“Not to mention another sister for me,” Mallory chimed with a happy smile. “Just wait until you meet Meg. And everyone else, of course.”
Everyone else? Just how many Byrons are there? She knew Jack had another sister, but were there more siblings than the ones presently in the room? “I shall look forward to making their acquaintance,” she murmured, deciding she’d wait and ask Jack for further explanation when they were alone.
As for the duke, he wore a frown, his gaze fixed on his brother with a look of speculative appraisal, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. But moments later, he turned to her and his expression cleared, replaced by one of warmth and kindness.
“Allow me to welcome you to the family, Miss Danvers,” he said in rich, rounded tones that instantly caused her to relax. “I always knew it would take an exceptional woman to bring Jack to heel, and I see I was not mistaken. He’s made a wise choice in you. But are you sure you’re prepared to put up with him? I fear you might yet decide you’ve made a bad bargain taking on such an unrepentant rogue.”
Her eyes widened at what she took to be his teasing candour, a half-nervous laugh escaping her throat. “Oh, he’s not a rogue. Or at least not too much of one.” She sent Jack a sideways look and caught a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “And I’m quite prepared for whatever may come, since I love him and cannot wait to be his wife. Most couples don’t start out with even that much, so what further assurances could I possibly require?”
“What indeed,” the dowager said. “Now quit baiting your little brother, Edward, and wish him well.”
The duke’s teeth flashed a wicked grin that reminded Grace forcefully of Jack. “Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials,” he said. “I hope you know what a lucky man you are.”
Jack’s face sobered. “I do, Ned. More and more each day.” His gaze shifted to hers and lingered.
For a moment, she lost herself in the compelling depths of his azure eyes, swaying ever so slightly toward him as he took her hand and enfolded it in his own. Her pulse quickened as the seconds stretched onward, her surroundings dimming as she sank deeper beneath his spell. In silent anticipation, her lips parted, ready and waiting for his kiss.
Suddenly his mother cleared her throat.
Grace jumped, heat flowering in her cheeks like a field of scarlet poppies. She fought the urge to cover her face with her hands, knowing it would only draw further attention to her lapse. Surreptitiously, she tried to free her palm from Jack’s clasp, but brazen, irreverent devil that he was, he wouldn’t let her go. Tightening his hold instead, he leaned back against the comfortably upholstered sofa cushions, as though nothing whatsoever had occurred.
The dowager—bless her heart—took up the tea urn and refreshed the contents of everyone’s cup with an easy charm. “So,” his mother inquired with faultless timing, as she set the delicate china pot aside. “Have you decided on a wedding date?”
With their engagement only a few days old, Grace realized she hadn’t even considered the question. “We received my father’s blessing just yesterday, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been time yet to settle on the details.”
Ava Byron nodded with understanding. “Jack mentioned that you have lately been residing in Bath with your aunt. Will she be helping you with the preparations?”
Grace’s brows furrowed. “I’m not certain. She’ll be happy to aid me in selecting a few new gowns, I’m sure, but otherwise I imagine most of the tasks will fall to me.”
“To you! But no, you cannot be expected to shoulder such a weighty obligation all on your own. I realize your mother passed on some years ago when you were no more than a child, but surely there is another female relation who can aid you? A sister or cousin, mayhap?”
“No, ma’am, there is just my father and myself. I am quite self-reliant, however, so I’m sure I shall find my way in this as well.”
Creases gathered on the dowager’s forehead. “But you shouldn’t have to find your way. After all, you are the bride, and this should be your special time. I hope you will not take it amiss, but if I might, I would like to offer you my assistance.”
“Your assistance?” Grace repeated, her lips parting in surprise.
“Yes, if you would like.”
For a long moment Grace made no reply, taken completely off guard by the notion that Jack’s mother was not only warmly welcoming her into the family but was offering to help her with the wedding arrangements as well. A lump swelled in her throat.
“Well, child?” the dowager prompted gently.
