Eudora woke to a room flooded with golden morning light and the disconcerting realization that she wasn't in her narrow cottage bed with Cordelia breathing softly beside her. For a moment, panic seized her,where was she? Then memory returned in a rush: the palace, the king, the wedding that would take place in mere hours.
Before she could fully process this, her bedroom door opened and a small army of women swept in. Lady Beatrice led them, followed by maids carrying steaming ewers of water, the royal seamstress with Eudora's wedding gown draped carefully over her arms, and a severe-looking woman with a case of what appeared to be cosmetics and hair implements.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Lady Beatrice said with a smile.
"I'm not," Eudora began, then stopped. By day's end, she would be. The title sat strangely on her shoulders, like a coat several sizes too large.
"Best to practice now," Lady Beatrice said gently, reading her expression. "Now, come. We have four hours to make you into a queen, and that's barely enough time."
What followed was a bewildering succession of baths, scrubbings, pluckings, and paintings. Eudora's hair was washed three times with perfumed soaps, then painstakingly dried and arranged in an elaborate style with curls and braids that defied gravity. The severe woman,Madame Lavigne, she was called,applied subtle cosmetics to Eudora's face, enhancing her natural features while maintaining propriety.
"The people must see you as both accessible and regal," Madame Lavigne explained as she worked. "You are one of them, but you must also appear worthy of the crown. It's a delicate balance."
Finally, the wedding gown. Eudora stood in her chemise while five women worked in concert to dress her. The gown was a masterpiece of ivory silk and lace, with a bodice so intricately beaded it seemed to capture light itself. The sleeves were sheer, embroidered with tiny seed pearls, and the train was so long it took two maids to arrange it properly.
When they finally positioned her before the full-length mirror, Eudora barely recognized herself. The young woman looking back was elegant, composed, every inch a queen. But her eyes,her eyes still held the uncertainty of a village girl playing at royalty.
"You look beautiful," a familiar voice said from the doorway.
Eudora turned to find her mother standing there, tears streaming down her face. Winifred wore a new dress of dove-gray silk, and behind her crowded Cordelia in pale blue, Silas in a fine coat that made him look like a proper gentleman, and her father in black superfine that couldn't quite disguise his working man's bearing.
"Mama," Eudora whispered, and would have rushed to embrace her if Lady Beatrice hadn't caught her arm.
"Careful! The dress!"
But Winifred came to her instead, taking her daughter's hands carefully. "Oh, my darling girl. I wish," Her voice broke.
"I know, Mama," Eudora said softly. "But look,we're all here together. We're safe. That's what matters."
Cordelia approached shyly, her eyes wide with wonder. "You look like a princess from a storybook, Dora. The king won't be able to take his eyes off you."
Eudora doubted that, remembering Walter's stern frown, but she smiled at her sister anyway. Silas stepped forward, his limp still noticeable despite his efforts to hide it.
"I wish I could give you away properly," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I wish I could walk you down that aisle instead of Father, see you settled into happiness instead of..."
"Stop," Eudora commanded gently. "This is my choice, Silas. All of you must stop feeling guilty. I'm doing exactly what I want to do,keeping this family together."
Howard Sinclair had remained by the door, but now he came forward, and Eudora saw that his eyes were red. "My brave girl," he said, his voice breaking. "My brave, beautiful girl. I tried to refuse, you know. I wrote to the king and told him,"
"I know, Papa. He told me." Eudora squeezed his rough hands. "That's why he chose me. Because of the honorable man you are, he wanted to know the daughter you had raised."
Before Howard could respond, a knock at the door announced the arrival of the Lord Chamberlain. "My lady, it's time."
The journey to the cathedral was a blur. Eudora sat in the glass coach beside her father, with her family following in a second carriage. Through the windows, she could see hundreds,no, thousands,of people lining the streets. They waved and cheered, throwing flowers that landed like snow on the cobblestones. Some held signs welcoming their new queen. Others simply stared, curious to see the commoner who had captured their king's attention.
"They want to love you," Howard said quietly. "Common folk, like us. You give them hope that they matter to the crown."
Eudora wished she felt that noble. Mostly, she felt terrified.
The cathedral loomed ahead, its Gothic spires reaching toward heaven. As the coach stopped and footmen rushed to open the door, Eudora took a deep breath. This was it. The moment after which nothing would ever be the same.
Her father handed her down, and she stood at the base of the cathedral steps, looking up at the massive doors. Somewhere beyond them waited Walter, and a future she couldn't fathom. The train of her dress pooled behind her, and two young pages rushed forward to lift it.
"Ready, daughter?" Howard asked.
"No," Eudora admitted. "But that's never stopped me before."
The cathedral doors swung open, and music swelled,an organ playing a processional so grand it seemed to shake the very stones. Eudora took her father's arm, and they stepped into the cavernous space.
