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CHAPTER TWELVE

“ G ads!” Isabel let out a low whistle. “If I’d known we were heading somewhere this posh, I would have worn a smarter bonnet.”

“All the charming items before you are merely the result of his family’s good fortune in the mines of the Hidden Realm,” Diana said, fiddling with the gold band on her finger. The ring Albion had placed there not an hour earlier.

For the wedding ceremony that morning, Diana had donned a pearl-colored gown with delicate lace edging the bodice and wrists, a dress she deemed close enough to those displayed in the latest edition of Ackermann’s Repository .

Isabel assisted with her hair, rolling locks around a wand to form curls to frame her face and placing the fabric circlet of embroidered daisies atop her head.

When she saw Albion, her breath had caught in her throat.

She had the quiet, legal ceremony she wanted, but could not have asked for a more handsome bridegroom.

He’d presented her with a massive bouquet of daisies, thistle, and yellow spray roses, handing it to her straightaway with an almost sheepish grin.

Now, she stood in this imposing townhouse she could call her own. Waiting for her husband. Though grateful for Izzie’s company, she desperately missed Lillian and wished her sister was here. But Lillian was across the Channel, and Diana was here.

At least she had plenty to keep her occupied.

Albion had leased a manse in Brunswick, built in the Georgian fashion. It imparted wealth and style, from the Brussels woven carpet that stretched from wall to wall to the drawing rooms’ elegant chandeliers and long vertical windows with velvet draperies.

The mansion could not have differed more from her cozy townhouse in Bloomsbury, so much so that Diana took a moment to process that all this space was for her and Albie alone.

The central foyer might have fit three of the parlors in her parents’ house.

Some furnishings were cut large, as in Duncan’s place, to accommodate Albie’s proportions.

Unlike his brother’s home, however, there were no portraits of stern Orcan ancestors in thick frames.

Diana and Izzie wandered into the tastefully appointed front drawing room, done up in tasteful gradients of blue and gray. Plaster ceiling roses clustered at the room’s corners. A marble hearth dominated the back wall. Freshly cut flowers spilled from crystal vases.

She glanced at her bridal bouquet of daisies and yellow spray roses. “We should put these in water.”

As she handed the bouquet to Izzie, her maid barely nodded, distracted by the bowls of great grapes and enormous pomegranates on the sideboard. Izzie looked perplexed, as though she wasn’t sure whether she could pluck a grape from its stem. Diana was not certain either.

At last, Izzie reached for a grape with her free hand and quickly popped it in her mouth. The look on her face upon sampling it was one of unmitigated bliss.

“I’ll say this, miss. These orc fellows know how to live.”

She couldn’t disagree. And the part of her that remained a spoiled girl at heart reveled in the thought of what was in store for her.

The small luxuries of jewelry, French pastries, and new gowns.

The sort of things she had once taken for granted but which had grown rare once Tobias Stewart accepted the title of Lord Mercer and was left to deal with the chaotic financial affairs his brother had left behind.

But she didn’t want to appear shallow. “Yes, it is all meant to impress for the duration of our stay.”

“Have you a plan to move to an even grander manse, my lady?”

Diana swallowed hard, realizing she shouldn’t have made that comment.

However, due to the practical nature of their arrangement, she had to assume her tenancy here would be temporary.

She had to assume that Albion would realize the downsides of an alliance with her and they’d amicably part ways.

She had to make plans for that eventuality.

Once they reached an understanding as to the future state of their marriage, she would lease a humble townhouse near Bloomsbury.

She could visit Lil daily and walk in the square as a respectable married woman, even one living separately from her husband.

She could hound the politicians as much as her heart pleased.

She hadn’t counted on how alluring the vast expanse of this place, the outward affirmation of Albion’s wealth and status, would be.

But then, had he not told her marriage could be fun?

When she received callers, all the ladies and gents of the ton who had shunned her for her perceived indiscretion would envy the fine match.

Perhaps she and Albie might live under the same roof permanently.

If they both agreed to it. If only she could do away with the gnawing feeling that she deserved none of this.

