Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Epilogue
“Are you sure you’re well enough to be married today?” Bridget asked, hesitating at the sight of the Duke of Lockhart wincing as he pulled himself up into the phaeton.
“I am. Besides, I would still marry you today if that scoundrel’s villain had pierced my very heart, Bridget,” he promised her as he took a seat beside her, lowering himself carefully to the bench and nodding to the driver to move on.
Patrick lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it before giving her a reassuring smile. He claimed he was well enough to be up and about, but Bridget knew he looked tired. She feared for his strength, though the physician had promised him he should recover well enough in due course.
“But first to lose so much blood, then to take a fever as you recovered… you need time to regain your strength. After all, there’s simply no reason to hurry,” Bridget said, even as the phaeton pulled away from the house.
“Quite the opposite, my dear Lady Bridget. There is all the more reason now,” Patrick protested with a laugh. “I chased you across the countryside and stared down the barrel of a gun in order to keep from losing you. I will not spend one more minute on this Earth without making you my wife.”
Bridget smiled, leaning her head on Patrick’s good shoulder briefly. The last few days had been harrowing, to say the least, but the worst of it had to be sitting with his mother at his bedside, watching the fever nearly consume him.
If we have endured all of this—the lies, the intrigues, the kidnapping—only for him to die in his own bed from sickness, I shall go mad, Bridget thought as the hours dragged on before he regained his senses.
“He loves you, you know,” his mother had said during those long days spent mostly in silence. “He may not have been some sort of poet who spouted sonnets for you, but he does. I know my son, and I have seen how he fights for you.”
“I pray he has the strength to fight but one more battle. I need him only to fight to live,” Bridget had said at the time. “If he were to open his eyes and cast me out of his sight, I would still waltz to the door singing a happy tune, all from the knowledge that he lived.”
His mother had stared at her then, watching her appraisingly as she pondered Bridget’s words in silence. After several tense moments, she spoke up.
“My son will live, I am certain of it. And when he does, he will be overjoyed to see you,” the old duchess stated. “If he is not, then he is not the man I raised him to be.”
Bridget had smiled shyly at the older woman, grateful for the mending that had grown between them. Not so long ago, this woman thought Bridget to be an awkward upstart; now, she was glad of Bridget’s presence and keen to have her marry the duke.
But far from banishing her from his house, Patrick was, in fact, grateful beyond words to find Bridget sitting by his bedside when the fever finally broke. He’d opened his eyes and watched her for a few moments without making a sound, merely taking in the sight of her.
“You’re so lovely,” he said, the first words he’d spoken coherently in more than two days.
Bridget had been so startled by his voice that she almost didn’t realize he’d spoken to her. The next hour had been a flurry of bustling activity as the household sprung into motion—calling for the physician, changing the linens, spooning him broth and water, tending to him in any way they could.
For his part, Patrick had had only one thing to say as he kept his eyes on Bridget— “I love you, Bridget. I wish to marry you at once.”
Bridget’s father had been much harder to convince.
“My dear girl, I have shown the worst sort of judgment in letting any man so much as stand near you, let alone seek your hand,” Lord Repington had said sadly, holding fast to Bridget’s hand. “I almost lost you to a villain’s grasp, how am I to let go of you now?”
“Father, the duke is hardly the same sort of man as Lord Haskins,” Bridget had protested happily. “And I am only returned now because he was relentless in following me. Are those the actions of a man who would be so callous with my life and love?”
“No, in truth, they are not. It is only my own selfishness that speaks for me, I’m afraid,” Lord Repington had answered, though he relented soon enough.
As their phaeton now rolled towards the church, the sun shone through the bright green leaves overhead, dotting everything around them with drops of golden sunlight. A gentle breeze warmed them as the conveyance moved on, their future together awaiting them.
“I hope you like your gift, considering I had so little time to get it,” Patrick said, giving Bridget a conspiratorial smile.
“A gift? You did not have to do that!” she answered, looking somewhat alarmed. “Besides, I did not think to get you anything.”
“You are all the gift I need, my dear,” he replied sincerely, his face turning grave for a moment.
“You’re remembering all that happened, aren’t you? Promise me you won’t think of it anymore.” Bridget placed her hand over his protectively, as though she could pull the awful memories from him physically.
“Of all the terrible ordeal we both endured, only one thing still haunts me from that day, and that is seeing Lord Haskins strike you,” Patrick said quietly, a low anger still simmering in him. “He is lucky his death was quick because it was certainly not going to be so merciful the way I had planned.”
