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“Yes, yes, I shoved you in here, didn’t I? Your man and my man will work out the contract.”

Once the duke had left his place in the dining room, it was inevitable that everybody else would follow him into the drawing room. There were congratulations all round and Lord Stanford in particular seemed approving of their being a point to the dreadful dinner he’d just suffered through.

Nelson got his own dose of attention and it was perhaps a toss-up on what was viewed most joyous—the duke unloading another one of his daughters, or his regaining his three-legged dog.

Thomas brought in all sorts from the dining table, but for the stale cake that even Nelson would turn up his nose at, and set it on a platter for the dog to sample.

As was to be expected, only Valor was not delighted with the engagement.

Rather than sulk about it, she seemed to turn herself to a more practical purpose.

She took to following Verity around and listing all the reasons it would be terrible to get married.

Having a gentleman staring at one in the night was prominently featured in her arguments.

“It’s snowing!” Winsome cried from the windows.

This caused Nelson to go wild with joy, though he had not the first idea of what was going on. If a Nicolet was excited about something, then so was he.

Lord Thorpe leaned down and whispered in Serenity’s ear. “We should go out in it, if your father will not stop us.”

Serenity took him by the hand, passed by her father and kissed him on the cheek. “We are going out in the snow to rejoice in the glories of nature, Papa.”

“Ah, she told you about the glories of nature, did she? Well! Best to know these things up front—it won’t be the last time you hear about it!”

They hurried out the front doors and Serenity had not even stopped to have one of the footmen retrieve her pelisse. Instantly noting this deficiency, Lord Thorpe took off his coat and put it over her shoulders.

They raised their faces to the falling snow. “It’s glorious,” Lord Thorpe said.

“Entirely glorious,” Serenity said. The wet snow mixed with the tears on her wet cheeks and she suspected she’d found a new cause for weeping—the happiness of her new situation.

She was to be Serenity Garner, Marchioness of Thorpe.

She was to wonder if he would stare at her in the night and privately hoped that he would.

She’d told him about the crypt of bees and he’d not been put off. In fact, she’d discovered that his temperament, his feelings, were more similar to her own than she could ever imagine. He turned to her and kissed her, right on the street, disregarding a carriage trundling by.

“Do you suppose we will have a highly charged household full of feelings running this way and that?” Serenity asked.

“I do suppose it. Though I do not suppose either of us will mind,” he said, tracing his forefinger along her wet cheeks.

“No, we will not mind,” Serenity said. “I suppose any children we may have will fly from a high to a low and back again.”

“They will climb the Alps and tumble down and climb again.”

“We will keep a supply of handkerchiefs in every room,” Serenity said.

From the direction of the duke’s house, a voice shouted, “Stop that!” Valor was hanging out the drawing room window. Winsome pulled her back inside.

They laughed at the picture and then held hands as they made their way around the square, taking in the beauty of the falling snow. Serenity was certain it was outrageous to hold hands; it would raise brows even if they were already married.

She did not care, though. After all, if anybody chose to be shocked they must live with it alone. Who would a complainer complain to? If they thought to go to her father, she imagined they’d regret the decision.

They talked about what was to come next.

How quickly could they wed? Where ought they go for a wedding trip?

What should they call each other? She, of course, would be Serenity.

But there was always the question of him.

They settled on Thorpe, rather than Roland.

His given name was the same as her father’s and she’d grown up hearing her aunt cry “Roland!” Therefore, Roland would be reserved for when his wife was very cross.

As for him, Lady Thorpe might be used if he was very cross.

They, neither of them, thought there would be many instances of anybody being very cross. Weeping, maybe, but not cross.

Thorpe said, “I do worry over Lady Valor, though.”

Serenity nodded. “She is not at all happy that she is to lose the company of another sister.”

“And a dog. I am assuming you will take Nelson, as he has seemed primarily your dog.”

Serenity took a breath in. She had not considered that, as of course she must take Nelson. Nelson was accustomed to sleeping in her room and napping on her bed. When something unusual went on in the house, he would bark and run to her bedchamber. “Oh dear,” she said.

