“Confucius?” Nicholas offered helpfully. “Putrious?”
“That is not even an actual word,” Langdon complained.
Dash looked at him with evil glee. “Isn’t it? What say you to ‘moostrious’? I believe it has something to do with animal husbandry. Specifically, when working with bovines.”
“Oh yes, he is telling the truth,” Sophia joined in gleefully. “I myself have done some reading on the topic. Quite interesting, moostrious.”
His mother’s diminutive kid boots clicked along the parquet flooring as she neared.
“I say you have not changed one whit,” Langdon replied sarcastically.
“Coothrious,” Nicholas announced. “Or uncoothrious, depending upon the situation.”
“Nor have you, little brother,” Langdon accused Nicholas.
“Not in the important ways, no,” Nicholas replied, smiling at him. “We have not. Nor have you. Now, shall we stage a blindman’s bluff?”
“Well, that does not rhyme with Lucius in the least,” Dash offered, then reviewed Nicholas’s words. “I remember something about a blind man … You two would—”
Langdon and Nicholas grabbed hold of Dash simultaneously, each dragging the bottom of his coat up and over his head until he could not see a thing.
“Langdon Lucius! I am calling you! Right now!”
“She always did have a gift for the obvious,” Nicholas said dryly.
“You cannot mean to leave me like this?” Dash asked from under the makeshift straitjacket.
Langdon and Nicholas stood back and admired their work. “Oh, that is precisely what we had in mind.”
“Never fear, Dash,” Sophia replied, waving the brothers off before beginning to free their friend. “I will face the lion’s den with you.”
“Ever the truest friend, Sophia. As for you two, you bloody …”
The brothers did not stay long enough to hear the entirety of Dash’s lament. Instead, they hopped over the side of the stone rail and landed in a bank of hydrangea bushes.
“Sophia, there you are. Dashiell? What on earth are you doing out here? With your coat in disarray?”
Langdon cringed at his mother’s shrill voice.
Nicholas stifled a laugh.
“Lady Stonecliffe, how lovely to see you.”
“But you cannot see me,” their mother objected. “That is precisely my point.”
“Is it dishonorable to feed him to the lions?” Langdon whispered to his brother.
“God, yes,” Nicholas confirmed. “Now come, you’ve a wedding to prepare for.”
And with that, the two Bourne brothers crawled toward the side of Audley House, staying low to the ground for fear their mother might see them.
“Oh,” a woman’s voice breathed reverently behind Grace and Mrs. Templeton. “You look beautiful.”
The two women swung about to see who had made the kind, if unexpected, observation.
Grace looked at two women staring at her. “I am sorry?” she asked, somewhat unnerved by their sudden appearance.
“No, we are the ones who should apologize,” the petite pregnant one corrected her. “Sneaking about your cottage is beyond the bounds of propriety.”
The taller woman with dark hair held up her finger to add, “Though ‘sneaking’ is not the word I would have used.”
“Well, I was sneaking,” the shorter one muttered.
“My ladies, I do not mean to be impertinent,” Mrs. Templeton said, placing a protective hand on Grace’s shoulder, “but who are you?”
Grace watched as the two grew even more embarrassed. Neither of them could tear their gaze from her, as if they were peering into a mirage.
“Well, you will never forget making our acquaintance, that I have no doubt,” the mahogany-haired one said wryly. “I am—”
“Lady Elena,” Grace finished for her, admiring her deep umber eyes. “And you must be Sophia,” she continued, turning to the second woman.
“Our reputation precedes us?” Lady Elena asked, her diminutive elbow poking Lady Sophia in the ribs.
Grace smiled at the woman’s wit, remembering how Langdon had described her. “In a way, yes. Langdon has spoken of you both, often over the last few weeks,” Grace assured her, adding, “with great affection.”
Lady Sophia continued to gaze at Grace intently. “I apologize, Lady Grace. It is just that—”
“You are everything we would have wished for Langdon?” Lady Elena interrupted her friend.
Lady Sophia nodded in agreement. “You must think us mad.”