Bridget shuddered at Patrick’s ominous words, and he quickly corrected himself.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think about how hearing that would frighten you. I promise you are not marrying a violent madman,” Patrick said quickly.
“I should hope not, as I’ve had my fill of those!” Bridget said lightly. “But I know you are not the sort of man to act as he did. You are far too kind and understanding.”
“You give me a great deal of credit, dear Bridget. I look forward to spending an eternity living up to your view of me.”
As was to be expected, the church was nearly empty when they arrived. Patrick’s mother and grandmother were there, along with Bridget’s father and sister. But the sight of Agatha and Camille waving from the churchyard made Bridget smile.
“How lovely of them to join us,” she said, narrowing her eyes when she took in their expressions. “Why do they look like they’re up to something?”
“Hmm, I couldn’t possibly know,” Patrick replied, his own face mirroring their sly looks.
“Bridgie! You look beautiful!” Agatha gushed, stepping back, and looking her up and down. “That color suits you… or is it simply the blush of being so obviously in love?”
“I don’t know, Aggie, I think it is something more than that,” Camille added playfully. “I think our Bridget is a different person now that she has proven herself so capable as to survive the direst of circumstances.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Bridget said, though her tone was adoring. “I am the same girl as always.”
“Except now you’re to be a duchess,” Agatha added, leaning closer and smirking. “And with that title comes a great deal of responsibility. You will have to choose which causes you support, be a patron of a number of charities… and always remember to have your two best friends over as guests as often as you can.”
“Sisters first,” Harriet said, playfully shoving the two friends aside and embracing Bridget. She stepped back to admire Bridget’s hair and gown but immediately began to cry softly. “Oh Bea, I thought I might never see you again. And to think that you are not only safely returned, but you are getting married after all!”
“I am, if my friends and well-wishers would permit me to enter the church,” Bridget teased, tweaking her younger sister’s nose, and laughing.
Before anyone could reply, the first thunderous notes of an organ sounded from within. Everyone turned to look towards the source of the sound, but Patrick was standing in the doorway, a knowing and somewhat triumphant smile on his face.
“Shall we investigate?” he asked, opening the door, and permitting the music to pour out.
Bridget’s confusion was short-lived, for she instantly recognized the first ethereal strains of voices coming from within the church, their faint notes coming together to finally form a tune she knew.
“Is that… is that the children?” Bridget gasped, pressing her hand to her heart.
“It is, my dear. Singing just for you.” Patrick laughed as Bridget scrambled away from her cluster of friends and ran to the church door, throwing only the most cursory words of goodbye to all of them in her haste to see the students’ precious faces again.
Inside the cavernous church, Bridget stood in silent wonder as the students’ song rose overhead, Christina conducting the performers. The haunting strains of Tallis’ “O Sacrum Convivium” brought tears to her eyes, even as the students smiled broadly at her through their song.
“So, have you come to be married, or to hear our new chancel choir?” the smiling priest said in jest as he approached.
“I’m getting marr—wait, I’m so sorry, but what did you say? Your choir?” Bridget asked, turning to look at him.
“Yes, of course. These are some of the pupils of our new school, their teacher is in front there leading them,” the older man said, his blue eyes shining proudly. “We’ve never had a school before, or even a choir. But a patron has established the school and filled it with some of the brightest young students I’ve ever met.”
Bridget was speechless, her vision blurred by tears of joy until she finally let her eyes fall closed, allowing the voices to surround her. She didn’t hear the door open, or Patrick come in, but she wasn’t startled by the touch of his hand on her shoulder, his arm encircling her protectively.
“This is my gift, isn’t it? I cannot thank you enough for this,” she breathed, her eyes still closed.
“The music? No. I would expect nothing less from such a talented and dedicated group of singers,” Patrick replied, pretending to misunderstand her meaning.
“Not the music, the…” Her voice trailed off as her joy took hold of her.
“Oh, the school, you mean? Yes. That is your gift, my love. Students who’ve worked so hard and had such dedicated teachers all this time deserve a permanent place to study, one that doesn’t keep dented milking pails scattered about to catch the rain through the roof. Miss Fitzroy will continue to lead the school, and there are to be two new teachers hired as soon as it can be arranged.”
Bridget tore her eyes from the students long enough to gaze up into Patrick’s eyes. She stilled as he reached up to wipe away a tear from her cheek.
“Thank you for everything,” Bridget whispered. “For saving them, saving their school… and for saving me.”
“You are most welcome, my love,” he whispered in reply, “but for as long as you live, you must always remember that it is I who was saved by you.”
The End?
