Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He continues, his voice warm, earnest. “Why not? She was good to you, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine, but my point was that I want you to move in with me. I want us to spend every moment together, fall even deeper in love.”
I’m crying again, tears of joy and disbelief at how lucky I am. He wipes the tears away, his thumb gentle, his eyes soft.
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing through the tears. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”
He kisses me, deep, lingering, and says, “I love you, Lauren Hutton.”
“And I love you, Hugh Montrose, the twelfth Duke of Beauclerk.” I pause, a grin tugging my lips. “Wait, I’ve always wondered… what does the G in your name stand for?”
“Gustauvaus.”
“Gustauvaus? No wonder you hide it?” I tease.
He smirks. “And now you’ll have to hide it too.”
“No, no, no,” I say and giggle.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, pulling me close. “Everything that is mine has just become yours too.”
Epilogue
LAUREN
Iam so excited I can scarcely breathe or hold still.
I’m standing by the wrought-iron gate of the manor, the late summer morning sun warm on my face and casting dappled shadows through the leaves of ancient oak trees lining the driveway.
I’m waiting for Sandy. The manor looms behind me, its stone facade grand yet welcoming, wisteria climbing its walls, and I’m so excited, so full of love, that I feel like I might burst, because Sandy’s coming, and I get to share this life—Hugh, the baby, the wedding—with her.
Eventually, a sleek black car rounds the bend, its tires crunching on the gravel, and my pulse quickens. The widest grin ever spreads across my face as Sandy spills out, her curls bouncing, her pale blue sundress swirling. She’s jumping up and down, squealing, and I run to her, our arms crashing around each other, our screams echoing across the lawn.
“Oh my God, Lauren!” she says, pulling back, her brown eyes wide, sparkling. “You said you were moving here, but not to marry a freaking Duke!”
Her laugh is infectious, and I giggle, my cheeks flushing, because I can hardly believe it myself. I’m so happy to see her, it hurts.
“I know,” I say, my voice breathless, my hand squeezing hers, her skin warm, familiar. “I’m so happy you’re here, Sandy.” We go hand-in-hand, her suitcase bumping behind us, and head toward the manor.
“Has your mom arrived?”
“Yup, yesterday. She’s having her nails done. You’ll meet her later.”
She looks sideways at me. “Is she happy you’re becoming the Duchess of Beauclerk?”
I return the look. “What do you think?”
She laughs. “She’s over the moon.”
“Exactly.” And we laugh together.
The house is a whirlwind of activity. Event planners darting across the lawn, their clipboards flashing, vans unloading tables and chairs, decorators stringing fairy lights through the rose garden, caterers carrying trays of crystal glassware. It’s all for tonight’s rehearsal dinner, the prelude to our white wedding tomorrow, and my heart swells, because it’s real, it’s happening, and Sandy’s here to see it.
“I was so scared you wouldn’t be able to make it,” I say.
She squeezes my hand. “Sweetheart, you know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
We weave through the chaos, the air buzzing with voices and the clink of silverware, and step into the orangerie.
Hugh is there, leaning against a table, talking to his mother, his dark hair catching the sun, his smile easy, warm. He looks up, his gray eyes locking on mine, and my breath catches, because even now, he undoes me. I lead Sandy forward, my hand still in hers.
“Hugh, Catherine, this is Sandy.”
Hugh straightens, his frame tall, his linen shirt rolled at the sleeves, and gives Sandy a hug. She is immensely surprised at how affectionate he is. She has a funny impression of the British aristocracy.
“I’ve heard so many good things about you,” he says, his grin boyish.
Sandy blushes, her eyes wide, clearly charmed. “I’ve heard a lot about you too,” she says, her voice a little shaky. She turns to Hugh’s mother, elegant in a cream blouse, her silver hair gleaming, offering a warm handshake. “Hello, Lady Montrose.”
“Welcome to our home, my dear,” Catherine says quietly.
I smile, my heart full, and tug Sandy’s hand, eager to escape the bustle.
“Come on,” I say, leading her up the grand staircase. We reach our bedroom suite, its double doors opening to a haven of soft whites and blues, velvet drapes, and a fireplace waiting for winter.
Sandy stops at the threshold and turns to me. “The whole set-up is majestic and all, but that is what he looks like?” she asks in awe.
I laugh out loud, amused as I shut the door behind us. “I sent you pictures.”
“Hey, no picture does that man justice,” she says, fanning herself dramatically. “I’ve got to listen to my instincts more, Lauren. If yours can land you this magical fairytale life, I need to trust mine.” Her words are light, but her eyes are earnest.