Duncan turned to Con Huxtable, who had agreed to be his best man. They both raised their eyebrows. "Sherry," Con said, "I have no idea what happened five years ago. But if you should take it into your head to bolt between here and St. George's, you are going to have to bolt through me." "I am not going to run," Duncan assured him irritably.

Con nodded. "I do not understand how all this came about either," he said. "Margaret has always seemed to me like a sensible lady. However, it /has/ happened, or will have when I have dragged you to the church and prevented you from bolting. You will treat her right, Sherry." It was not a question. "There are many things we do not understand," Duncan said. "I don't understand, for example, why Miss Huxtable's happiness is important to you, when her family moved into Warren Hall five years ago and pushed you out." Con's dark eyes were immediately hooded. "/Circumstances/ pushed me out," he said. "My father's death, and then Jon's. It is easy to rush into hatred, Sherry, and to wallow in it for a lifetime. I /did/ so rush. I /did/ hate them – or Merton, anyway. But sometimes one needs to stop to ask oneself if a certain person really deserves to be hated. Merton and his sisters were innocent – and they are pretty hard to hate. And one needs to ask who is most hurt by hatred. Do we need to be having this talk at this precise moment?" "We do not," Duncan said, resisting the urge to pull at his neckcloth. "We need to get to the church. Under the circumstances, it would be more than usually calamitous if I were late." "Off we go, then," Con said cheerfully.

Because it was a lovely day and society weddings always attracted a large crowd anyway, Stephen's coachman had to maneuver the carriage carefully before St. George's in order not to run over some of the people who had spilled over from the pavement onto the roadway.

There was a noticeable "Oooh" from the crowd as Stephen descended and turned to hand Margaret out – almost as if they thought /he/ was the bridegroom. But of course, Stephen always looked remarkably handsome even when he was not dressed in formal black and white attire as he was this morning.

Margaret set a gloved hand in his and stepped down to join him, smiling at him as he smiled back. He had actually shed tears back at the house after Vanessa and Katherine had left with Elliott and Jasper – and had turned his back hastily in the obvious hope that she had not noticed.

But he had turned to her again without drying his eyes. "Meg," he had said. "Oh, Meg, you have always been the most wonderful sister any boy or man could ever ask for. I had no idea today would be so painful – or so happy at the same time. He is a good man. I am convinced of that. And I think you are fond of him, even though you have known him for such a short time." He had taken both her hands in his and squeezed them tightly. "/Are/ you fond of him?" But she had been on the edge of tears herself and had merely nodded. "And he is of you too," he had said. "I am sure he is. He will love you, Meg. I can safely promise that. How can anyone know you and not love you?" "You are not biased by any chance, are you?" she had asked, smiling. "Ah, Stephen, I have loved you all dearly. I still do and always will.

But forgive me if I want to go to my wedding now and not be late." He had chuckled, turned to pick up his hat, and offered his arm.

The crowd outside the church let out a collective "Aahh!" as she stepped down from the carriage. And indeed she did believe she was looking her best. She had resisted all the brightly colored garments Lady Carling had thought appropriate for the occasion and had chosen a cream-colored dress of satin and lace, which was high-waisted and simple in design but that had been expertly cut so that it molded her figure to perfection.

She wore a new straw hat trimmed with white rosebuds.

Jasper had told her it was a good thing she was the bride or no one would even spare a glance for the poor woman. And then he had turned and grinned and winked at Kate.

Stephen offered his arm now, and they made their way into the church.

Margaret was assailed suddenly by the panic that had grabbed her earlier. What if he was not here? What if he was not even late? What if he was not coming at all?

But it was an ignominious fear. She trusted him better than to believe he would abandon her now. She pushed the terror aside even before they stepped inside the church doors and she realized that the church was full to capacity and that no one looked worried or unduly agitated. What seemed like scores of heads turned in her direction, and at the end of the nave the clergyman gave a signal with one hand and two gentlemen stood. They both turned to see her.

One of them was Constantine. The other was the Earl of Sheringford.

Her bridegroom.

Margaret swallowed and fixed her eyes on him as Stephen bent to straighten the hem of her dress at the back and then gave her his arm.

She saw no one else. All the trappings of the wedding were quite unimportant despite Kate's protestations about the importance of memories. It did not matter if there were a dozen people here or two hundred. She was getting married and her bridegroom was here, at the front of the church, turned toward her and watching her as she approached.

And he was the bridegroom she wanted, she realized with great clarity.

She felt an upsurge of happiness and smiled at him.

He smiled back, and for the first time it struck her that he was really quite handsome after all – tall and dark and lean with intense eyes and features that were rugged rather than classically sculpted.

He did not smile often, did he? The expression imparted kindness to his face. He must /be/ a kind man. A poor abused lady had confided in him when she had confided in no one else. It was to him she had run when she was in real trouble. He loved his young son first of anyone else in his life because the child needed him and the affection and security he had to offer.

It was a strange moment for such a revelation.

She was marrying a kind man, Margaret realized.

And it was enough. She moved toward him with hope.

A short while later Stephen placed her hand in Lord Sheringford's, and together they turned to face the clergyman.

The church was hushed.

Half the /ton/ was in the pews behind them, Margaret realized. More important, so were their families. But it did not really matter. She was where she chose to be, and she was with the bridegroom she wished to marry. He might be a near stranger, she might have known him for only two weeks, but it did not matter.

Somehow this felt right.

Please, please let it /be/ right. "Dearly beloved," the clergyman began.

It was all so terribly public. Although they stood with their backs to the congregation through most of the nuptial service, Duncan could /feel/ them there – avidly curious about this strange wedding of their most notorious member to one of the most respectable.

They would all wait as avidly afterward for something to go wrong.

Margaret Huxtable believed this was fate, and he had had the strange thought himself that perhaps the whole course of his life had been directed to that moment when they had collided in a ballroom doorway.

But he did not know her.

He had no idea how he would make her happy.

He was marrying her for Toby's sake. He would not be doing this if it were not for the child, would he? He would be out somewhere far from London, searching for employment. He would not have set foot in London to beg for Woodbine to be restored to him if he had had only himself to consider. "I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen," the clergyman was saying, and it was all over.

Somehow he had missed his own nuptial service. But it did not matter. He was a married man anyway. He was married to Margaret Huxtable – Margaret Pennethorne, Countess of Sheringford.