“Mrs. Templeton, would you give the three of us a moment alone to talk?” Grace asked her dear friend.
Mrs. Templeton secured the final button on Grace’s gown then stood back to admire her. “Of course, my lady,” she agreed, taking one last lingering glance before curtsying and leaving the room.
Grace gestured to a settee and two silk-covered chairs in the corner. “Shall we?”
Lady Elena led the way, choosing one of the chairs. Lady Sophia sat next, taking the far end of the settee. Grace followed, sitting down next to Sophia.
“Now, ladies, you should know I am a very practical person,” Grace began, gently arranging the skirts of her pale blue gown. “I am also honest to a fault. So I must tell you that the very idea of deciding one person is perfect for another without any real information is …”
She hesitated, wanting terribly to be accepted—even loved—by Langdon’s dear friends, but also needing to remain true to who she was. Grace would not re-enter society, even on such a small scale, playing by the ton’s rules.
“Mad?” Lady Elena suggested. “And you would be right. Which is why I must tell you that there have been many, many letters sent across the whole of England in the past two weeks—all having to do with you.”
Oddly enough, this did not put Grace’s mind at ease. “Is that right?”
Lady Sophia reached out tentatively and offered her hand to Grace. “You know the entire story concerning my mother?”
Grace looked at the woman’s hand and considered the kindness in her voice. She’d known Lady Sophia would be a woman of honor and strength—Langdon had told her as much. What she did not expect was to like her almost immediately.
The day was growing more peculiar—and, in a very surprising way, delightful—as it wore on. Grace put her hand in Lady Sophia’s then nodded. “He did. Every last detail,” she answered truthfully, wanting no lies or half-truths between them.
“Then you understand the four of us are family,” Lady Sophia continued, casting a glance at Lady Elena and adding, “Now five. You are to be the sixth—and Langdon’s wife, no less. It is not an exaggeration to say that out of all of us, Langdon is the most deserving of love.”
Grace looked earnestly at Lady Sophia. “You all suffered equally—some would say you the most.”
“Yes, but Langdon was the one expected to fix everything,” Lady Sophia replied, squeezing Grace’s hand as if to underscore her point. “To keep the three of us safe—and sane, if at all possible. It was a nearly unachievable responsibility that he shouldered gladly. Not one of us—not myself, nor Dash, nor Nicholas—would be here today without Langdon. So you see why it was vital we discern whether you were indeed deserving of him.”
Lady Sophia’s reasoning made perfect sense. Even if Grace had been the one under suspicion. “Yes, of course. But I still do not understand where the letters come in.”
“The Furies, Lady Grace,” Lady Elena offered, absentmindedly patting her round belly. “Those three women would have made excellent spies—actually, they do make excellent spies, as they’ve been watching you very carefully. There is not one detail about you we do not know.”
Grace looked at Lady Elena, then at Lady Sophia, contemplating the information. “Well, while your methods were rather underhanded, I cannot say that I would not have done the very same thing in your position. A bit of espionage, though wholly devious, is from time to time necessary—even when
it comes to matchmaking.”
“You are quite practical,” Lady Sophia said.
“And brutally honest,” Lady Elena added with satisfaction.
Grace smiled at the two women, the beginning of a friendship taking root in her heart. “Well, I do not know. What did the Furies tell you?”
Mrs. Templeton returned just then, a letter in her hand. “A boy just delivered this from the manor house.”
Grace released Lady Sophia’s hand and stood as Mrs. Templeton crossed the room to her and handed over the missive.
“Well, my ladies, is she everything you would have wished for Lord Stonecliffe?” Mrs. Templeton asked.
“More,” Lady Sophia answered, smiling at Grace. “Much more.”
Grace returned the woman’s smile with a heartfelt one of her own as she opened the letter.
Meet me in your garden in one hour.
This is the final surprise, I promise!
All my love, Langdon
“Is everything all right?” Lady Elena asked worriedly.
Grace brought the letter to her lips and kissed it. “Everything is perfect.”
