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CHAPTER TEN

“ N ot being a social sort, Dunc kept the number of people here small,” Albie told her. “I’m grateful you were willing to attend.”

“I’m honored that your family would have an outsider here.”

Diana’s cheery tone belied her inner fretfulness. They had spent the past week apart as Diana helped Lillian with her final preparations for her trip and bid her a tearful goodbye.

During that time, her engagement to Albie had been hypothetical, their impetuous kiss akin to a dream.

She summoned the memory when she lay in bed at night, staring at the faded roses imprinted on the canopy and wondering what other pleasures might be in store for her once they wed.

Her heart beat faster as she envisioned an enormous bed with silk sheets and sumptuous pillows.

Imagining the feel of his hands against her skin, running down the length of her body.

His mesmerizing amber eyes stared into hers before he drew a powerful hand behind her neck and pulled her into another kiss … and perhaps more.

Now, he was almost shockingly real, like a literal dream come true. A dream too good to be true.

And what did Albie make of her ? Had she remembered to glance at the looking glass before leaving her townhouse? Was her cornflower blue frock appropriate for the occasion?

Diana tried to put these ruminations to the back of her mind as she waved at her father’s coachman, who clicked his tongue to get the horses moving.

She could not help but notice that as fine as her conveyance once seemed, it paled compared to Albie’s gilded coach, decorated with the Barrington crest of a lone wolf in profile and an inverted chevron.

“Humbug,” he told her. “It is my family who should be honored.”

His voice trembled slightly. Was it possible he was as nervous in her company as she was in his? Either way, she accepted Albion’s proffered arm. And tried not to gasp at the Duke of Barrington’s townhouse.

Passing a white trellis bedecked with hollyhock and ivy, she saw the walls were twice her height, if not more.

On the massive front door, a brass ring bell-pull hung low enough for a human to handle.

As long as said human stood on tip-toe. An enormous bay window faced the street, along with stained glass panes as intricate as one might see in a cathedral.

Looking upward, she espied a stone gargoyle keeping watch from atop a turret, as solemn as those of any medieval castle.

Shifting focus to Albion did little to calm her.

Constrained by propriety, and her nerves, Diana struggled to find something interesting to say.

She had to tilt her head and look up to see Albie’s face, partially obscured by a new top hot.

It was unusually styled, with the brim positioned low and at an angle that nearly hid his sparkling amber eyes, as though part of a fancy dress meant to disguise his identity.

Not that there was hope of that so long as Albie, his mother, and his brother were the only orcs in London.

“That is a new design,” Diana remarked. “Where did you purchase your hat?”

“On Bond Street, if you can believe as much. They call it Le Chapeau de Fant?me de Chamberly . Which leads me to suspect the celebrated Phantom fellow remains the talk of the papers.”

“Not to the extent one might expect. It seems he has been quiet as of late. I hate to think the reward for his capture stifled his endeavors.”

“Oh, surely not,” Albie commented. “I’d wager it takes more than that to stop the gent. Why, if he ends his deeds now, what chance does he have at having another hat named in his honor?”

“You don’t believe he incurs such risks solely for fame?”

“Not solely, no. But who knows what motivates such bravery?”

Before she could hazard a guess, before Albie had even lifted his hand to knock on the door, a white-haired butler greeted them and they were admitted inside.

Diana noted the differences between this townhouse and others in Mayfair at once.

The high ceilings appeared to have been rebuilt to accommodate Orcan height.

Oil paintings lined the hallway, depicting dark-eyed orcs with woolen cloaks draped over their shoulders, each with a stern set to their impressive jaw.

“My esteemed ancestors.” Albion said glibly. “Renowned for their courage but ultimately accepted in the human world for their wealth. And yet the need for adventure and honor and such lingers in our blood.”

“You know I wish to learn more about your way of life. Perhaps you could tell me more about your ancestors and your homeland after the ceremony.”

“Ask Dunc. He shall tell you all want to know and much more, I assure you.”

“It can’t be easy to straddle two worlds, though you do a marvelous job of it.”

