Page 22 of To Woo and to Wed
“I don’t know,” Jeremy said thoughtfully, having recovered enough to speak. “It might be an appropriate metaphor for marr—goodGod.” He broke off abruptly, his face having gone pale. Next to him, Diana removed her hand from beneath the table and smiled serenely.
West felt a pang, as he did from time to time in Jeremy’s company, when the fierceness with which he missed David caught him by surprise. Jeremy resembled his brother, and they were only two years apart in age; Jeremy was now older than David had ever been. It was a melancholy, unsettling thought.
His gaze flicked across the table, and he saw Sophie regarding him with a faint frown—something of his thoughts must have, somehow, shown on his face. With some effort, he pushed them aside.
“In any case,” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the general laughter in the room, “we’ve decided to marry.” It felt a bit anticlimactic, stated so plainly, and he wondered if he should have phrased it in a more grandiose fashion. That was decidedly not his style, however, and would likely cause his brother and friends to conclude he’d suffered some sort of head injury.
“Sophie, what did Mama and Papa say?” Alexandra asked.
“I haven’t told them yet—West only proposed this evening, you see,” Sophie said, with a quick glance at West to ensure that he had heard and would therefore be sticking to this story.
“I am planning to speak to Lord Wexham tomorrow,” West added.
Sophie dropped her fork. “Areyou?”
He frowned at her. “I know that, as you are a widow, we don’t need his permission, but I thought to discuss the matter with him, all the same.”
“West, you should come to the picnic with us on Sunday,” Alexandra said, before Sophie could offer any sort of protest.
West looked inquiringly at Sophie.
“During the spring and summer, when the weather’s fine, my parents like to take the boat down to their Richmond estate and have a picnic every Sunday.” A brief hesitation. “You… you could come with us, this week.”
“Could?” Alexandra asked. “He simply must! Oh, Mama will be so delighted—are you going to tell her tomorrow, then, when you go to dinner? She will be beside herself, you know she always thought—”
“Yes, well, she can express her delight to West in person on Sunday,” Sophie said hastily.
Alexandra cast a quick glance at Blackford that West could not decipher.
“Perhaps we could host a dinner to celebrate?” Violet suggested. “And we could invite all of your sisters, Sophie?”
“Even better—why not a betrothal ball?” Emily asked. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? None of us had betrothal balls.” This last was uttered a bit glumly.
Her husband looked at her askance. “I’m sorry,” he said mildly. “Whilst I was busy riding to Canterbury and back to procure a special license so that I might marry you in an idyllic pastoral setting, far from your parents’ meddling, was I remiss in not summoning half of London to a cow pasture—”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Jeremy, who had been the one to provide said idyllic pastoral setting for Belfry and Emily’s wedding.
“—so that they might all dress in their finery and wish us happy?”
“No, of course not,” Emily said, pressing a reassuring hand on Belfry’s arm. Something in his expression softened as he gazed down ather. “But now that one of us is getting married properly, with a proper engagement—”
“Wehad a proper engagement!” Jeremy pointed out, gesturing to Diana, sounding more and more indignant by the moment. “I had to wear a bloodywaistcoatto my wedding, if you will recall!”
“Who could forget?” James muttered.
“I just wantone of usto have a proper betrothal ball!” Emily burst out, half-rising from her seat; this was so out of character for her that it successfully shocked everyone assembled into a momentary silence. “If none of you object?” she added sweetly, looking angelic as ever.
“I’m certain our mama will be delighted to host one,” Alexandra assured Emily, clearly deciding that it was best not to argue with the inexplicable wishes of expectant mothers. The rest of the party appeared relieved when Emily resumed her seat with a pleased smile.
“She loves nothing more than an excuse to play hostess, and I’m certain Sophie and West wouldn’tdreamof disappointing her,” Alexandra added, turning an inquiring gaze upon the couple in question. “Right?”
West flicked a glance across the table at Sophie, who rolled her eyes heavenward but gave a slight nod.
“Indeed we would not,” he said to Alexandra. “We would be honored, in fact.”
What he was actually thinking, however, was:
For a feigned betrothal, this was already starting to feel alarmingly real.