“I must say, yours is a request I’ve not had before,” the Reverend Nutley said to Langdon, then batted away a bee with his hand.
The two men stood in the garden behind Grace’s cottage. The sun was wearily making its way to the other side of the world, leaving the sky in brilliant shades of oranges and blues. All was quiet around them except for the low, rhythmical buzzing of the persistent bee. A light breeze blew from the north, carrying the scent of clematis and rose across the intimate stretch of cultivated land.
“Does it displease you?” Langdon asked Reverend Nutley.
The reverend’s thin face appeared to grow longer as he ruminated on the question. “No, it does not displease. I will admit it confounds me, but it does not displease.”
Langdon removed his coat and set it down upon a stone bench. “The wedding you will perform up at the main house this evening is for my family and friends. While the one you will oversee here in a few short minutes is strictly for me and my fiancée. Can you appreciate a man’s desire to wed in peace and quiet contemplation?”
The reverend silently watched Langdon untie his cravat. “I can.”
Langdon unwound the strip of fabric and threw it on top of his coat. “Do you also understand how a man might choose two weddings over arguing with no less than five individuals who would be very put out by not being present for his nuptials?”
“Say no more,” the reverend replied, turning his attention to Langdon’s feet. “Now, the only question remaining is your state of dress. You do realize you’ve forgotten your boots, yes?”
Langdon followed the man’s gaze. “I do, Reverend Nutley.”
The reverend quietly cleared his throat. “All right, then.” He looked up from the ground, then uttered an admiring “Oh.” He smiled. “Your bride, I believe, Lord Stonecliffe.”
Langdon slowly turned around. Grace stood at the far end of the garden path, the first rays from the setting sun caressing her from head to toe. He started to walk toward her, his steps barely audible as he padded along the stone walkway.
With every step he took toward her, Grace grew lovelier. Her hair was down, the blond tresses cascading down her back and a wreath of daisies encircling her head. Her skin, sun-kissed and luminous, called to Langdon’s senses, begging for his touch.
The dress he’d ordered from Madame Bissett fit perfectly. He’d even managed to pick just the right shade of blue to complement her coloring. The frock’s silk skirt modestly hid her ankles and almost covered her feet.
Almost.
Langdon smiled at the sight of her toes wriggling in the grass.
Grace’s laughter drew his eyes upward.
“We match,” she said, holding out her hands.
Langdon reached the end of the stone walkway and took her hands in his. “Isn’t this how you always pictured your wedding day?”
Grace kissed the fingers on his right hand and then the left. “Sans shoes? No, not at all. You?”
“Lord, no,” Langdon replied, closing the distance between them. “There was always shoes. And hundreds of guests—some of whom I cared for, many of whom I did not. And pomp. And circumstance. It was absolutely dreadful.”
Grace smiled sweetly, then feigned a seriousness that did not reach her eyes. “Yes, shoes featured in mine as well. Dreadful,” she replied, looking up at Langdon. “What on earth are you up to?”
“We are going to be married. Here, in your garden, in front of Reverend Nutley and a particularly persistent bumblebee.”
An adorable crease formed between Grace’s eyebrows. “And the shoes—or rather lack thereof?”
“Do you remember when I found you in the garden at Aylworth House?” Langdon asked, releasing Grace’s hands and wrapping his arms about her waist. “Barefoot and basking in the sun?”
Grace appeared to consider his question. “Oh right. I could not help but take my shoes off. The sun practically begged that I do so.”
“It is one of my very favorite aspects of your personality,” Langdon said. “You do not give a hang what others think—and yet, you are the most regal, most wise and wonderful woman I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. You defy everything I ever thought I knew about life. I fought you at first,” he explained, lost in her violet eyes. “Change is painful—admitting I was wrong was very painful. And then I gave in—and my life truly began.”
Grace stood on tiptoe and placed a gentle kiss on Langdon’s lips. “All because of my bare feet?”
“All because of your bare feet,” Langdon repeated, sure he’d never been happier in his entire life.
