Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I shall be sure to request a place on her dance card, then,” said August. “If I make it to your parents’ house.”
“I hope you’ll screw up the courage to come. Mother will want to see you.” He poured a bit more ale into his glass. “I know it’s difficult seeing Felicity.”
“It shouldn’t be, should it? God’s sake, she’s been married for years.”
“Ten years,” said Marlow. “It’s a ten-years anniversary ball.”
Poor August. Unlike his quicksilver obsession with Ophelia, August’s love for Felicity had been a lifetime in the making. Perhaps it would take an entire lifetime to undo it, although Townsend hoped not. He himself was proof that one could find happiness where least expected.
“I am intensely happy,” he pronounced to the group, without any forethought.
They stared back at him.
“That’s good, I suppose,” said Marlow. “Jolly chap.”
“No, I mean, I thought I would love Ophelia forever. Apologies,” he muttered in an aside to Wescott, who waved a hand.
“No apologies necessary, Towns. We’ve made our peace.”
“And I wish for you to make peace too,” he said, turning back to August. “It may seem Felicity was the only one in the world for you, but you may find another when you least expect her to appear.”
“Perhaps she will enjoy owning exotic snakes,” said Marlow, taking up the spirit of the conversation.
“And communing with nature?” August smiled. “I wouldn’t mind such a wife.”
Wescott made a quelling sound. “Don’t go developing a tendre for Jane, you two. We’ve already been through this. It causes tensions like you wouldn’t believe.” He rolled his eyes toward Townsend. “Speaking of tensions…the tales about your accidental proposal to Jane aren’t going away. I overheard some ninnies at Lord Hargrove’s garden party gossiping about it last week, and another conversation at Covent Garden on Saturday.”
“I heard Lady Arabelle Wilton’s catty group discussing it in the park,” said Marlow, serious for once. “It was all I could do not to barge into the group and dress them down, but it only adds legs to the whole thing.”
Townsend appreciated his friends warning him about this, irritating as it was. When would these blighted busybodies find something new to gossip about? Aside from walks in the park, he and Jane had stayed close to home since they returned to London. Maybe, without realizing it, he’d been trying to protect her from society’s barbs.
“She can never know I proposed to get revenge against Wescott. I wish it hadn’t happened that way, for I’m thrilled to be married to her now. I suppose I ought to come clean about all of it, but I’m afraid it might devastate her.”
“Is she the sensitive sort?” asked August.
“Unfortunately, yes, very sensitive. Exquisitely sensitive. It’s one of the things I’ve come to love about her, how open and emotional she is.”
“Goodness.” Marlow gave an appreciative whistle. “You used to run the other direction from sensitive women. I suppose it really is love, gentlemen.”
They made approving noises and raised their glasses in a toast. Townsend drank, and worried, and drank again.
“It will die down soon, won’t it?” he asked. “The amusement? The gossip?”
“It will die down when people see you out and about with your new marchioness, in love and everything.” Wescott cocked a brow. “It takes the zing out of the whole story, doesn’t it, that you fell in love no matter how the betrothal happened?”
“Hopefully, it will die down after Felicity’s anniversary ball tomorrow,” Marlow said. “So much of society will be there.”
“You’re right.” Townsend took a deep, steadying breath. “After tomorrow, it won’t even be a topic of discussion. With any luck, the ball will spawn some fresher, more exciting gossip. Maybe you can engineer something, Marlow,” he said, poking his friend. “Set some tongues wagging?”
“Sure. Rosalind will be there, won’t she? It’s her big coming-out? Maybe I’ll dance with her far too many times.”
“Capital idea,” said August, taking up the joke. “I will too. Every dance a scandalous waltz.”
Townsend threatened both of them with a fist. “If either of you miscreants touches my sister, you’ll limp out of that ballroom with a black eye or worse.”
“He’ll do it too,” Wescott teased, ruefully rubbing his cheek. “Anyway, I’ve got a better plan: we overwhelm the dance cards of Arabelle Wilton and her group. Let’s keep those clucking hens too busy waltzing to spread anymore godforsaken gossip.” He grinned. “While we’re at it, we can step repeatedly on their toes.”
“Genius,” exclaimed August.
“Hear, hear!” said Marlow.
They drank another round. By God, it felt great having the four of them together again, sharing jokes, schemes, food, and drink without any tension between them. As Jane said, sometimes you had to forgive. Now that he’d let go of his drama with Wescott and Ophelia, it freed up more room in his heart to love his kind, sensitive wife. Why, he was even growing fond of Mr. Cuddles.