To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(67)

He leaned his head closer to hers. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Quite.” A wide smile seemed to be frozen on her face.

He glanced at her dubiously as he led her through the small crowd of well-wishers. “We’ll be home soon, and if you’d like, you can go lie down.”

“Oh, but we have the wedding breakfast!”

“And the wedding night,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t want you too ill to enjoy that.”

She ducked her head at that to hide a pleased smile. The fact was, he hadn’t done more than kiss her chastely on the lips since their engagement, and a small part of her had begun to wonder if he’d already lost interest.

Evidently not.

He handed her into the carriage to the cheers of the crowds and then hastily entered. He smiled at her as the carriage pulled away. “Does it feel different, being married?”

“No.” She shook her head, then thought of something. “Although, I suppose I’ll have to get used to being Lady Hope, won’t I?”

He scowled. “It should be Lady Blanchard.” He looked out the window. “And it will be soon, too.”

There was nothing more to say to that, so they rode in silence until they came to the town house. Many of the guests had already arrived and were entering the town house as Beatrice descended the carriage. She mounted the steps of Blanchard House with Reynaud, feeling odd. This was still her uncle’s home, but very soon it would be hers and Reynaud’s only—if he won back his title. She would be reversing positions with Uncle Reggie, and the thought was not a comfortable one.

Inside, the dining room had been laid ready for a feast. Yards of frothy pink fabric lined the table, and for a moment Beatrice felt for how horrified Uncle Reggie would’ve been at the expense. He sat at the head of the table already, looking rather subdued and sad. He refused to meet her eyes.

Reynaud sat her next to Uncle Reggie as was proper and then was distracted by a guest. For a moment, Beatrice was quiet.

“It’s done, then,” Uncle Reggie said.

She looked up and smiled. “Yes.”

“Can’t back out now.”

“No.”

He sighed heavily. “I only want the best for you, m’dear. You know that.”

“Yes, I do, Uncle,” she said softly.

“The blighter seems to care for you.” He placed his hands on the table and looked at them as if he’d never seen the like before. “I’ve noticed how he watches you sometimes, as if you’re a jewel he’s afraid of losing. I hope he treats you right. I hope you’re very happy.”

“Thank you.” Beatrice felt silly tears—so close to the surface all day—start in her eyes.

“But if he doesn’t,” her uncle said, in a low voice, “you always have a place with me. We can move out of this damned house, find another by ourselves.”

“Oh, Uncle Reggie.” She caught her breath on a laugh that was almost a sob. Dear, dear Uncle Reggie, so disapproving of her choice yet unwilling to abandon her entirely.

She was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief when Reynaud took the chair next to her. He scowled at her. “What has he said to you?”

“Shh.” Beatrice glanced at Uncle Reggie, but he was talking to Tante Cristelle. “He’s been very nice.”

Reynaud grunted, not looking particularly convinced. “He’s an old blowhard.”

“He’s my uncle and I love him,” Beatrice said firmly.

Her new husband merely grunted.

The breakfast was long and sumptuous, and when it was finally over, Beatrice was ready for a nap. But she rose and prepared to say farewell to her guests.

Near the end of the line were Lord and Lady Vale. The viscount started talking to Reynaud, and for a moment Beatrice and Lady Vale were together alone.

“He’s very pleased with this union,” Lady Vale said quietly.

Beatrice looked at her, surprised. “Viscount Vale?”

The other woman nodded. “He’s been quite worried about Lord Hope. This whole business of your husband returning alive has been a shock to him—a good shock, of course, but a shock nonetheless.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

“He’s worried about how Lord Hope has changed.”

“He’s darker,” Beatrice murmured.

Lady Vale nodded. “So Vale tells me. In any case, he was very happy that you consented to marry Lord Hope.”

Beatrice wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she merely nodded.

The viscountess hesitated a moment. “I wonder . . .”

Beatrice looked at her. “Yes?”

The other woman seemed a tad embarrassed. “I wonder if I might give you a rather unusual wedding present?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a job, actually, so if you don’t want it, please do say so, and I won’t be put out.”

Beatrice was intrigued now. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s a book,” Lady Vale replied. “I was told some time ago by a friend that you bound books as a hobby.”

“Yes?”

“Well, this has been something of a project of mine,” Lady Vale said almost shyly. “It’s a book of fairy tales that originally belonged to Lady Emeline—and your husband.”