It was overwhelming. Hundreds of nobles filled the pews, all turned to watch her progress. Candles burned in every sconce, filling the air with the scent of beeswax and incense. Stained glass windows cast colored light across the floor, creating a path of jeweled illumination. And at the end of that impossibly long aisle, standing before the Archbishop in full ceremonial robes, was Walter.
He wore black and gold, his coat heavily embroidered with the royal insignia, a crimson sash across his chest, and on a velvet cushion beside the Archbishop rested two crowns. As Eudora walked toward him, their eyes met across the distance, and she saw his expression shift.
The frown melted away. His features softened, his eyes widened slightly, and as she drew closer, she could have sworn she saw wonder in his gaze. He was looking at her the way a man looks at something precious, something unexpected, something that has taken his breath away.
By the time she reached the altar, Walter's stern mask had completely vanished, replaced by an expression of such unguarded vulnerability it made Eudora's heart clench. When her father placed her hand in Walter's, the king's fingers trembled slightly.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, so quietly only she could hear. "I knew you would be, but," He stopped, seeming to struggle for words. "You're radiant."
Eudora felt heat rise in her cheeks. Before she could respond, the Archbishop began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the vast space. The words washed over her,ancient vows spoken in Latin and English, promises of fidelity and duty, honor and trust. She repeated them when prompted, her voice surprisingly steady.
Then came the coronation portion. The Archbishop turned to Walter first, lifting the heavy crown of state,gold worked with jewels, so ancient it had crowned thirty kings before him.
"Walter Augustus Enfield, do you swear to govern the peoples of this kingdom according to their respective laws and customs? Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the Gospel, and the Protestant reformed religion established by law?"
"I swear to do so," Walter replied, his voice resonating with conviction.
The crown was placed upon his head, and the weight of it seemed to settle across his shoulders like a mantle. He straightened, and in that moment, Eudora saw the transformation,he was no longer just a man, but truly a king, carrying the hopes and burdens of an entire nation.
Then it was her turn. The queen's crown was lighter, more delicate, but no less significant. As the Archbishop lifted it, Eudora felt the weight of every eye in the cathedral upon her.
"Eudora Charlotte Sinclair, do you swear to honor and support your husband the King, to be a mother to this nation, to uphold the dignity of the crown and serve your people with grace and wisdom?"
"I swear to do so," Eudora said, and meant it.
The crown settled on her head, cool and heavy, and suddenly the world shifted. She was no longer Eudora Sinclair of Ashford village. She was Eudora Enfield, Queen of England, and every moment from this point forward would be measured against that title.
The Archbishop smiled. "Then by the power vested in me by God and law, I pronounce you husband and wife, King and Queen of this realm. Your Majesty, you may kiss your bride."
Walter turned to her, and for a heartbeat, uncertainty flickered across his face. Then he leaned down,he had to, given their height difference,and pressed his lips gently to hers.
It was Eudora's first kiss. She had expected it to be perfunctory, a mere formality for the crowd. Instead, it was surprisingly tender, his lips warm and soft, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with unexpected gentleness. The kiss lasted only seconds, but when he pulled back, Eudora's heart was racing.
The cathedral erupted in cheers and applause. Bells began to ring, their joyous clamor echoing across the city. Walter kept hold of her hand as they turned to face their subjects,their people now,and raised their joined hands high.
Eudora looked out at the sea of faces and found her family in the front pew. Her mother was weeping openly, Cordelia was bouncing with excitement, Silas was grinning despite his obvious effort to maintain decorum, and her father,her dear, honorable father,was watching her with such pride that Eudora felt tears prick her own eyes.
Then the processional began again, and she and Walter were walking back down the aisle, this time as king and queen. The weight of the crown on her head was a constant reminder of how much had changed in the space of an hour.
Outside, the crowds were even larger, their cheers so loud they drowned out even the bells. Walter led her to the open coach, and as they climbed in, he kept her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a kiss that sent the crowd into fresh paroxysms of delight.
"You're doing wonderfully," he murmured as they began the journey back to the palace. "Look at them,they love you already."
"They don't know me," Eudora protested.
"They know enough," Walter replied. "They know you're one of them. That you understand their struggles in a way no aristocratic bride ever could." He studied her face, his dark eyes intense. "Do you know what I thought when I saw you walking down that aisle?"
Eudora shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
"I thought that I was the luckiest man in England." His voice was low, intimate despite the crowds around them. "I thought that somehow, without deserving it, I'd been given a gift beyond measure."
"Your Majesty,"
"Walter," he corrected. "We're married now, Eudora. You must call me Walter."
"Walter," she amended softly. "You shouldn't say such things. You barely know me."
"No," he agreed. "But I'd like to." His thumb stroked across her knuckles again, that same unconscious gesture from yesterday. "Will you let me? Know you, I mean. Not as queen to king, but as man to woman?"
