Page 86 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Drake pulled a face, and the other men all looked equally unhappy.
Louisa, too, was studying their expressions. “Well,” she declared in bolstering tones, “at least we’re almost to the moment when your marriage becomes a fait accompli.”
“And hopefully,” Evan added, “once it does, these peculiar attacks will cease.”
Drake shrugged noncommittally.
Drago, too, wasn’t so sure putting an end to the attacks would be that simple.
Not that getting married is exactly simple.
Pru appeared and looped her arm with Meg’s. “Mama and the others want to go over the arrangements for tomorrow morning.” She rolled her eyes. “Yet again.” Pru collected Louisa with her gaze. “Your presence wouldn’t hurt. See if you can calm them. I swear they’re more nervous than Meg.”
Drago found a commiserating smile for Meg, but as he watched her, Pru, and Louisa, all arm in arm, stroll toward the gathering of ladies clustered around Meg’s mother and his, the charmingly nonchalant expression fell from his face.
After a moment, he glanced at the gentlemen standing with him. They, too, were watching Meg and looking quietly concerned.
He returned his gaze to Meg, now standing before her mother, who was seated on a chaise, and murmured, “Given we’ve yet to divine the villain’s motive, I believe I’ll feel much happier if, even after we wed, I keep a very close eye on my soon-to-be bride.”
Drake made a sound of agreement.
Toby shifted. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call on us. Any and all of us.”
Drago met his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s eyes and nodded. “If it comes to that, I will.”
Tomorrow, with family all about them from morning until the end of the wedding breakfast…
He realized that with the wealth, depth, and breadth of family he now possessed, the chance of anything adverse happening before they were married was vanishingly slight.
CHAPTER14
“No, no! Not like that!” Warley batted away Maurice’s hands and, frowning critically, adjusted the folds of Drago’s silk stock. “There! Where’s that pin?”
At a glance from Drago, Maurice rather grudgingly handed over the large gold-and-diamond pin, part of the Helmsford family jewels. The pin had been worn by successive dukes at their weddings since at least the fourteenth century.
Warley took the pin and, squinting ferociously, slid it carefully into the silk folds at Drago’s throat.
After tipping his head from side to side, finally satisfied, Warley lowered his hands, stepped back, and nodded. “That’s how it should go.”
Drago noticed his uncle’s eyes growing damp, and to distract the others present—Denton and Maurice—Drago swung around to survey his reflection in the long looking glass on his dressing room wall. No doubt Warley was remembering Drago’s father on his wedding day. Warley would have attended the duke on that occasion as well.
Examining his reflection, Drago could understand why the sight would affect his uncle. His mother, his aunt, and many others who had known his father well had often commented that Drago was his spitting image, a state that seemed to have grown only more pronounced with the years.
Surveying the end result of the combined efforts of tailor, shirt maker, and boot maker, he took his time checking the lines and creases and allowed Maurice to tweak the skirt of his coat to lie just so. Finally, he let his lips curve approvingly. “I believe I’ll do.”
A species of excited anticipation, laced with subtle apprehension over the unforeseeable combined with the uncertainty inherent in doing something he’d never done before, had been fermenting inside him since he’d woken with the dawn. He couldn’t recall feeling anything similar, not since he’d been a small child.
The ducal signet ring never left his right hand, but from Maurice, he accepted the ornate gold ring he habitually wore on his left middle finger, slid it into place, then took his gold fob watch, tucked the watch into his waistcoat pocket, and slipped the fob into position and looped the chain across the black-and-gold brocade of his waistcoat.
One final glance at the looking glass, and he nodded. “Right, then.” He turned to Denton; quietly amused, his brother had been watching the proceedings from the safe distance of the window seat. “Do you have the ring?”
Denton patted his right pocket. “Yes.” He grinned. “Can you imagine what would happen if I didn’t have it to hand over? Given Meg’s family as well as our own, I would never live it down.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Warley said sternly. “You wouldn’t be able to show your face for years.”
Battling a grin as wide as his brother’s, Drago met Denton’s eyes. Their uncle was taking Drago’s wedding more seriously than anyone. Indeed, Drago marrying had in large part come about because of Warley’s drive to ensure that the responsibility for the dukedom never fell on his shoulders. His uncle was, therefore, hell-bent on making sure the wedding went off without a hitch.
Warley had earlier joined Drago and Denton for breakfast, so there was nothing more they needed to do. Drago glanced at the clock, then arched a brow at Maurice. “Has the duchess gone down yet?”
