A hearty chorus of affirmatives sounded all around the table.
When his brother had arrived at Harlton Hall for the intimate wedding celebration, he had come bearing startling news. The Crown had deigned to bestow a viscountcy upon Clay in recognition of his service. He was to become Lord Stanwyck, and Ara would be his viscountess rather than mere Mrs. Clayton Ludlow after all. It seemed surreal.
Not so much the title, though he would accept it graciously as he must.
But that Ara—the only woman he had ever loved—was well and truly his.
That he was seated at his wedding breakfast, surrounded by his family and a miniscule gathering of his friends—the Duke and Duchess of Leeds only—filled him with an immense sense of awe. Fear for Ara and Edward’s safety remained a knife lodged in his chest. But the presence of Leo and Leeds at the wedding breakfast, along with a cadre of armed men scattered throughout Harlton Hall’s demesne, left him feeling as secure as he possibly could.
Tomorrow, they would face the reality of the Fenian menace once more. Today, he was a man in love, his bride at his side, and nothing had ever felt more right. Today, he would not allow those fiendish villains to infringe upon what he shared with Ara.
“You are frowning,” Ara observed softly, so that only he could hear. “Are you not happy?”
“On the contrary,” he reassured her, reaching discreetly beneath the table to tangle their fingers together and give hers a squeeze. “I have never been happier, my love.”
His only cause for worriment was the wellbeing of her and their son.
“You are worrying about them,” she guessed.
Bloody hell, of course he was. His wife and his son were in danger. He would not rest until this madness was done and he could go about the business of being Ara’s husband and Edward’s father rather than their bodyguard.
“Perhaps you need not look so grim-faced, brother,” Leo said then, raising his glass in a salute. “I received word not long ago of arrests having been made in Dublin.”
The words had scarcely permeated Clay’s brain when the sound of a glass upending ruptured the silence. His eyes swung to the source—the new governess, her countenance pale, had dropped her wine goblet. A dark red stain spread over the white table linen.
“I do beg your pardon,” she muttered softly, her expression stricken, as she attempted to use her napkin to dab at the offending spill. “I am not ordinarily so clumsy.”
It was unusual for a governess to attend a wedding breakfast, so perhaps, unaccustomed to such a circumstance, her nerves had caused her to grow clumsy. Clay could not blame the girl, for he felt ill at ease himself in this august assemblage. She was surrounded by no less than two dukes, two duchesses (one former, one current), and a presumed viscount.
“You must not concern yourself with such trifles, Miss Palliser,” Ara was quick to reassure the embarrassed governess. “Today is a day of joy, and not even a thousand spilled glasses could spoil it.”
Clay’s eyes returned to his brother, seeking an explanation, only to find Leo’s hard stare focused upon Miss Palliser. For a moment, he swore he detected something in his brother’s harsh countenance—a glimmer of interest, a spark of something—but it was quickly banished when Leo wrenched his gaze away from the governess at last.
“The men responsible for the outrage against the Duke of Burghly have been captured,” Leo elaborated succinctly. “Just yesterday. A treasure trove of information has been discovered along with them, and my Dublin sources assure me that more arrests will inevitably follow. This nightmare is at its end. I was saving the good news for after the nuptials.”
Holy God.
Clay stared at his brother, unseeing. It was as if his mind and his body had become separated. The one could hear and comprehend and understand. The other had fled him entirely. He could not move. Could not speak.
He felt…numb.
And then he felt a rush of relief so intense it rattled through him like a locomotive, leaving him trembling in its aftermath. He was still gripping Ara’s hand beneath the cover of the table, and he was not certain which of them was crushing the other more.
He turned to her.
She had raised a free hand to her mouth, stifling a sob—half joy, he suspected, half weariness. “Oh, Clay. Does this mean we are free at last?”
“It is my greatest hope.” He could not resist tugging her to him, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, even before their guests. How he wished he could ravage her mouth as he wished, haul her up in his arms and carry her to his chamber. He wanted her all to himself, and he did not want an audience.
“This is wonderful news indeed,” Clay’s mother said. “I could not be more pleased. I only wish your father could be here now. How proud he would be of his two sons. How happy he would be to welcome Ara and Edward into our family.”
“My Mama says that everyone in heaven is still with you in your heart,” Edward offered solemnly. “They will always be there, and no one can remove them or their love.”
“How right your mama is,” Clay told his son, giving Ara’s hand another surreptitious squeeze. “No matter how great the distance or how long the time apart, the ones you love will always be there in your heart.”
“I love you so,” Ara whispered to him.
“That is certainly true,” added the Duchess of Leeds, offering her husband a look that shone with unabashed adoration “Would you not say so, my husband?”