“Say nothing to her. At least, not yet. I have an idea about it.”

Serenity nodded. “What about your brother? What will you do about Lord Charles? He cannot be allowed to steal another person’s dog.”

“I punched him in the face.”

Serenity would not, as a usual thing, approve of violence.

But in defense of Nelson, well, she had already proposed to her father that she ought to have a club to beat off kidnappers.

Now she would not need one, as Thorpe would be their protector.

It gave her the shivers. “Goodness, you really are of a passionate nature,” Serenity said.

“Yes, I am passionate,” he said, pulling her close again to kiss her.

A carriage rolled by and they heard the distinct sounds of a gasp and a window slamming shut. Some matron returning home from a party or the theater had just been shocked to her shoes.

That was entirely too bad for the matron. Serenity was not at all shocked. She was rather encouraged, actually.

*

Roland had walked with his fiancée around the square and thought he might do it again, were it not for her beginning to shiver and her father standing at the door.

He would have kissed her again, had her father not been standing at the door. As he could not do that, he urged her to keep his coat on when she made a move to return it, bid her goodnight, and asked for permission to call in the morning.

That permission was speedily granted and one of the duke’s grooms handed him back his horse.

As he made his way back to his house, he mused over how everything had unfolded. Just hours ago, he’d set off for The Albany to discover if Nelson was there. Now he was an engaged man.

He thought Lady Serenity, or Serenity as he would now call her, had imagined he would be shocked over her crypt of bees.

He’d not been particularly. Of course, it was unusual, there could be no denying it.

However, he did not see anything wrong with unusual.

The important thing was, he’d been honest. She’d been honest. There were no secrets between them and they were likely more suited to one another than they’d known.

It suddenly felt as if the ammunition that Charles had always fired against him had gone up in a puff of smoke. His brother could no longer threaten him with exposing his sentimental leanings. His future wife knew all about them and who else mattered?

One of his grooms took his horse and he bounded into the house. Not surprisingly, Quinn was waiting for him.

“I assume you’ve done it, else the duke will see you on a green in the morning.”

“I have, and I assume you say so from looking out the windows,” Roland said, laughing.

“Hanging out the windows, more like,” Quinn said. “We saw you return with the dog, and then go inside and then…well, that walking round the square was rather daring from what I could see.”

Roland nodded. “I told her of my real nature.”

“I presume she took it well, then.”

“Oh yes, she’s even worse than I am. She has a box of dead bees. A bee stung her and died when she was young and she’s felt bad about it ever since. Now she looks for dead bees, dries them in ash, and keeps them in a box. Apparently, she weeps over just about everything.”

Roland could see very well that Quinn’s mind was traveling ahead in time, imagining a future with a Marquess and Marchioness with over-sensitive natures.

Rather than allow him to go on with it and frighten himself, Roland said, “I will write two letters before I retire. One to my father that his dreams of a wedding are finally coming true. The other to my brother, telling him to leave Town or else I will punch him again.”

“You and Charles had a physical altercation?”

“Not much of one. I punched him, he landed on the floor. I took the dog and left.”

“Well, it was a long time coming, I suppose,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “Do you think he’ll go?”

“I do. If he does not, he will be exposed as having kidnapped the Duke of Pelham’s dog.

The ton has strong feelings about that, considering it goes on rampant and the 1770 Act has not done much to curb it.

One whisper of it and everybody in society will be thinking of their own dog or a friend’s dog, and Charles would be roundly condemned.

Add in that it was a poor three-legged dog that the duke was kind enough to take in, and I think he’ll perceive how bad things could go for him. ”

Thorpe sat down and wrote out the letters. A short one to his father and a far longer one to his brother. He found himself entirely done with Charles’ nonsense, pettiness, and discontent. He would not tolerate it longer, and Charles could test that idea at his peril.

After he’d finished the letters, he put some thought into Lady Valor’s situation. After consulting with Quinn, and then with the duke the following day, he set a plan in motion.