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Smiling, she lowered her lips to his once more. “I love you, husband.”

“Love you, Liv.”

And they were the last words they spoke for a while.

Epilogue

Another soiree? Two in a fortnight, who would’ve thought?

Alistair’s lips curled wryly as he sipped his whisky and watched his guests mingle as the small orchestra played in the corner. Certainly not him. If he’d been asked two months ago if he’d even attend a Society event, much less host one—two!—he would’ve laughed.

Well, actually, no. He wouldn’t have laughed, because he didn’t laugh then. But he would’ve glared like hell, that was for certain.

But he was laughing more these days, with Olivia in his life. Allowing himself to laugh more. Sometimes it still wasn’t aloud—he’d become used to the silent way of hunching his shoulders and exhaling sharply through his nostrils—but the gasping sort of croak he made no longer offended his ears.

And his friends and family didn’t seem offended, either.

He recalled what Olivia had said, about those who loved him would love him, no matter how he sounded. As he looked around at those gathered tonight, he had to admit she was right.

This wasn’t a Society Event. This was Effinghell House’s second official soiree, and this time, the guest list was much shorter. Only those people who were meaningful to Alistair and Olivia as they came together to celebrate their marriage.

Because Olivia deserved a special day, and he’d been too much of an arse to realize that when he’d married her the first time.

Of course, she’d objected when he’d brought it up, but he’d told her he was a Duke, and dukes were allowed to throw extravagant parties to celebrate their wives.

To which she replied that she was a Duchess, and duchesses were allowed to spend their husband’s money on something less frivolous. The resulting debate was spirited and lively and ended—as they so often did—in bed, so Alistair hadn’t minded in the least.

Besides, he’d gotten his way, hadn’t he?

“Ye realize ye look like an idiot?”

Fawkes’s blunt question jerked Alistair’s attention to the present and he lifted a brow in question.

His friend was smirking. “Ye’re standing here, ignoring our scintillating conversation, staring at yer wife, and grinning like a puppy who’s shat in a boot and kens his owner willnae discover it until winter.”

As the third member of their little trio, Thorne snorted and gestured with his own whisky. “Leave the man alone. He’s in love with said wife. Did I tell ye I take full responsibility for bringing them together?”

“Really?” Fawkes didn’t bother hiding his disbelieving tone. “Because I could be bothered to be there when he married Olivia, and ye couldnae be bothered to stay for the ceremony.”

“Aye, well, the train schedule didnae take Alistair’s wedding into account when it was published. I’ll write a complaint. Ye ken Uncle Edward instructed me to be in Scotland by that evening, so I went.”

Alistair lifted his glass, to show there were no hurt feelings. “Dukes…get their way.”

To his surprise, Fawkes snorted derisively. “They do, indeed,” he muttered, before he sipped.

Did he have something against Thorne’s uncle? Or all dukes in general? Alistair made a note to bring up the question as subtly as possible the next time they were all together.

Fawkes had never given him any indication he’d had a particular dislike of dukes, but then, the man had always been quiet about himself, his likes and dislikes. Clever, affable, but closed-lipped about his past, that was Fawkes.

Still…it had been wonderful, the evening before last, when Kipling had finally dragged himself away from his fiancée-to-be and deigned to visit Alistair, dragging Fawkes along as well. Kipling had been surprised to hear Alistair speaking, of course, but once he’d managed to get past that, it had been like old times at school.

The good parts, at least.

The three of them had stayed up too late, drinking and joking, talking about politics. They’d listened to Kipling bemoan his complete lack of readiness for the role of duke, and had done their best to offer suggestions. Poor ones, of course. There was no escaping his fate.

Too bad Kip couldnae be here tonight.

And he wasn’t the only one. Alistair had the distinct impression his sister Amelia would’ve very much liked to see his old friend…