Spellmaker (Spellbreaker Duology #2) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,95

thereto I give thee my troth.”

And then Bacchus reached for her hand. She’d given the ring back to him last night, and when he slid it on her finger, it felt like she was seeing it for the first time. For a moment, as his fingers slid up hers, time stopped.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Placing the ring—Ogden’s father’s ring—on Bacchus’s fourth finger was the most reverent experience Elsie had ever had. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

To her right, the clergyman closed the Book of Common Prayer. “I pronounce you man and wife.”

Elsie’s heart slammed back into her, nearly knocking her from her feet. This was it. It was done. She and Bacchus were married.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Her thoughts snapped to attention as Bacchus leaned down and touched his lips to hers. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given her.

And then, despite herself, she laughed.

The rest passed in a blur. The cheers, the applause—Elsie barely registered Lord Astley leaving, his witness done. She and Bacchus were swept into the vestry, where their marriage license awaited them. The clergyman signed it first, followed by Bacchus. Elsie, with trembling fingers, scrawled her name: Elsie Amanda Camden. She hadn’t realized she’d settled on a middle name until that moment. It looked well, she thought. Elsie Amanda Camden . . . Kelsey.

Congratulations were heaped upon them from their small wedding party. Cheeks kissed, hands shaken. Elsie pulled Emmeline aside after receiving the vicar’s well-wishes.

“I know you’re not formally a bridesmaid, but you should be,” she confessed, and pulled a small broach, in the shape of a dove, free from her gown. “I wanted you to have this anyway.”

Emmeline gasped. “Oh, this is the one from the dressmaker’s shop! Oh, Elsie, it must’ve been expensive.”

“I’m a spellbreaker, don’t know you?” Elsie prodded her shoulder. “I am quite employable. I want you to have it so you’ll think of me when I’m not around.”

Emmeline drew her into a tight hug. “I’ll remember you besides, you ninny! Thank you.” She pulled back, then tipped her head to something over Elsie’s shoulder. Elsie turned to see the Duchess of Kent approaching shyly. Emmeline squeezed Elsie’s hand before leaving them. Bacchus noticed as well, for he stepped over and placed a hand on Elsie’s shoulder.

“I’m so, so happy for the both of you.” She held something in her hand—an ornate box tied up with ribbon, dried flowers delicately glued under a glass lid. “Isaac and the girls wanted so badly to be here, but given the circumstances . . .” She shrugged.

Smiling, Elsie reached out and clasped the duchess’s arm. “I’m honored that you came, Abigail.”

The woman brightened at the sound of her Christian name. “And I’m honored to be here.” Her gaze flitted to Bacchus. “And this is a wedding gift, from us to you.” She handed over the box. Bacchus took it, his brow furrowing.

“This isn’t . . . ,” he began, eyeing the duchess.

Elsie blinked. “Isn’t what?”

The duchess smiled softly. “In truth, Bacchus, the duke intended to bequeath it to you. You’ve been like a son to him. And it is an adequate gift, for a magical pair.”

Curious, Elsie took the box from Bacchus’s hands and pulled the ribbon free, peering beneath its lid. Inside was a book with a leather cover dark as onyx, with inlaid, gemlike flowers not dissimilar from those in the box’s lid. The corners were cut into soft fringes, and the thick pages were lined with a glimmering orange that made Elsie think of a sunset.

Her chin dropped. “Th-This is an opus, isn’t it?”

Reaching forward, the duchess took Elsie’s hand and placed it firmly on top of the box. “Take care of it. It’s the least we can do.” She eyed Bacchus. “Receive it graciously. It is not given out of guilt, but love.”

Bacchus nodded, his eyes moist. “Thank you.”

Though they were not having a dinner, Bacchus had made sure some traditions were kept. Outside the church awaited a carriage—a closed carriage, thank goodness—pulled by two gray horses, Rainer at the reins. White roses adorned the carriage—surely half of them would fall off during the