Mr. Pembroke, dressed in immaculate black, watched the proceedings with an expression of dignified satisfaction.
Lady Honoria cried into a lace handkerchief.
Julian stood before the altar, trying to appear calm.
He failed completely.
When Clara entered, he forgot the congregation.
She wore an ivory gown of silk and fine muslin, with delicate embroidery at the sleeves and a modest veil secured by a small pearl comb that had belonged to her mother.
Her chestnut hair was arranged softly around her face.
She carried white roses and a sprig of rosemary from the restored school garden.
As she approached, Julian felt the familiar tightening in his chest.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Something infinitely more powerful.
Gratitude.
Clara reached his side.
He offered his hand.
She took it.
And for a moment, they smiled at one another with the private understanding of two people who remembered how very badly their acquaintance had begun.
The service proceeded.
Promises were spoken.
Rings exchanged.
And when the clergyman pronounced them husband and wife, Julian looked at Clara as though he had been given a gift beyond his understanding.
Outside, the church bells rang.
Children scattered flower petals along the path.
The villagers cheered.
Julian offered Clara his arm.
“Your Grace,” she whispered.
He looked down.
“Yes?”
“Have you considered how very troublesome your life is about to become?”
He smiled.
“Constantly.”
“And you are not frightened?”
“Terrified.”
Clara laughed.
Julian leaned closer.
“But I have decided that I would rather be troubled by you for the rest of my life than enjoy a single peaceful day without you.”
Her eyes softened.
“That is a rather beautiful sentiment.”
“I am capable of them occasionally.”
“Yes.”
She glanced toward the gathered villagers.
“But I should not like you to become too agreeable.”
Julian laughed.
“Never fear.”
They stepped into the spring sunlight together.
By the following autumn, the changes at Alderwick were visible everywhere.
The old weir had been rebuilt under the supervision of a competent engineer.
The relief channel was restored.
A new footbridge crossed the river.
The lower cottages had been repaired, and the school's library had received enough books to fill every shelf.
The legal proceedings concerning Sir Edmund Cross and Silas Vane continued through the appropriate courts, but the evidence assembled by Mr. Whitford had secured the endangered property and prevented the fraudulent transfer.
Some of the missing funds had been recovered.
The remainder would take longer.
Julian no longer expected every difficulty to be resolved by the signing of a single document.
He had learned patience.
Clara had learned that accepting help did not diminish her independence.
Together, they established a regular practice of reviewing the estate's affairs with their advisers and listening to the concerns of the people who lived upon its land.
Bess Finch became an assistant at the village school.
Her handwriting improved considerably.
Mr. Pembroke complained that her punctuation remained appalling.
She replied that she had been educated by Miss Langley, and therefore suspected the butler's standards were unnecessarily severe.
Mr. Pembroke, secretly delighted, continued correcting her letters.
The new orchard was planted that September.
Julian and Clara chose the first young tree together.
It was an apple sapling, small and slender, with bright green leaves and a trunk scarcely thicker than Julian's wrist.
Clara knelt beside it.
Julian worked the soil around its roots.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Clara looked toward the river.
“Do you think it will grow?”
Julian glanced at the little tree.
“With sufficient care.”
“And patience.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.