by Mary Balogh
She tipped her head to the side again and regarded it with a frown. “Would I love you more if it were straight and ordinary?” she said. “No, I think not, though I never saw it that way, of course. I like it extraordinary. It adds character.” She looked up into his eyes and smiled with exaggerated radiance, and he laughed.
Captain, stretched out on the bridge beside them, chin upon his paws, woofed but did not move.
“It was ignominiously acquired,” he said.
“No, it was not,” she protested. “You had spoken up in defense of a woman who could not speak up for herself.”
“Actually,” he said, “the landlady of the tavern was already on her way to the offender to box him about the ears before evicting him. Wes was on his way too, to help him out faster with a boot to his rear end. I got in their way.”
“The accidental hero,” she said. “My hero.”
And they gazed at each other while the humor receded— the lovely humor that promised light and laughter down the years of the future, however many were allotted them.
“Estelle,” he said, raising her hands to hold them palm in against his chest. “Are you really going to marry me?”
“I really am,” she said while Captain woofed again and raised his head.
And the reality of it hit Justin. She was going to be his wife, his countess. His lover. The mother of any children with whom they might be gifted. He moved his head closer to hers. But her eyes had gone beyond him, and it occurred to him that Captain did not woof for no reason.
“We have company,” Estelle said.
The twin, Justin saw when he looked over his shoulder. Standing at the end of the bridge, looking steadily at them.
“Tell me,” Watley said. “Is this a very late-night walk or a very early-morning pilgrimage to watch the sunrise?”
His room was next to Estelle’s. And they had that odd twin connection even though they were not identical. They were different genders, for the love of God. He had no doubt heard the soft knock on her door last night. His room faced east. He had probably seen them making their way to the summerhouse. Perhaps he had stood in his window all night waiting to see them return. Justin would not have put it past him.
“Tell me,” Justin said. “In what way is the answer any of your business?”
Estelle gave a little huff of what might have been laughter.
“It is not,” Watley said amiably. “I just thought it a more original conversation opener than a comment upon the weather.”
“Was any conversation opener necessary?” Justin asked. “Have you ever heard the one about three being a crowd?”
Rather than look abashed, Watley grinned. “You are going to have to get used to it, old chap,” he said. “That is my twin whose hands you have trapped against your chest. Whom you were about to kiss, if I am not much mistaken. In what is now broad daylight. For every servant and house guest to see.”
“They are all very welcome,” Justin told him. “So would you have been if you had kept your distance. I have asked Estelle to marry me. She has said yes. I was indeed about to kiss her. I am curiously unashamed of the fact. I take unkindly to having been interrupted.”
“Are you quite sure, Stell?” Watley asked, looking beyond Justin. He was still grinning.
“I am quite, quite sure,” she said. And she, Justin saw when he looked at her, was grinning back at her brother.
You are going to have to get used to it, old chap.
“Then you must allow me to congratulate you,” Watley said, striding onto the bridge and drawing his sister away from Justin and into a tight hug. He turned then to offer his hand to Justin. “I believe she will be happy with you, Brandon. She would not have said yes if she was not quite certain she would be. Nor would she have made this such a late night— with the sun already up on a new day.”
“Not your business, Bert,” she said.
“I suppose,” he said, “I had better make myself scarce now.”
“Oh, Bert,” she said. “There was a letter in the safe with all the jewelry. Addressed to Justin. From his father.”
“Ah,” Watley said.
“I needed to read it in private,” Justin said. “I took it to the summerhouse last night after everyone had gone to bed. I persuaded Estelle to go with me. Because I needed her, Watley. Because I love her.”
Watley nodded and patted his shoulder. “I am glad,” he said. “Stell and I were fortunate that our father was still alive when we were ready to confront him. We were able to have it out in person. I suppose she has told you.”
“Yes,” Justin said. “I look forward to meeting him, though I do have an acquaintance with him from the House of Lords. I will write to him later today.”
