Page 100 of The Rakehell of Roth
There was dead silence before the table erupted in cheers, Winter banging his fist on the tabletop so hard that all the glasses shook. “Well done, mate!”
“She hasn’t answered yet!” Violet said.
Spluttering, Clarissa had gone as red as a tomato as she gaped in surprise at Oliver. “Couldn’t you have waited until I didn’t have a mouthful of smoke?”
“It’s a filthy habit,” he said. “You deserve what you get.”
She glared daggers at him. “Don’t judge me.”
“You judgemefor lots of things.”
“That’s different.”
Winter groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake, say yes, Clarissa. No one else can put up with either of you. Yours is a match made in purgatory.” Two lethal stares pinned him, but he only grinned and lifted his glass. “To the happy couple? Misery loves company?”
“You’re an arse, brother,” Oliver muttered.
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Yes, my lord, I will marry you.”
“Hear, hear!” Kendrick said.
They all cheered and drank, Isobel sipping from her water goblet and nearly choking herself when Winter tapped on his glass with a spoon and stood. “I have an announcement as well.”
Isobel felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She hoped her husband meant the fact that they were expecting a baby, not the tidbit that she and Clarissa were Lady Darcy, which was no one’s business at all and still a secret. Kendrick had been in an agreeable mood of late, but that didn’t mean he would take lightly to his daughter-in-law being the author of such a scandalous periodical.
Catching Clarissa’s suddenly horrified gaze, she shook her head. “Winter—”
“Isobel and I are expecting, and I couldn’t be happier,” he said and glanced at the duke. “You’re going to be a grandfather, Your Grace.”
Relief mingled with love as she stared at her father-in-law’s incredulous expression. Then his blue eyes softened and he smiled with so much joy that it made her chest tighten. “Goodness,” he said in a choked voice and swiped at the corner of his eye before lifting his glass. “Wonderful news, my dears.”
Westmore rose, his affable smirk firmly in place, making Isobel wonder whether she’d imagined his solemnity earlier with Prudence’s toast. “Well, congratulations everyone. Sadly, I’m off. Things to see, people to do, hearts to break, and all that.”
“You’re leaving?” Winter asked.
Westmore winked. “I’ll see you when I see you, my friend. Business doesn’t run itself in London, you know. Not all of us have wives to keep us abed every day of the week.”
“You know, you could have a wife, if you wanted,” Winter said.
“You can’t chain this kind of charm down.” He grinned and nodded briskly to Kendrick. “Your Grace.”
There was laughter as Westmore left the room, before Winter leaped to his feet and followed his friend out.
“Everything all right?” Isobel asked him when he returned a few moments later.
He kissed her brow. “Yes, that’s Westmore for you, unpredictable at the best of times.”
Dinner culminated soon after that, and she and Winter decided to take a walk through the fragrant gardens. They bade the others goodnight, the duke pulling them both into a remarkably affectionate embrace, and once more saying how delighted he was.
By the time she and Winter had made it into the gardens, they were both in need of a walk. Lamps were lit at frequent intervals along the path. The evening air was fresh, with the barest hint of rain on the light breeze.
“Kendrick is happy with the news,” Isobel said, squealing as Winter turned and spun her up into his arms.
“Not as happy as I am, my love.”
Her husband carried her over to a bench beneath a wide elm tree and sat down beside her. “Soon I will be too big to carry,” she said, smoothing a hand over her middle.
“You’ll never be too much for me. You and any children we have.”