The butler had led them to the formal drawing room. It felt like an enchanted world and she the visitor from another realm. Rather thrilling. The heavy scent from the flowers overflowing in every available space enhanced the sensation.

The furnishings, while of the style popular in London, were a size and a half larger than usual.

An enormous Chesterfield sofa caught her eye.

Dark green inverted chevrons, similar to those she’d seen on Albion’s carriage, embellished the upholstery and cushions.

Mahogany carvings of giant wolves adorned the frame’s corners.

Because of human folly, wolves had long since gone extinct in England.

Did the wild predators thrive yet in the Hidden Realm?

Bronze sconces of varying geometric shapes lined the walls.

The beeswax candles remained unlit, hardly needed as light streamed into the house.

Inviting though this place seemed, she imagined it took on another cast entirely in the evenings and during the long nights of winter, granting it an otherworldly quality as darkly seductive as a fairy tale.

Diana had known Albion’s family was wealthy, but this was the first time she understood the extent of it. Which was likely why her father ultimately mounted but a weak protest to her engagement to Albie.

I will not allow you to shame this family again. Her father’s words rang in her mind. The spoiled girl she’d once been longed for the fabled Orcan wealth. She would soon be a part of this impressive family. But Diana had done nothing to merit the privileged life they could provide.

After another moment, she felt the weight of Albie’s gaze. He gifted her one of his amiable smiles. “What do you make of it all?”

“I am like a doll in this house. Or one of the Lilliputians Gulliver encountered during his travels. But I don’t mind.”

Albion’s mother stood regally on the opposite side of the room.

The soon-to-be Dowager Duchess of Barrington was not as tall as her sons, but still had a solid three or four inches on Diana, who was hardly short by human standards.

Her raven hair, streaked with silver, was held back in a severe chignon.

She wore a burgundy gown, simple in structure, with cap sleeves raised nearly to a point, a style fresh to Diana’s eyes.

Rather than long gloves, she had ornamented her otherwise bare arms with bangles.

When she moved, sparkling Orcan sapphires flashed in the sunlight streaming through the vertical stained glass windows.

She stared at Diana, who now had the sense that her blue frock was too informal. She should have worn the same golden gown that she had on the night she met Albion. Only she’d wanted him to see her in something different.

At last, the dowager acknowledged Diana with a curt nod. Albion had said his mother had encouraged the match; at present, she didn’t quite believe it.

Of course, Diana was long accustomed to moving forward without a mother’s blessing or even a mother’s presence.

After speaking to Father, she had dispatched a letter to the hotel where her own mother was staying in Brighton, carefully emphasizing Albion’s good standing in Society.

In return, she received a terse missive in which Mother expressed disappointment that Diana would marry into an Orcan family mingled with relief she could wed at all.

While she had long ago given up on maintaining any warm relationship with her mother, she had hoped they might be civil with one another at least. Even that, she supposed, had been too much to ask.

She put this troubling reflection to the back of her mind as Duncan Higgins and Iris Gabbert entered the room together. They turned to face one another, holding hands. She wore a stunning purple gown and Duncan a waistcoat and large cravat in a matching shade.

There was no musical prelude. No comments from an officiant regarding the sanctity of marriage. Only the two of them ready to exchange vows as true equals, with a few witnesses to help commemorate the occasion.

How well-suited they looked, Iris’s smile and sunny disposition balancing Duncan’s somber bearing. The difference in their sizes only added to their charm.

“Iris Gabbert,” Duncan told his bride. “I vow to commit my life, heart, and soul to you. Do you feel the same?”

“Duncan Higgins, Duke of Barrington,” Iris responded. “I have found happiness and pleasure in your companionship and vow to commit my life to yours, as you do to mine. Freely and most willingly.”

The sincerity of their words moved her deeply. It was an informed, harmonious commitment born of true love. But seeing Duncan and Iris together, searing doubt ran through her mind. She and Albie had agreed to a practical arrangement. An alliance rather than a love match.

Mind that you do nothing to embarrass your new husband.

Tentacles of guilt latched onto her stomach. How, in good faith, could she exchange such profound declarations with Albion Higgins? Diana didn’t deserve him.