Page 51

After a few minutes, Ellery began ushering the guests toward their seats. Zelda and Alaric were taken off for their own luncheon, and Diana and Harrington took their places at a table in the front of the room, flanked by Marcus and Ceci on one side and Lord and Lady Cheltenham on the other.

Marcus stood, a glass of champagne in his hand, and directed a pointed look at Aunt Griselda. “Someone brought it to my attention—several times, might I add—that I ought to have given my sister a wedding breakfast on the day of her nuptials.”

Aunt Griselda raised a shoulder, her expression unapologetic. “So what if I did? It is true.”

Chuckles swept across the room. Once they had subsided, Marcus inclined his head.

“As usual, my aunt is correct. I am glad now to have the opportunity to correct my oversight.” He raised his glass.

“Please join me in offering my heartfelt congratulations to my sister, Lady Diana Astley. I also wish to formally welcome my new brother-by-marriage, Lieutenant Harrington Astley, to the family!”

Glasses were raised and cries of hear, hear filled the room.

Diana slanted her eyes toward her husband.

His smile was bashful, and when he looked up, his brown eyes were shiny.

She reached beneath the table, caught his hand, and squeezed, and then she thought that she would never, not if she lived to be a hundred, forget the way he looked at her in that moment.

The meal was everything that extreme wealth and exquisitely good taste could provide. The food was French, the wines cost more than most men made in a year, and the desserts were decadence itself.

After the meal, Harrington approached her brother and shook his hand. “Thank you, Trevissick. Truly. That was the nicest wedding breakfast I’ve ever attended. It really means a lot to me.”

Diana’s breath caught. Marcus hosting this wedding breakfast seemed like an olive branch. She hoped it meant that he was finally accepting her marriage to Harrington.

Still, it seemed too much to hope that Marcus would truly give him a chance.

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to decide which is more insufferable—all the pranks you used to pull on me at Eton, or this obsequious drivel.”

Diana’s heart sank. Harrington blinked but held his composure. “You don’t wish for me to be… polite?”

“I would much prefer for you to be amusing.” Marcus beckoned a footman bearing a bottle of brandy.

Much to Diana’s surprise, he poured a glass and handed it to Harrington before pouring another for himself.

“My wife informs me that, all evidence to the contrary, you have a rather fine wit. If we’re to be stuck together for the next fifty years for every conceivable holiday and social occasion, then I must insist that you make use of it. ”

A grin stole across Harrington’s face—his real grin, Diana noted. He took a sip from his cup. “So, I was thinking—now that we’re brothers, I suppose I ought to call you Marcus.”

Marcus said, “Absolutely not.” But Diana recognized that smirk. He was enjoying himself.

Hope flared in her heart.

Harrington shook his head. “Don’t be that way, Marcus. This is a happy day for you.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Is it really?”

Harrington slung an arm around his shoulders. “You always wanted your sister to marry one of the Astley brothers.”

Marcus gave him a baleful look, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. “Fauconbridge. I wanted her to marry Fauconbridge.”

Harrington shrugged. “I’m the next-best thing.”

Marcus huffed. “You honestly think I wanted my sister to marry the man who once informed the Unitarians that I was eager to learn more about their religion?” He shuddered. “They hounded me for months .”

Harrington took a sip of his brandy. “Sorry about that, mate. I’m also sorry for the time I wrote that letter to the editor of the Reading Mercury in your name, complaining how unsightly the local ‘peasants’ were.”

Marcus groaned. “I had forgotten about that one. But not about the rumor you started that I sent my laundry all the way to France because I insisted upon it being dried in fields of lavender.”

Harrington laughed. “I was amazed anyone believed that one! I mean, you used the same laundress as the rest of us. But it spread like wildfire.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “Then there was the time you informed a traveling menagerie that I wished to purchase a tiger cub, which they delivered to Long Chamber, along with a bill for a hundred and fifty pounds.”

Harrington’s expression turned abruptly serious. “Now see here—I won’t apologize for that one. You loved Rajendra. Admit it.”

Marcus sighed, a faraway look coming into his eyes. “I did. He was a magnificent creature, and so lively. Although he shredded my favorite coat to ribbons, it was worth it for the few days I was able to spend with him.”

“Ha!” Harrington gave Marcus a squeeze. “I knew you secretly enjoyed my pranks.”

“ Enjoyed might be overstating things.”

Harrington ignored him. “School would have been deadly dull without me.”

Marcus drained his glass. “I suddenly find myself craving a dull moment.”

Harrington grinned. “Too bad.”

Alaric came toddling into the room, and Harrington knelt before him. “Good afternoon, Alaric. I’m your new Uncle Harrington.”