Her father’s words, the ever-present humiliation inherent in them, still haunted her.

Mind that you do nothing to embarrass your new husband.

I will not allow you to shame this family again.

“I meant that we never know what the future holds,” Diana said.

Izzie gave her a strange look, but Diana only ran her finger along the shiny reddish varnish on an oval side table and pretended a great interest in the wainscoting.

“Even so, you fit well enough in this place, miss,” Izzie told her. “Like you right belong in a posh manse such as this.”

“I shall host a political salon here,” Diana said, voice high and flipping her hand in the air grandly. “And serve high tea to the best and brightest. As a true Lady of the Hidden Realm.”

“Now that sounds like a plan we must set to straightaway.”

Albion had chosen that moment to stroll into the drawing room, so tall his horns nearly brushed the plaster roses on the transom, looking dapper in his cream-colored muslin shirt, though the rest of his wedding finery was gone.

His valet had loosely tied the matching cravat at his throat.

She spotted a button undone just under the waistcoat. A thrill shivered down her spine.

“Gads,” Izzie said under her breath.

“Apologies for my tardiness, ladies. But I’m glad to hear you make good use of your time. We must talk further about these high teas.”

Diana dropped her hand, vaguely embarrassed that he had heard all that, especially the “Lady of the Hidden Realm” bit.

“Welcome, my Daisy,” he said, sweeping into a bow and kissing her hand. It lasted no longer than a few seconds, but the silky feel of his lips was delicious. “I take it your new home is acceptable?”

“Yes, I suppose it shall do.”Diana gave a bold wink at that to signal she was only being playful.

“I am given to understand that the Empress of Russia might boast of more opulent living conditions, but it was the best I could manage.”

He winked right back. Her heart flip-flopped most irrationally.

“You remember Isabel?” Diana waved as Izzie gave Albion a quick curtsy. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice how easily her face flushed in his presence. “My lady’s maid. Her brother Isaac will join us presently from my father’s house.”

“I hope you find your quarters to your liking, Miss Isabel. Would you like to see them?”

He tugged on a long silken cord hanging near a landscape painting of the Midlands.

Within a minute, the housekeeper came round: a no-nonsense woman of about fifty who wore a stiff black dress with her chatelaine of keys and other household tools rattling against one another.

Introduced as Mrs. Waverly, she swept Izzie away to see the area of the house designated for the servants’ residence.

This left her alone with Albie, a natural state for a man and woman, but Diana’s heart raced.

“I trust Mrs. Waverly shall take good care of Izzie,” she said.

Albie cocked his head as though he was privy to a joke with her at its center, and yet found her all the more fascinating for it. “Izzie?”

“Isabel. Do you not use affectionate names in the Hidden Realm? Other than for brides, of course.”

“Naturally. I only find it a rarity among the English and their domestic employees. Would you like to view your set before your trunks are delivered?”

Diana nodded awkwardly. Her heart pumped at an alarming rate, and she silently chided herself for this foolishness. What was there to be worried about now?

His hand touched her waist and sent a lightning flash of lust right to her very center. That was what made her nervous. Only to be expected, she supposed.

Albie was a solid nine inches taller and nearly twice her size across. But he moved with the elegance ladies strove for at their debut before the court. How could she overcome her ungainliness in the face of such grace?

She shadowed Albion as he strode toward the curving staircase, an edifice as imposing, if not more so, than anything at the British Museum.

The white marble handrails gleamed, as did the carved balusters.

Above, a gilt-edged painting depicting angels floating among clouds and a clear blue sky spanned across the ceiling.

“My set of apartments are to the right,” he told her once they arrived on the upper landing. “And yours to the left. So we might part ways at the end of the evening and have the utmost privacy.”

Diana wandered around the three rooms that were hers: for sleeping, receiving or painting or reading or whatever she wished to do.

And she would tend to her ablutions in a sumptuous claw-foot tub.

The pale yellow walls and fresh white curtains reminded her of daisies.

She thought Albie must have ordered them, particularly for that reason.