Eudora looked into his eyes and saw vulnerability there, hope mixed with uncertainty. This powerful king, who commanded armies and ruled a nation, was asking her permission to simply know her. The tenderness of it undid something in her chest.
"Yes," she whispered. "I'd like that."
Walter's answering smile was small but genuine, and it transformed his entire face. For the first time, Eudora glimpsed the man beneath the crown,young, uncertain, and achingly human.
The palace reception was a whirlwind of faces and names that Eudora couldn't possibly remember. Nobles approached in an endless stream to offer congratulations, each curtsy and bow accompanied by smiles that rarely reached their eyes. She could feel their assessment, their judgment, their barely concealed disdain for the commoner who now outranked them all.
But Walter never left her side. His hand remained at the small of her back, a steady presence, and whenever someone's greeting veered too close to insult, his eyes would darken and the frown would return, silencing them more effectively than any words.
During the wedding breakfast,an elaborate affair with fourteen courses,Eudora was seated beside Walter at the head table. Between courses, he would lean close to murmur the names and histories of various nobles, preparing her for future encounters.
"The woman in purple glaring at you is the Duchess of Marlborough," he said quietly. "She has three unmarried daughters and had hoped I'd choose one of them. She'll make your life difficult if given the chance."
"And the gentleman in green?" Eudora asked, nodding toward a portly man who kept staring at her over his wine glass.
"Lord Pembrook. He controls most of the textile mills in the north and resents any reminder that his workers are people rather than resources. Your common birth offends his sense of natural order." Walter's voice was dry. "I find I don't particularly care."
Eudora glanced at him in surprise. "You sound almost pleased to offend him."
"I am." Walter's lips quirked. "The nobility has grown too comfortable, too convinced of their own importance. Perhaps a queen who remembers what it's like to worry about paying for bread will remind them that their privilege comes with responsibility."
Before Eudora could respond, the toasts began. Lord after lord stood to offer flowery congratulations that rang hollow, until finally Howard Sinclair rose from his place among the lower tables.
The room fell silent. A common farmer addressing the wedding breakfast was unprecedented, and the nobles looked scandalized. But Walter raised his hand, giving permission, and Howard cleared his throat.
"Your Majesties," he began, his voice rougher than the cultured tones around them but no less dignified. "I've been a farmer all my life. I know the value of good soil, strong roots, and patient tending. My daughter," His voice caught. "My daughter has all these qualities. She's rooted in love and loyalty. She's strong enough to weather any storm. And she has the patience to nurture what matters, even when the harvest seems far off." He raised his glass. "May Your Majesties find in each other what every good marriage needs,soil to grow in, roots to hold fast, and the patience to tend what you're building together."
The silence that followed was profound. Then Walter rose, his own glass lifted.
"To soil, roots, and patience," he said, his eyes on Eudora. "And to the wisdom of fathers who know the true value of things."
This time when the nobles raised their glasses, some of the smiles looked more genuine.
As the day wore on into evening, Eudora found herself growing increasingly anxious about what came next. The wedding night. She'd been given only the vaguest instructions by her mother, who had blushed scarlet through the entire awkward conversation. Lady Beatrice had been slightly more forthcoming but still maddeningly vague.
When the last guest finally departed and Walter escorted her back to her apartments, Eudora's heart was hammering so hard she was certain he could hear it.
He paused at her door, his hand on the latch, and seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he turned to face her.
"Eudora, I want you to know," He stopped, started again. "Today has been overwhelming for both of us. The ceremony, the crowds, the reception. You must be exhausted."
"I am," she admitted, grateful for his understanding.
"Then rest," he said simply. "Our marriage is a lifetime commitment. There's no need to rush into," He cleared his throat. "Into the more intimate aspects of it. When you're ready, you need only say so."
Eudora stared at him, caught between relief and confusion. "You don't wish to,that is, aren't you expected to,"
"I'm the king," Walter said with a slight smile. "I set the expectations. And I expect that my wife should have some say in when she shares my bed, regardless of what tradition dictates." His expression grew serious. "I won't force myself on you, Eudora. Not tonight, not ever. You have my word on that."
The knot of anxiety in Eudora's chest loosened. "Thank you," she whispered. "For understanding."
Walter lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Good night, my queen. Sleep well."
Then he was gone, disappearing through the connecting door to his own apartments, and Eudora was left standing in her elaborate wedding gown, feeling a confusing mix of relief and something that might have been disappointment.
Lady Beatrice appeared to help her undress, and as the heavy gown was carefully removed and replaced with a silk nightgown, Eudora's mind whirled with the events of the day. She'd become a queen. She'd married a king she barely knew. And that king had just proven himself more considerate than she'd dared hope.
As she finally climbed into the massive bed, exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. But before sleep claimed her, she thought of Walter's words,"When you're ready, you need only say so."
He was giving her time. The question was, what would she do with it?