Page 110 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“You are impossible,” she scoffed, though the fondness in her tone belied the criticism.

“Impossibly devoted,” Nathaniel corrected, lifting her hand to his lips.

“I would give you my blessing, Lord Knightley,” Emma said impulsively, “but I suspect Joanna would not thank me for presuming to grant permission regarding her future.”

“Your blessing is nonetheless appreciated,” Nathaniel assured her, his expression suddenly serious. “Though I would have you know that I approach this union with the utmost respect for your aunt’s independence and intellect. I seek a partner, not a possession. And please, call me Nathaniel.”

“See that you remember that,” Emma replied, infusing her voice with a hint of steel that her new husband recognized with evident amusement. “For I shall hold you accountable for her happiness, Nathaniel. Duke or no, Victor will not prevent me from exacting retribution should you fail in your obligations.”

The Marquess placed his free hand over his heart in a gesture of exaggerated solemnity. “I tremble at the prospect of your displeasure, Your Grace.”

Joanna shook her head, though her eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter.

“Perhaps we might postpone announcements until after today’s celebrations,” she suggested, pragmatic as ever despite the momentous nature of their discussion. “It would be entirely improper to divert attention from the bride and groom.”

“What impropriety?” Tristan’s voice came from the corridor behind them, curiosity evident in his tone as he approached with the natural entitlement of youth. “Are you sharing secrets without me?”

He was accompanied by Annabelle, whose shrewd eyes took in the tableau before her with characteristic perspicacity. A knowing smile curved her lips as she noted Nathaniel and Joanna’s still-joined hands.

“I see congratulations may soon be in order for another happy couple,” she observed, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. “How delightfully scandalous, Joanna. I believe we shall have a great deal to discuss at our next Athena Society meeting.”

“Perhaps we should return to the wedding breakfast,” Emma suggested. “Our absence will soon be noted.”

“Indeed,” Victor agreed, his hand settling possessively on her waist once more. “Though I confess I am reluctant to surrender this moment of relative privacy.”

The small party made their way back toward the ballroom, Tristan leading the procession with the boundless energy of youth, peppering Nathaniel with questions about his intentions toward “Aunt Joanna” with a directness that caused both adults to flush anew.

The scene that greeted them upon their return reflected the curious amalgamation of their social circles—the Athena Society members were now mingling with Victor’s more traditional connections, their initial wariness giving way to a cautious exchange of opinions on literature, politics, and the social dilemmas of the day.

“Your Grace!” Mrs. Pennington approached, her expression conveying both pleasure and concern. “We have been discussing the future of our little society. With your new responsibilities as Duchess of Westmere, we fear we may lose your guidance.”

Emma smiled reassuringly at the older woman. “I assure you, my commitment to the Athena Society remains unchanged. Though I may need to rely more heavily on Annabelle’s assistance in organizational matters.”

“A responsibility I am delighted to assume,” Annabelle confirmed, her expression suggesting she already had plans for expanding the Society’s reading selections in directions that might scandalize their more prudish members.

As the conversation flowed around them, Victor bent to murmur in Emma’s ear, “I have received confirmation that Sidney and his household have indeed established themselves in Edinburgh.”

The news settled over Emma like a warm cloak, the last vestiges of uncertainty dissolving. Her son was now safe from Sidney’s influence.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the simple phrase encompassing far more than mere gratitude.

Victor’s hand tightened briefly on her waist, acknowledging the depth of emotion beneath her restrained response.

“He shall never threaten either of you again,” he promised, the steel in his voice a reminder of the implacable will that had driven Sidney out of their lives.

Their exchange was interrupted by Tristan’s return, Argus bounding at his heels despite the staff’s evident efforts to maintain decorum by excluding the hound from the formal proceedings.

“Papa!” he addressed Victor with a naturalness that suggested the title had already become habitual, “Argus has discovered a rabbit warren near the east terrace. Might I investigate? Mrs. Peabody says I must not soil my new clothes, but I promise to be exceedingly careful!”

The simple domestic request, delivered with the confidence of a child secure in his place within a loving family, brought a suspicious moisture to Emma’s eyes.

Victor, sensing her emotions, squeezed her hand gently before addressing his son with mock gravity.

“I suggest a compromise,” he proposed. “Perhaps you might change into your riding clothes first? A gentleman honors his promises to the staff, after all.”

Tristan considered this suggestion with the seriousness it deserved before nodding in agreement.

“A sensible precaution,” he conceded, the phrase so clearly an echo of Victor’s manner that Emma could not suppress a smile. “I shall return shortly!”

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