“Y-yes. Oh, yes, Your Grace, I should like that above anything.” A fulsome smile spread across her face. “Thank you. That would be wonderful. You are so kind.”
Ava Byron beamed with pleasure. “Not at all. I adore planning weddings. And Mallory can help.”
Lady Mallory nodded in eager agreement. “Of course I shall. I love nothing so much as a good shopping expedition, and we shall have many.”
“To that fact, I can safely attest,” the duke remarked in a wry tone. “What was it this month that caused you to exceed your allowance? The ermine arm shawl you bought, or the engraved gold and pearl etui you had sent over from Rundell and Bridge?”
Mallory sent her brother a narrow-eyed glare. “Neither. It was the extra pairs of dancing slippers I ordered. Of which I was in dire need, I’ll have you know, since I’ve quite worn through my others.”
Edward gave an amused snort. “All dozen of them, hmm? Unless I’m misremembering the details of the shoemaker’s latest bill, of course.”
Mallory glared again and stuck out her tongue, clearly un-cowed by her older sibling. “And I shall need that arm shawl this winter,” she defended. “The almanac says it’s going to be frightfully cold.”
Edward shook his head, while Jack let out a quiet guffaw.
“If we’re done with shawls and slippers, perhaps we might return to the topic at hand?” the dowager stated in a soft, yet firm, voice. “Now about the wedding, summer is always a lovely time of year for a ceremony. Or next fall, with its cooler temperatures and all of the leaves turning colour.”
“Next summer or fall?” Jack set down his empty teacup. “But that’s months away. Grace and I aren’t waiting that long.”
His mother’s frown returned. “A year for an engagement is an excellent length of time, what with the trousseau to be designed and the church to be arranged. Not to mention deciding on the guest list and where everyone shall lodge and dine.”
“You ladies have my leave to make whatever plans you like, but I’m not waiting a year. Three months, that’s my limit.”
“Three months!” The dowager looked aghast. “Oh, not you too. I’ve barely recovered from Cade and Meg’s whirlwind wedding.”
“But only think what an expert you now are on the intricacies of hasty nuptials,” Jack said with warm persuasion. “And compared with Cade, you have plenty of time. As I recall, he only gave you six weeks.”
“Six frantic, exhausting weeks.”
“And yet you pulled off a spectacular ceremony and a reception that won you nothing but praise. Just imagine what you’ll be able to achieve with twice that amount of time.”
His mother’s lips tightened. “I ought to box your ears for such impertinence and imposition, John Richard Byron.”
Jack gave her a perfect, angelic smile. “But you won’t, will you, Mama? Not for your favourite son.”
She gave a snort that would have been indelicate had she been anything less than a duchess. “I love all my sons with equal affection, as you well know. But were I to have a favourite, it would most certainly not be you at the moment, given your unreasonable impatience and wilful stubbornness.”
Rather than being chastened, Jack’s smile only widened.
“However,” she conceded, with a regal dip of her head, “I shall put aside my irritation for your fiancée’s sake.” Her gaze shifted, alighting on Grace. “What would you like to do, dear? You are the bride, a
fter all.”
Grace fought hard not to squirm as every eye in the room turned her way.
Yes, she mused, what would I like to do? Then she looked at Jack and didn’t need to consider a moment more.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’d rather not wait long either. Maybe we could have a simple ceremony. Something that wouldn’t require a great deal of work.”
“If I procured a special license, we could be married here in the drawing room one evening,” Jack remarked.
Grace sent him a chastening sideways glance. “Yes, well, perhaps not quite that simple. I would prefer a church, or even a chapel.”
“A chapel? We have a lovely one at Braebourne.” The dowager paused and tapped a finger against her chin. “Oh, that gives me a wonderful idea. What would you say to being married at Braebourne?”
At Braebourne? Be married at one of the most beautiful, illustrious estates in the whole of England? She would never have even considered such a notion. But oh, how idyllic, how romantic!
