a generosity I do not deserve, and I am most grateful for it.” He glanced toward Margaret, his expression sincere. “Lord Ashcombe, I believe you entirely correct, for even the best of men would find himself no match for the lady beside me. Margaret Rawlings is beyond anything I could have hoped for, and I remain at a loss as to how she ever agreed to be my wife.” He continued, addressing the room. “I offer my thanks to all who have travelled to be here today: to Mr. Blythe, for his blessing, and for marrying us; to Lord and Lady Ashcombe, for their generosity in hosting both us and this celebration.” He paused, his gaze returning to Margaret. “But most of all, to you, my love, for saying yes, and for making this day possible.” He glanced briefly toward Eleanor. “I remarked upon your wedding day, Lady Ashcombe, that you made quite the bride, and Lord Ashcombe was too overcome to reply. I now find myself in full sympathy with him, for I, too, find myself at a loss.”

A soft laugh followed.

“Pray, enjoy the day. I thank you all, most sincerely, for sharing it with us.”

Later that evening, there was a brief moment where the four of them, Eleanor, James, Rawlings, and Margaret, found themselves alone in the drawing room, awaiting the rest of the guests before proceeding to the dining saloon.

“I must tell you all, before the others join us, of the latest letter we have received from Philip,” Eleanor began, a smile of amusement touching her lips. “He is quite well, and it seems Greece has agreed with him even more than he had hoped. He also sent the present you found in your chambers earlier, enclosed with the letter.”

“The silk shawl and waistcoat?” Margaret asked with surprise. “I had meant to ask you after dinner.”

“Indeed,” Eleanor replied.

“I have said it before, but Philip never ceases to surprise me,” Rawlings said with a low laugh. “That was most considerate of him.”

“He has found better use of his character,” James added. “Or at last, discovered the goodness in it. We have become good friends.” He turned to Eleanor. “Tell them what he said of Lady Harlow.”

“There is a name I did not expect to hear again,” Margaret said. “I thought she had left England after news spread of her involvement with a criminal.”

“She did,” Eleanor said. “Lady Hargreave later gave me the particulars. Though I still do not know how you managed to keep Philip’s being alive from becoming known during the charges against Vane, Rawlings, it was nevertheless discovered that Lady Harlow had aligned herself with him in an attempt to secure a marriage with James. Nothing further was known in the district, but it was enough to damage her reputation, and she left soon after you both departed Thornfield last year.” She raised her brows slightly. “Philip writes that she has since attached herself to a wealthy gentleman, some baron, I believe, and has managed to marry him. She is now living in Italy.”

“It is not far enough,” Margaret remarked.

James smiled and shook his head before continuing, “There is something I would know… I recall the day you both first met.” He looked at Margaret, “That evening, Rawlings asked if you had ever been to Scotland, and when you said you had not, but wished to one day, he replied that he had no doubt you would. I knew then he meant to take you.” He turned to Rawlings. “I must now ask, was I correct?”

Rawlings laughed, lifting Margaret’s hand and pressing a kiss to it. “You know me far too well, James. In that moment, I was entirely certain that, should she agree to be my wife one day, it would be the first place we should go together.”

“For all the trouble Philip caused,” James said with thought, his gaze softening as it moved to Eleanor, “I believe we are all indebted to him. For how else should you have found your Margaret, and I my Eleanor?”

Eleanor met his gaze and smiled in return.

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