“Really?” Estelle said. “To ask for my hand?”
“I know it is unnecessary,” he said. “But yes.”
“Oh.” She smiled warmly at him. “Thank you. He will like that. I like it.”
“We are going to Redcliffe tomorrow,” Watley said, his eyes upon Estelle. “It is home, after all— for a short while longer for Estelle, that is. And there will be no point in trying to organize a wedding from Elm Court. I would not be given a moment’s peace. Our stepmother is good at organizing. She has all the weight of the Westcott ladies’ committee behind her. They are a formidable lot, Brandon. Be warned.”
“We are going to Redcliffe?” Estelle asked her brother. “Oh, I am so glad. It seems forever since we saw Papa. And Mother. The Westcott ladies’ committee is not too successful, though, is it? When they were planning a grand wedding for Avery and Anna, he simply went and got a special license and took her off one afternoon to marry her in an obscure little church in the middle of London, with only his secretary and Elizabeth, Lady Hodges, as witnesses.”
“The Duke and Duchess of Netherby?” Justin asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And most recently, this past spring, the committee planned a thirtieth birthday party for Harry Westcott at Hinsford and took along three prospective brides for him to choose among since everyone thought it was high time he married and lived happily ever after. He foiled them all by marrying Lydia Tavernor, the late vicar’s widow, on the morning of his birthday.”
“Good old Harry,” Watley said, laughing. “But by the law of averages, Brandon, they are almost bound to succeed one of these times, are they not? If I were you I would do what Netherby did.”
Justin looked at Estelle and took one of her hands in his again. “I suppose we are stuck with this twin of yours until we have a few matters settled,” he said. “Like the sort of wedding you want.”
Watley folded his arms and leaned back against the balustrade.
“Not one like Avery and Anna’s,” she said. “Though I am sure it was perfect for them. As I see it, a wedding can be considered in one of two ways. It can be seen, quite justifiably, as something for the bride and groom. It can also be seen, though, as something for their families too. A chance to celebrate. Together. A mingling of families, which can be a beautiful thing. We have seen it in the last two weeks. Your family is not a single entity, Justin. There are your father’s relatives and your mother’s, and even Maria’s. She is your sister, so in a sense her family is your family too. And there are Wesley and Hilda and Ricky. On my side there are my mother’s sister and her family, and my father’s brother and his sister and her family and a few cousins, children of the late marquess. And there are all the Westcotts, who are related to me in much the same way as Maria’s relatives are to you, not by blood but by a marriage connection. They have been wonderfully welcoming to Bert and me. They treat us as honorary members. When you and I marry, these two large, diverse groups will become our larger family. I want to celebrate that at our wedding.”
“It will have to be at Redcliffe, then, if you hope to squeeze all those people in,” Watley said. “Or in London, where everyone can find their own accommodation. That would be the easiest solution. I’ll wager Netherby would offer his ballroom at Archer Ho
use for the wedding breakfast.”
Justin was gazing at Estelle, and she was gazing back.
“The wedding will be here,” he said. “Unless you have another firm preference, Estelle. In October, when autumn will have turned the valley into something so beautiful you will run out of superlatives in your first sentence and then be doomed to repeating yourself or merely gazing in silence. You have only to look over your shoulder to the house to remind yourself that it is big enough to accommodate an army with room to spare.”
She smiled.
“But there is another reason,” he said. “Do you remember on the afternoon when I took everyone through the state apartments and then directly into the grand reception hall for tea?”
“The domed room?” she said. “I will never forget seeing it for the first time.”
“Do you remember what you did and what you said?” he asked her. “When the sun shone through the dome and made rainbow colors of light all about the room? I had just told everyone that it is occasionally used as a ballroom. You looked up at the light and spread your arms and twirled once about. And you said it would surely be the most wonderful place in the whole world in which to dance.”
“Oh.” Her face was glowing. “I do remember. And I still think it.”
