“You barely know me, Grace,” protested Kitty. “I might be an awful person who can’t even read. I might have false teeth, or some unspeakably awful habits. How do you know?”
“Because I know my brother. Max would not have married an illiterate toothless horror, no matter how dire the need.”
Kitty’s lips twitched. “I’m being silly.”
“Yes you are, but it’s your wedding day, and I forgive you.” Grace hugged her, hard, a squeeze that warmed away any chill lingering within her spine. “Here are your flowers. You left them on a pew.” Bluebells appeared in Kitty’s hand once more, and she breathed in the fragrance as if it was her first breath of air in a week.
“Congratulations,” said Sir Peregrine, coming to her side after shaking Max’s hand and slapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve snabbled a fine husband.”
She smiled ruefully. “There was no snabbling involved, Sir Peregrine. I will confess to a large amount of surprise at this entire morning, though…” She looked at him accusingly. “And you have been a part of it. I should be quite cross with you…”
“Why don’t you call me Perry, instead, my dear. I hope to be a constant visitor at Mowbray House. I foresee some lively evenings.”
“As do I.” Max’s arm circled Kitty’s waist once more, and brought quite dreadful things into her mind. And inchurch, of all places.
She fought a blush. “I’m sure both Max and I would enjoy your presence—er—Perry…”
“Just the sort of thing a perfect wife would say,” enthused Max. “I predict you will be a sensation at the ball tonight.”
“Indeed,” said Grace.
“But of course,” added Sir Peregrine. “Now, if you’ll forgive my forwardness, I took the liberty of reserving a room in Monsieur Phillipe’s restaurant. An impromptu celebration of this momentous day? Consider it my gift to the happy couple.”
“Is it private?” asked Grace, her voice hesitant as her hand lifted to her veil.
“Perfectly, my dear.” He took that hand away from her face and rested it on his arm. “Allow me the privilege of escorting you. My carriage is big enough for all of us, but I’m sure Max and Kitty would prefer to share these first few moments alone.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic, Perry. I never knew.” Max snickered.
“Sssh,” said the older man. “Breathe a word of it and I’ll have your guts for garters.”
Max and Kitty followed Grace and Sir Peregrine out of the vestry, and the church, thanking Vicar Granmont as they departed.
“You have completely stunned me,” said Kitty. “You could have explained it all first. Told me about the ball. Was this necessary, Max?”
He helped her into the coach, and sat across from her, reaching for both her hands and looking at the little ring. “I believe it was.” He sounded serious. “And I couldn’t risk you saying no.”
She wondered at his words. Taken at face value, they indicated a desire on his part to really marry her. Did he? Or was this all part and parcel of some trifling entertainment he’d created to further their investigations, something that could be set aside once they were done.
She couldn’t help the next words that came from her lips. “Do you really want me as your wife?”
His gaze met hers. “I wouldn’t have given you my grandmother’s ring if I didn’t.”
“Well then.” She was at a loss.
“Do you mind having me as a husband, Kitty?”
Her heart thudded, but her innate honesty answered for her. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
“Good.” He gripped her hands and pulled her onto his lap. “I’m pleased, wife.” He grinned, and then kissed her, a long and deep kiss, rich with passion and calculated to send her head spinning.
Which it did, most effectively.
*~~*~~*
Max blessed Perry for his inspired notion of taking them all to lunch.
First, it allowed them to celebrate the occasion with laughter, some champagne—neither Kitty nor Grace had tried it before—and added a note of fun to the day, since everyone’s humour seemed to be as sparkling as the liquid in their glasses.
