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With a mumble that was not quite intelligible, Mary offered her farewells, and taking Sir Matthew’s arm, she made her way back out into the sprawling greenery of Hyde Park. She was leaning into him, giggling girlishly, and for a moment, Lydia could see exactly what she might have been like in her youth. The kind of woman that every gentleman wished to have, but only one had been lucky enough to wed.

I must ask Will what sort of relationship they had—the former Duke and Duchess.

Whether he would answer her was another question entirely.

“Now,thisis exactly what I need,” Nora sighed as if she had seen the love of her life. Perhaps she had, somewhere among the displays of cakes and delicacies or the steaming teapots that were being carried out on silver trays.

Thirsty and hungry from their walk around the park, the ladies had decided to seek respite at the nearest tearoom. It had a rather lovely terrace that looked out on the park, and Nora immediately darted toward a spare table, claiming it for the ladies.

If the waiter was annoyed by the bold act, he covered it quickly. “Please, follow me.”

Lydia and Nancy were passing through the hectic tearoom when a figure stepped out in front of them, blocking their path. Lydia looked up in alarm, her fright turning into joy as she recognized the gentleman before her.

“Lord Portshire!”

Marcus laughed. “I hear I am to call you ‘Your Grace’ after your recent nuptials.”

“Oh goodness, no. Lydia will suffice.”

Marcus shook his head. “I could not do that, Your Grace.” He took her hand and kissed it chastely. A friendly kiss. “How are you faring? Should you not be enjoying your honeymoon?”

“I am enjoying my honeymoon with my friends,” Lydia replied, chuckling. “My husband is ‘tending to things.’ I do not know what that means, and I am not inclined to find out.”

Marcus nodded in understanding. “Us gentlemen are always tending to things. You must forgive us.”

“Oh, I do.” She beamed, so happy to see the second man her sister had jilted. “And what of your lovely beloved? I apologize, I cannot remember her name. Maria, was it?”

She knew better than to declare in such a public space that the object of Marcus’s affection was a maid, though she remembered that much. Indeed, the maid in question was the sole reason thatEmma had not gone through with the wedding so that the star-crossed couple might have a chance.

“Mary,” Marcus said softly. Dreamily.

Lydia tried not to flinch, her mind conjuring up images of Marcus and the Dowager walking down the aisle together. “Has there been any success? Shall we be invited to the wedding soon? We have been waiting for the news, Emma and I.”

“Next month,” Marcus replied in a hushed tone. “Mother has finally accepted that it will be Mary or no one, and she has come to realize that she would prefer the former, or she will never be a grandmother. It is not the approval I might have hoped for, for Mary’s sake, but we shall have each other. That is enough.”

Nora squealed, having wandered back in from the terrace. “Did I just hear what I think I heard? Are you to be wed to your darling, at last, Lord Portshire?”

“I am.” Marcus blushed.

“Congratulations!” Nora clapped him on the back as if she were a gentleman and they were old friends. “About time, I say!”

Lydia laughed brightly, her grim mood swept away by the joy of the moment. “Yes, sincerest congratulations. Goodness, I am so very happy for you. I am sure I am not the only one who worried that it would never happen, so consider this a great triumph.”

“I already do,” Marcus replied, clearly uncomfortable with so much affection.

“Will she be attending Joanna’s ball with you?” Lydia asked.

Marcus pulled a face. “She has been invited, but… I do not yet know. We shall see. She wants to, but… she does not know how Society will respond. I suppose all I can do is warn her.”

“You will have us all as protection,” Lydia promised, gesturing to Nora and Nancy.

The latter nodded eagerly. “Certainly, you shall. We have all had our fair share of difficulties when it comes to Society’s view of us, so we will make it so that she does not feel their barbs and spiteful words. In the end, they only say unkind things because they are jealous.”

“I would be grateful indeed if you—” Marcus halted, his gaze flicking to something over Lydia’s shoulder. Worry flickered in his eyes. “Is that… the Bear?”

Nancy frowned. “Who?”

“The Bear, the Beast, the Cruel Duke,” Marcus whispered.