“You, my love,” he told her, “are going to dance there. You are going to waltz there on our wedding day.”
Everyone was already expecting a busy day even before they sat down to breakfast. For they were all leaving tomorrow, and there were bags to be packed— though, of course, it was the servants who would do the actual work of filling trunks and hatboxes and valises and bags. There were also favorite places to be revisited while there was still time— the lake, the wilderness walk, the gallery, the maze, the rock gardens, among others. There was to be a tea out at the summerhouse during the afternoon. Lady Crowther and her sister wanted to pay a farewell call to their old friend Lady Hodgkins.
There were future meetings to discuss— and it seemed that they all did want to meet again and wished to talk about it at breakfast. Maria would go with the Sharpes tomorrow to spend a few weeks with Rosie. But the Dicksons and the Chandlers were eager for her to come to Yorkshire later. She still had her aunt Sarah and uncle Thomas to meet, after all. And the Ormsburys hinted at Christmas in Cornwall, certainly for both Maria and Justin, but also perhaps for the Yorkshire families and the Sharpes if they did not have other plans.
“And you and Lady Estelle would be very welcome to come too, Lord Watley,” Lady Crowther added. “If your company is not already spoken for, that is. But we must not all go years again without seeing one another. Families ought not to allow themselves to drift apart just because of the great distances that separate their homes.”
“Maybe next spring when Maria goes to London to mingle with all the other titled nobility for the social Season,” Mr. Dickson said, beaming at his niece, “she will take the eye of some handsome gentleman and fall in love and we will all be invited back here for a grand wedding in the summer.”
“Leonard!” his wife scolded. “You are putting the poor girl to the blush, not to mention Justin, inviting us back here like this.”
“No, he is not embarrassing me, Aunt Margaret,” Maria said, laughing. “But my bridegroom is going to have to be very special. I refuse to settle for anyone just because he is handsome.”
“Maybe you have a chance yet, Ernie,” Sidney Sharpe said.
That was when Justin spoke up from his place at the head of the table. They were all present, except for Lady Maple.
“I am about to invite everyone back here anyway,” he said, his eyes meeting Estelle’s along the table. “Long before next summer. Even before Christmas. In October actually, when the valley will be at its absolute loveliest. There is to be a wedding here. My own to Lady Estelle Lamarr, who accepted my offer this morning and agreed to be my wife. My countess.”
He smiled at Estelle, and she smiled back. How very different he looked when he smiled, when the darkness had gone from inside him.
Everyone seemed to be speaking at once. For several moments Estelle let the sound wash over her without attempting to sort out individual voices or what exactly they were saying. She was just simply happy.
“How much was that wager for, Sid?”
“Estelle? You are going to marry Estelle, Justin?”
“It was not hard to see which way the wind was blowing, was it?”
“Not a single pound or guinea. No one was willing to bet against you.”
“Oh, Justin! I was never happier in my life. Well, except when Martin offered for Doris and she said yes.”
“Never mind winds. I told you it was sure to happen any day now, Irwin.”
“She is going to be my sister?”
“Ernest is right, Sidney. No one would take you up on that bet. It was as clear as the nose on your face.”
“How splendid, Justin. But we all guessed, of course.”
“I say, Lady Estelle. You are going to be the Countess of Brandon. How grand it sounds.”
“A wedding? In October? Ma? Pa? Say we may come back for it. I will die if you say no.”
“A wedding? That soon? And you are going to be here alone after tomorrow, Justin? Without even Maria? However are you going to plan a whole wedding? Do you have any idea of all the work involved? But how could you? You are a man. You need help. Female help, and it would be unfair to put it all on poor Mrs. Phelps. Some of us are going to have to put our heads together today and make some plans.”
“I will help, Augusta. We had a lovely wedding for Doris. Not a single thing went wrong. Well. Except that Rowan left his shoes to put on until the last minute and then could find only one black shoe and one brown. And I had gone off to the church already. What we need is a few lists.”
