Page 37 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

Finally, he saw a familiar face as his valet darted forward to grasp his hand. “Well done, my lord. Never been so proud of you in all my days. God’s honest truth,” Kirby said, sniffing fiercely before rushing off again.

Beau felt utterly disoriented, like a mole emerging from velvety darkness into the glare of a summer sun.

The entire service had gone past in a blur and he could only pray he had said the right thing at the right time.

Well, Honeywell had pronounced them man and wife so he must have done something right, and Stonehaven hadn’t fallen over laughing either.

Well, that was it then. He was married. His stomach, which had been knotted in a tangle of apprehension since the moment he’d woken at four a.m. after a restless night, twisted harder.

Cautiously, he turned his head to look at his bride. God, but she was lovely.

He had known it, obviously. He had eyes, after all, but something about the gown, about the way she had done her hair, the glow in her eyes and her pink cheeks, about knowing she was his… that changed everything. She was beautiful.

Feeling his gaze upon her, she looked up at him. Happiness shone in her eyes. Trepidation was there too, shyness and anxiety, but that was definitely happiness. The knot in his guts unravelled. He could do this.

“Countess,” he said, smiling at her as he led her from the church.

“My lord,” she replied, the words somewhat breathless.

It was only a short walk to the vicarage, where the wedding breakfast awaited them.

It was to be a simple affair, much to his mother’s disappointment, for she had wanted him to wait until the season was in full swing again and marry at St George’s in Hanover Square.

Even had his wife-to-be not been violently opposed to the idea, he would still never have agreed.

So, his mama, quite correctly deducing her august presence would overwhelm the paltry affair they’d chosen, had informed him she would expect her first glimpse of his wife at Cavendish House, where she would make her welcome.

His wife, he thought with a grin.

“What are you smirking about?”

He turned to see Clementine regarding him curiously.

“My wife ,” he said out loud. “I am feeling smug and pleased with myself, for I have stolen a march on all those other fellows that do not yet know this delightful town exists, and stolen away its treasure before they got the chance.”

She shook her head sadly. “You are a ridiculous person,” she said soberly.

“It’s too late to change your mind now,” he told her, his voice severe. “So you may as well come to terms with it.”

“Oh, I knew you were ridiculous from the beginning. I believe I told you as much when you accused me of arranging a romantic liaison with Mr Kirby.”

Beau nodded, remembering. “Ah, yes. So you did. Well, it’s your own fault, then.”

“Entirely,” she agreed, gazing up at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, suddenly hit with the urgent desire to haul her off into a shady corner and show her what it meant to be married to the Earl of Beaumarsh.

“I beg your pardon?” She looked adorably confused, bless her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not yet, anyway,” he added. “You can look at me like that later all you want. Indeed, I insist that you do. It’s most… invigorating.”

She turned pink, which delighted him to no end, but did not stop him from wishing the wedding breakfast was over and done with.

Clementine wished the wedding breakfast would go on a good deal longer. The reality of being married to the Earl of Beaumarsh was finally sinking in. Moreover, their wedding night, which had hardly been something she had failed to consider, was approaching all too rapidly.

Not being a complete ninny, she had worked many of the details out for herself but had approached Mrs Mabbs to confirm her suspicions.

Though the children’s nanny had outlived two husbands, the conversation mortified her, and she would only confirm or deny Clementine’s questions, but she supposed it was likely still more information than many women had on their wedding night.

She would just have to leave things up to Beaumarsh, a circumstance that bothered her somewhat as she did not like it when she did not know exactly what to expect.

If she were honest, which she always was—with herself, at least—she had been overwhelmed with pride to walk from the church to the vicarage on her husband’s arm.

Whilst she did not care a whit for his title, she could not deny how splendid he looked, how very handsome and commanding, every inch a nobleman, and she knew just how much all the other young ladies envied her.

She was only human, after all, and had never been envied before, to her knowledge.

Plus, discovering that he was still the same person and had not suddenly turned into some unknown tyrant she must fear angering, was also reassuring.

The nonsensical conversation they had conducted on their short walk to her family home had gone a long way to calming her riotous nerves, but now they were making themselves known once more.

“You going away now?” Caspar said, running up to her, his little face crinkling with concern.