“Unless you would rather remain here in the city,” Ava continued. “We could inquire about St. George’s, though it’s doubtful we’ll find an available date given our time limitations.” She paused to send Jack a reproving look. “We were only able to secure the church on such short notice for Cade and Meg because it was in the hottest part of August and most of the Ton had already departed for their estates.”
“No, no,” Grace hastened to assure. “Braebourne would be lovely. If you are quite sure you and the duke wouldn’t mind, that is.”
“Mind? Of course we do not mind. Edward would be delighted to act the host, would you not, dear?”
He smiled with affable agreement. “Certainly. What’s several dozen more people come to stay when the family hordes are preparing to descend for the holidays anyway.”
The dowager clasped her hands together and let out a little chortle. “Oh, but that’s exactly the answer! The holidays. Yes, yes, it’s perfect.”
“What’s perfect?” Jack stated in an echo of Grace’s thoughts.
“Why, the timing for the wedding. Everyone will be at Braebourne, so half the guest list is done before we start. Grace can invite her father and aunt, of course, and anyone else she would like. The food and lodging arrangements will be no difficulty whatsoever with the staff already in full fettle. And I’m sure the bishop won’t turn down an invitation to spend Christmas with us. So what say you both to a holiday wedding? We could even hold the ceremony during the New Year just before Twelfth Night.”
A New Year’s wedding to usher in the start of my new life with Jack. Grace liked the sound of that. A smile spread over her mouth, excitement burgeoning inside her. “I believe it’s a most excellent plan, Your Grace.” Angling her gaze, she fixed her eyes on Jack. “What do you think?”
“That I am hopelessly outnumbered.” Raising her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “But if it makes you happy, then New Year’s at Braebourne it shall be.”
* * *
CHAPTER 14
With the date and location of the wedding decided, Grace found herself thrust into an immediate flurry of preparations.
Beginning the very next day, the dowager duchess and Mallory whisked her away for the first of a multitude of shopping expeditions. They took her to the most fashionable stores in London, arranging for everything from engraved, hot-pressed stationery to exotic foodstuffs and a set of special crystal wine goblets that would be used exclusively for the wedding toast.
Then there were the clothes, whose vast excess seemed to know no limits. From hats, shoes and gloves to pelisses, petticoats and gowns, she ordered so many new garments that she didn’t see how she could possibly ever wear them all. But Jack’s mother and sister assured her that she would need each and every one in the months to come, including the dozen silk nightgowns that were so sheer they made her blush.
She ordered such a large wardrobe, in fact, that she feared incurring a sharp scold from her father for her overindulgence. But he said not a word, apparently happy to pay the continual stream of bills that arrived in the post and by messenger each morning.
When she wasn’t shopping, she stayed busy with invitations to Clybourne House and visits to and from friends. She even had a pair of her old schoolmates drop by—surprising, since neither lady had been particularly friendly toward her during those long-ago years, much less since then.
Peppering their conversation with frequent smiles and fawning flattery, they made several poorly disguised attempts at soliciting an invitation to the wedding. Yet with a skill that surprised even her, she managed to elude their ploys, seeing the visit through to its polite conclusion before escorting them to the door—all without granting them their much hoped-for prize.
The visit was noteworthy enough that she decided to share the highlights with Aunt Jane. Despite her promise to write often, she’d been a lamentably poor correspondent, so busy she’d only managed to pen a single letter during the past month.
Determined now to resolve her lapse, she sat down at her writing desk in the drawing room, selected a piece of paper, took up her quill pen and opened the silver filigreed jar of black ink to begin.
Half an hour later, she was adding a few last lines to the missive when she heard the deep rumble of Jack’s voice in the front hall. Her father’s servants didn’t hold to the custom of announcing visitors, so she wasn’t surprised when Jack strode into the room alone. Supremely handsome in a close-fitting jacket and pantaloons made of tan superfine wool, he brought an instant energy with him, together with a lingering touch of the brisk, late October air outside.