Estelle looked into the laughing eyes of her betrothed and came back to herself. “Bertrand and I will be going to Redcliffe Court tomorrow,” she said. “Our stepmother will be happy to take charge of some of the planning, but I am sure she will appreciate any lists you can all draw up today. I think it might be a good idea, Justin, if instead of writing to Papa today, as you planned, you actually come with Bert and me tomorrow.”
“Do you, my love?” His eyes were still laughing. “Then I will come.”
And since everyone had more or less finished breakfast, the table was soon abandoned and Estelle was engulfed in hugs and kisses and exclamations while Justin was being hugged and was having his hand pumped and his shoulder slapped and it all started to feel very real indeed.
She was betrothed, Estelle thought. In two months’ time she was going to be marrying Justin, Earl of Brandon— of all people. She tried to think of him as she had seen him that first time by the riverbank and a couple of days later at Prospect Hall. Just a few weeks ago. If anyone had told her then …
Maria was hugging him, and he was hugging her back, rocking her in his arms and drawing back his head to say something to her. She listened earnestly to him and then smiled and nodded. And he hugged her again.
Well, if anyone had told her, Estelle thought, she would simply not have believed that person.
Bertrand squeezed her shoulder and hugged her again. “I feel duty bound to remind you that you are making a ghastly mistake,” he murmured into her ear.
“What?” She drew back her head and frowned at him.
“He is not your perfect someone,” he said. “He does not have blue eyes.”
She gasped. “And now you tell me,” she said.
Maria took a pot of chocolate, a cup and saucer and spoon, and a plate with two oatmeal biscuits up to Lady Maple’s room an hour before noon. It was what she usually had at that time, her maid had explained.
Lady Maple was sitting up in bed, pillows piled at her back, a frilly cap on her head, and wire-rimmed spectacles halfway down her nose. She was reading a book, though she did set it aside when her door opened and peered at Maria over the top of her glasses.
“You mis
sed a great deal of excitement at breakfast,” Maria told her as she set down the tray on the table beside the bed and poured a cup of chocolate.
“I do not believe anything could excite me at breakfast,” her great-aunt said.
“Brandon … Justin proposed marriage to Estelle this morning,” Maria said, “and she accepted. They are going to marry here in October, and everyone is invited to come back for the wedding. All of Estelle’s family will be invited too. It was announced at breakfast.”
“And this is news?” Lady Maple asked, removing her spectacles and taking the cup and saucer after Maria had stirred the chocolate. Apparently she always drank one cup before eating a biscuit.
Maria smiled at her. “If you had told me two weeks ago that I would be happy about it,” she said, “I would have called you mad.”
“And it would have been a great impertinence,” Lady Maple said. “One ought always to speak to one’s elders with courtesy, you know— or some such nonsense.”
“I am really dreadfully sorry for what I said to you that one morning,” Maria said.
“The fault was mine, child,” her great-aunt said. “I ought not to have opened my mouth on that topic even though I did not realize you were within earshot. A girl should be left alone with her memories of her mother.”
“Not when they are false memories,” Maria said. “Not when they cause her to treat living people unjustly. Mama’s jewels were never stolen. They were in the safe in Papa’s room all the time. Papa sent Justin away because there was something between Justin and Mama. I am no longer so naïve that I cannot work that out for myself. And much as I loved Mama—much as I love her and always will— I cannot believe that the fault was with Justin. He adored Papa and he adored me. He would not— Well, he would not. I am not going to stand in judgment upon Mama, though. The only thing for which I really blame her is the lie she told me. She might have just remained silent on the subject, as Papa always did. She lied instead.”
“Put the cup back on the tray,” Lady Maple said. “My hands are not quite steady this morning. You are a good girl, Maria, and always have been, I suspect. Now you have your brother back and will soon have a sister who is already your friend. You have a larger family to love you too. Even the Sharpes have taken you to their bosom. I am glad. And perhaps at last I will forgive myself.”