Alaric regarded him with huge eyes. “Mummy said you’d teach me to shoot.”

“I will. When you’re just a bit older.” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “I’m going to teach you everything I know.”

Marcus ran a hand over his face. “God save me.”

Alaric toddled away, and Harrington stood. “Don’t be that way, Marcus. I’m the boy’s favorite uncle!”

Marcus groaned, but Diana could tell he was secretly enjoying his new sparring partner. “You’re his only uncle.”

Someone slipped their arm through Diana’s. She turned to see Lucy smiling at her. “May I steal you away?”

Diana glanced at Harrington. He shot her a wink. Marcus was busy refilling Harrington’s glass, his lips twisted into a smirk.

She turned to Lucy. “You may. I don’t believe I’m needed here.”

She could hear Harrington chuckling as Lucy led her away.

Two hours later, as the party was winding down, Diana stole up behind Harrington and slipped her hand into his. “Come with me,” she whispered.

Harrington glanced about, curious, as she led him up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor toward the back of the mansion. “Where are you taking me? Please tell me it’s your bedroom.”

“It’s not.”

He ignored her. “I can debauch you right on top of your frilly, pink coverlet.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “Don’t you know me at all? What are the odds that I have a frilly, pink anything? I was raised by?—”

“Aunt Griselda,” he supplied, heaving a sigh. “I know. Considering my career, it’s probably for the best that you’re not a frilly pink sort of girl. But still, a man can dream.”

She released his hand and opened a door at the end of the corridor, revealing a masculine room, all dark wood paneling and leather upholstery.

She led him to the room’s back corner. The second he noticed the full-length painting hanging on the wall, he recoiled. “Is that your father ?”

“It is,” she replied coolly.

He gave a low whistle. “I’m surprised your brother didn’t have it burned. Although…”

He frowned, then reached out to touch the pockmarks marring the layers of oil paint. He turned, and she marked the moment he noticed the bucket of darts in its custom-made mahogany stand.

He laughed. “Now I understand. My, but you Latimers are a vindictive bunch.”

She took up a dart, gesturing for him to stand clear. Once he had stepped back, she threw it, neatly spearing her father in the throat. “And don’t you forget it.”

He came to stand behind her. “Is that why you wanted to show this to me? A warning not to step out of line?”

“Not at all.” She selected another dart. “I merely wanted to gloat. It is one of the most treasured pastimes for every member of the Latimer family. I have won, and he has lost.” She threw the dart, hitting her father square in the forehead. “Take that, you blackguard.”

Harrington laughed. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the bucket.

“Please. Are you good at darts?” She gestured to a scar in the wood paneling to the left of the painting. “Alas, Ceci is not.”

Harrington tutted. “It’s deep, though. At least she has enthusiasm, if not skill. Never fear. I am excellent at darts.”

He made his throw, spearing her father neatly in the buttocks. He tried to make his expression solemn, but his lips were twitching. “For Aunt Griselda.”

They took turns throwing darts, skewering the old duke through the heart, in his left nostril, and, in a shot that made Harrington wince, directly on the falls of his trousers.

He shook his head. “Remind me not to anger you. You mentioned that you had won.” He seized her about the waist, pulling her flush against him. “Would you care to expound upon the nature of your victory?”

She stroked his chest. “Do you truly not know?”

His voice was a low rumble. “I have an inkling. But I would very much enjoy hearing you say the words.”

She smiled. If there was one thing she had learned about her husband, it was that he liked nothing better than being told that he was good, that he was worthy, that he was loved. “In a word, the thing I won is you.”

A sound of contentment rumbled through his chest. She continued, “I have married the ideal husband. A man who adores me. Who supports me in my every endeavor. Who makes me indescribably happy.” She twined her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“He was miserable for most of his life, while I am living happily-ever-after. Is this not the highest form of victory?”

He gave her a crooked smile, and when he spoke, his voice was a trifle unsteady. “If anyone won, it’s me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Diana.” He paused, hugging her close. “Are you sure we can’t continue this conversation in your bedroom?”

She laughed. Indeed, she could feel something stirring beneath the placket of his trousers. “Completely sure. For the first time in years, you’re on decent terms with my brother. Do you really want to throw that away?”

He heaved a petulant sigh. “I suppose not.”

She decided to take pity on him. “Although.”

He perked up. “Although?”

She leaned close to his ear. “I always used to daydream that a handsome man would steal me away to the orangery for a kiss.”

“Your wish, my darling Diana, is my command.” Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms. His eyes were bright. “Which way to the orangery?”

Their laughter mingled as he carried her through the door.

Keep reading for a preview of the next book in The Astley Chronicles series, A Laird for Lady Lucy !