Clementine, grasping his sticky fingers before he plastered them all over her silk skirts, leaned in, pressing a kiss to his soft cheek.

“Not just yet, but soon,” she said, feeling her stomach flutter with nerves.

“See you again, though?” he asked earnestly.

“Of course you will,” she said, wiping his hands with a napkin before hauling him into his lap.

“Beaumarsh has said you may all come and stay with me in the autumn, for as long as you wish. Isn’t that lovely?

And I’m not very far away, so I can come back and visit you too, very often.

” The words calmed her, for they were true.

Beaumarsh had been generous in all things, and so very kind.

Caspar nodded. “Bea and Izzy not going, though?”

“No. And you still have Uncle Bertie,” she said, the name by which the children called her father. “And Nanny Mabbs, and Mrs Adie and Polly. So many people love you. Aren’t you lucky?”

Caspar nodded. “More cake?” he asked thoughtfully.

Clementine nodded and set him down again. “Yes, there’s more wedding cake if you’d like. Ask Nanny Mabbs. She’ll fetch you some, darling.”

Caspar ran off before she could give him a last kiss, but she smiled as she watched him run across the room to find his nanny.

“Well, my lady,” said a deep voice from over her shoulder. “I believe we should depart, or we will not reach Cavendish House until late.”

Clementine looked around, seeing her husband looking down at her. “Oh. My lady. That’s me,” she said inanely, but he laughed and held out his hand to her.

“It is, unless I did something very wrong this afternoon?”

“Oh, no. It will just take a little getting used to. I suppose I had better change, then. I cannot be travelling in this,” Clementine said with some regret, though she had a few lovely new things thanks to Madame Auguste, including an evening gown in the exquisite blue silk she’d been sighing over for weeks.

“It is a pity,” Beaumarsh agreed, a look in his eyes that made her stomach flutter and her heart do an agitated little dance behind her ribs.

“Well, I shall be two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she said, and then regretted it, for surely that was not the sort of thing a countess would say. Oh, well. This countess would say it, and a good deal more besides. Best he get accustomed to the notion now.

Far from being appalled by her cant remark, Beaumarsh’s smile widened, and Clementine hurried off.

Less than forty minutes later and her new husband was handing her up into his carriage. Four splendid bay horses stood waiting patiently, coats gleaming in the sunlight. Beaumarsh climbed in after her and they waved as her family and friends cheered and threw more rice.

Clementine felt her throat grow tight as her sisters wept, hugging each other as her father blew her kisses and Caspar ran beside the carriage until Mrs Mabbs caught him.

Polly held little Daisy, the two of them smiling and waving, and Clementine felt a tear slide down her cheek as she left Little Valentine and everything she had known behind.

“Here.”

She looked up as Beaumarsh handed her a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “I promise you have not married a watering pot, only—”

“Only you have married a man who is little more than a stranger and put yourself entirely in his hands, and now he is taking you away from your friends and family. Indeed, you are quite an extraordinary creature to feel even a little perturbed by such an everyday occurrence,” he said, deadpan.

Clementine gave a choked laugh and returned a watery smile. “Well, who would have thought it? Lord Beaumarsh knowing exactly the right thing to say.”

“Oh, don’t get used to it. It’s a rare occurrence,” he said with a crooked smile.

Clementine sighed. She turned away from the sight of the town that had been her entire life, and regarded the man who would occupy her future. “I’m not sure I believe that. But I admit, I suddenly feel rather… rather shy.”

“We have seen little of each other the past few weeks,” he agreed, a rather sheepish look in his eyes that confirmed her suspicions.

“Oh, you were avoiding me!” she exclaimed crossly.

He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I thought it might be prudent, in case I put my foot in it and you decided you’d made a horrible mistake. I didn’t want to risk your calling off the wedding.”

She ought to have been appalled, but instead Clementine laughed. She laughed long and hard until she had to clutch at her stomach and finally subsided.

“Better?” he asked, regarding her with satisfaction.

“I think so,” she agreed.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, gesturing to a basket on the seat opposite. “I thought you might be too nervous to eat, and so I asked Mrs Adie to prepare a picnic for us.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Clementine said. “I am hungry, yes.”