Page 9 of To Marry and to Meddle
“What IbelievePenvale is trying to say is congratulations,” Diana said, giving him a death glare.
“Quite right, quite right,” Penvale agreed hastily, and it was as though the floodgates had opened, with a chorus of best wishes ringing up and down the table.
“Youarea clever one,” the dowager marchioness said in an undertone to Emily. “Excellent calves, that one.”
“Of course,” Emily replied, before she was remotely aware of what she was saying. “Why do you think I said yes?”
Sophie—who had just taken a sip of wine—choked upon hearing this, leading to Lady Helen Courtenay, who was sitting opposite her, shrieking and dissolving into hysterics at the prospect of Sophie’s untimely demise. By the time Lady Helen had finally slumped into a dead faint in her chair, been revived with smelling salts by West, and fallen into watery-eyed paroxysms of gratitude, several minutes had elapsed. At last, however, general order was restored, and Julian was able to once again attract the attention of the party at large.
“Lady Emily and I are so eager to begin our married life together that we cannot bear to wait even a moment longer than necessary to be wed,” Julian said, modulating his tone so that he managed to convey the impression that each day that stretched between himself and his wedding day was an unbearable agony. He really was quite talented, Emily reflected. “Which is why I will be leaving tomorrow morning, and returning as quickly as possible with a special license, so that we may be wed right here at Elderwild.”
This statement provoked a greater reaction even than his announcement of their engagement.
“Here! But we return to London in three days!” Violet said.
“Getting the job done quickly—you’re a wise man, Belfry,” said Lord Willingham.
“I hopeyoudon’t get any ideas in your head,” Diana said with a narrow-eyed look at her betrothed. “I will have you up before all of society in St. George’s so that I might revel in my triumph.”
“In snaring the most eligible bachelor in London?” Lord Willingham asked, grinning cheekily at her.
“No,” she said smugly. “At winning our wager. I’ve decided to spend part of my winnings on a truly horrendous waistcoat for you to wear to the wedding.” Diana had bet Lord Willingham that summer that he would be married within the year, and seemed to find the fact that she herself had been the cause of his losing the bet to be particularly satisfying.
“I, for one, think a speedy wedding is precisely the thing,” Lord James interrupted, nodding encouragingly at Julian.
“You would, James,” West called down the table. “How long were you and Violet engaged? A fortnight?”
“And justlookhow well that worked out,” Penvale said, taking what Emily thought was a bit of a cheap shot. “Nothing but unsullied bliss for the past five years, is that it?” Violet and Lord James had married young in an impetuous love match, and had promptly become estranged for four years following a heated argument; their estrangement had recently been happily, if somewhat laboriously, resolved.
“And when areyouplanning on marrying, Penvale?” Violet asked waspishly. “It does rather seem that everyone is pairing up. Are you not concerned about returning to your lonely bachelor lodgings, eating a stale crust of bread before the fire?”
Thisalsoseemed somewhat unfair—to begin with, Penvale lived in Bourne House in St. James’s Square, the London home of the viscounts Penvale for seven generations, which was hardly a cold bedsit.
“How could I not be, given how calmly and undramatically you have all gone about your love affairs of late?” Penvale asked, deadpan.
“Excuse me,” Emily objected mildly, “but I don’t believe Lord Julian and I deserve to be jumbled together with Violet and Lord James and Diana and Lord Willingham.” Considering that Violet and Lord James had spent the better part of a month this summer in an escalating battle of wits involving a nonexistent deadly illness (which had been an entirely convoluted and roundabout way of leading both parties to admit that they were, in fact, still in love), and that Diana and Lord Willingham had entered a rather ridiculous wager regarding Lord Willingham’s matrimonial prospects while also attempting to conduct a clandestine affair, she really felt that she and Julian were behaving quite sensibly by comparison.
“Hear, hear,” Julian murmured, taking a sip of wine.
“But Emily,” Diana said, returning to the matter at hand, “how are we possibly supposed to plan a suitable wedding with such little notice?”
“There is nothing to plan,” Emily said. “We will have a quiet ceremony—anyone present who wishes to extend their stay a bit longer so that they might attend is more than welcome, of course—and then, perhaps, a wedding breakfast afterward. If it’s not too much trouble for your cook, on short notice?” she added, this last query directed at Lord Willingham.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “Anything at all that you need, myhousehold staff is at your disposal—as am I, of course.” For all his rakish ways, Lord Willingham could really be quite gallant when he wished to be, Emily noted. Not that this should be entirely surprising to anyone who had witnessed his almost absurdly romantic proposal to Diana a couple of days earlier. Emily felt a slight pang at the thought; Diana and Lord Willingham, for all their bickering, were clearly in love. So, too, were Violet and Lord James—and despite the bumpy road their marriage had traveled over the past few years, they had also been deeply in love on their wedding day. Emily knew that in accepting Julian’s proposal she had ruled out once and for all the possibility of a love match of her own.
Still, a pleasant marriage of convenience to Julian Belfry was a far sight better than any of the other options currently open to her. This was her life, and her marriage, and she was choosing it for herself—and that act alone, that choice, was far more than she had dared to hope for.
“I don’t think there’s any need to make a fuss,” she said determinedly.
“But it’s your wedding day!” Violet wailed. “That’s the entire point!”
“I am quite set on Lady Emily having exactly the wedding day she wants,” Julian said quietly, “and not the one that anyone else wants for her.” There was nothing in his tone that implied anger, but something about the determination in his voice made one sit up and take notice. Emily caught his eye, and he winked at her.
Winked!
She had always thought that any gentleman who winked at a lady must be an incorrigible rogue—at best—and yet here she was, unable to stop herself from smiling back at him in return.
“I think,” Sophie said, speaking for the first time since murmuring her quiet congratulations, “that this is going to be rather a nice wedding.”