“You are my home, Langdon Bourne,” Grace said, her voice beginning to tremble. “And my heart. I had given up on ever discovering the good in life—the pure and uncomplicated truth of it all. Love, Langdon. You are the very definition of love to me.”
The faint noise of Reverend Nutley clearing his throat caught their attention and Grace peeked over Langdon’s shoulder, a sigh of wonder escaping her lips.
Langdon turned so that both faced the reverend and discovered what had made Grace sigh. The sun had finally ambled beneath their view and a glorious, shining streak-filled sky stood in its place.
“Shall we meet our future, Grace?”
She turned into his embrace, placing her cheek on his chest. “I thought you would never ask.”
For the girls
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lois Dyer, Jennifer Schober, Junessa Viloria
BY STEFANIE SLOANE
The Devil in Disguise
The Angel in My Arms
The Sinner Who Seduced Me
The Saint Who Stole My Heart
The Scoundrel Takes a Bride
The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match
Turn the page for an excerpt from
THE SAINT WHO STOLE MY HEART
By Stefanie Sloane
A Regency Rogues Novel
Published by Ballantine Books
Spring, 1813
LONDON
“You’re quite tan.”
Honorable Nicholas Bourne looked across the card table at Lady Sophia Afton with a devilish grin. “Yes, well, exposure to the sun does tend to cause such things.” He lifted his crystal tumbler in salute before draining it in one quick swallow.
“Nicholas,” Sophia said reproachfully, in the same disappointed huffing of breath she’d exhibited while still in pigtails. “You’re bluffing.”
“I’m shocked,” Dashiell Matthews, Viscount Carrington, objected, settling back against the gold patterned sofa. “Not Bourne,” he admonished, a sly grin forming on his lips.
Next to him, Langdon Bourne, the Earl of Stonecliffe, stifled a laugh. “Come now, Sophia. Must you always be so suspicious?”
“Really, Mrs. Kirk,” Nicholas commented as he looked at Sophia’s companion with mock disapproval. “I’m greatly disappointed. The poor girl
hasn’t the first clue when it comes to scientific facts regarding the result of sun exposure on one’s skin. What do you have to say for yourself?”
A quiet, intelligent woman, Mrs. Lettie Kirk had been hired as Sophia’s nanny shortly after the death of Lady Afton. And when her charge had outgrown the need for such things, she’d been persuaded to stay on as Sophia’s companion, though it took very little to sway the woman, for she loved the girl as her own. She shifted her willowy frame in the chair across the room and adjusted her spectacles. “Lady Afton received the finest education a young woman could hope for, Mr. Bourne.”
Sophia turned to Mrs. Kirk and arched an eyebrow. “Thank you, Lettie, for enlightening the man. But we both know the bluff I refer to is in his cards, not the sun in the sky.”
She turned back to Nicholas and drummed her fingertips on the table. “Show me your cards.”
“And so forward! Mrs. Kirk—”
“Now,” Sophia ordered, pinning Nicholas with a lethal glare.
Nicholas threw down his cards, feigning outrage. Shoving back in his chair, he rose abruptly and carried his glass to the mahogany sideboard where the decanter
sat, already nearly empty. “Do you steal away at night to a gambling hell and lighten the pockets of cutthroats?” he asked, pulling the crystal stopper out and pouring the rest into his cup.
“I needn’t bother with such things,” Sophia replied, her eyes narrowing as she assessed his cards. “Your behavior tells me all I need to know.”
“What on earth is she talking about?” Nicholas asked, his words slurring slightly.
Sophia winced as the syllables slid into one another. “It’s of no importance,” she answered blithely, stacking the cards in a neat pile. “What matters is that you lost. I’ll collect my winnings, now, if you don’t mind.”
Dash listened to the banter, letting his mind wander. He’d not set foot in Stonecliffe House since the night before Nicholas Bourne’s departure for India. It hadn’t changed a bit, the dark, masculine touches put in place by Langdon still evident throughout. Their mother had retired to the country upon her husband’s death, eager to make room for Langdon and the wife and family she’d confidently assumed he’d acquire once he’d taken on the title.
The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match Page 24