“Get your things,” he told her without preamble. “You and I are going house hunting.”
She laid down her pen. “We are? Your mother didn’t say anything about it.”
“That’s because she doesn’t know.”
“Really? What of Mallory. Will she be joining us?”
He shook his head. “As much as I adore my family and enjoy their company, I thought we could tackle this particular project on our own. After all, this will be our new home, so it only makes sense that we should be the ones doing the choosing.”
She mulled over his statement, a smile coming to her lips. “So, we’re going alone, then?”
Jack sent her a wink. “Exactly. Except for the estate agent, it will be just us two.”
Her pulse leapt at the notion. Since arriving in London, she and Jack were hardly ever alone, and then only for the occasional carriage ride or stroll through the park. She supposed they wouldn’t be completely alone today either—not with the estate agent there to escort them in and out of prospective town houses. But still, it would be the closest thing to privacy she and Jack were likely to enjoy before their wedding in January.
“Just let me tell Papa I’m going out and we’ll be on our way.” Taking a moment to blot the undried ink on her letter, she tucked it into her desk drawer, then leapt to her feet and hurried from the room.
Five minutes later, she returned clad in a soft, pearl grey kerseymere pelisse that complemented the pale blue of her gown. “I’m ready,” she declared in happy tones.
Taking Jack’s arm, she let him lead her outside to his carriage.
They were met at the first house by the estate agent, a short, barrel-chested man with an obvious taste for flamboyant waistcoats. The one he wore today was a rich, purplish puce with silver buttons fashioned in the shape of owls. Yet in spite of his dramatic appearance, he soon proved himself knowledgeable and attentive, with a manner that was neither too insistent nor too obsequious.
He showed them three town houses before they found one they liked—a lovely residence on a quiet section of Upper Brook Street not far from Grosvenor Square. Jack pronounced it near enough to Clybourne House for convenience without being so close as to invite a constant round of impromptu, unannounced morning calls.
After touring the spacious rooms, with their high ceilings, wide windows, crown moulding and cheerfu
lly painted walls, Grace knew it was the one. Both beautiful and elegant, there was a delicacy to the place far beyond anything she’d ever known—excepting Clybourne House itself, of course. Still, she hesitated, wondering if it might be a touch too grand.
In spite of her father’s immense wealth, they’d never lived in high style, as many of the newly rich were eager to do. Rather than build an ostentatious mansion designed to display his success, Ezra Danvers had been content to live in the same modest house he’d bought for her and her mother when Grace was only a toddler. The house was tidy and comfortable, located in a pleasant, if not terribly fashionable, part of London.
Like her father, she’d never minded, happy to live where she’d always lived without any real wish for more. Yet here she now stood, contemplating a property the likes of which she’d only ever read about in the Society column of the Morning Post.
Of course I’m engaged to a man the likes of whom I’d only ever read about in the Society columns as well, so why am I worrying over a mere house?
“Well?” Jack asked in a quiet tone. “Do you like it?”
She strove to keep her features calm, even as qualms rose inside her again. “How can I not? It’s absolutely lovely.” And truly, it is, she mused. “Still, do you think it might be a bit too large?” she ventured. “Maybe something of a more moderate size would suit us better for now?”
Jack studied the dimensions of the morning room with obvious consideration. “Really? The house seems a most agreeable size to me. Plenty of space to relax and not feel crowded when we have visitors.”
Visitors? Does he mean guests? She thought in sudden dismay. As in party guests?
She hadn’t considered it before, but she supposed it was only natural that he’d expect her to entertain once they were wed. She was used to arranging dinners for her father’s business partners, so small gatherings presented no difficulty. But hosting large Society fêtes for the Ton—well, she had about as much experience with that as she did shooting lead balls out of a cannon, and nearly as much trepidation too. Hopefully, the dowager duchess and Lady Mallory would help her when the time arrived; otherwise, she feared the potential results.
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