“Someone has tried to trap us into marriage, Lord Edward, but I have an idea. You two stay right where you are,” Eliza whispered.
She spied a side door that opened out onto the terrace and rushed to it, letting herself outside as quickly as she could manage.
Eliza left the door open just a crack, peering in and watching as the main door of the library burst open and Lady Bitterwood swept in, flanked by Lord and Lady Rosebury. All three stopped in their tracks when they were confronted by the sight of Lord Edward Melthorn kissing Lady Catherine Stewart, quite passionately, truth be told.
Lady Bitterwood let out a horrified shriek, went positively grey, and nearly fainted on the spot.
“Oh, how delightful!” Lady Rosebury crowed, clapping her hands like an excited child.
Smiling to herself, Eliza eased the side door closed and turned away, running straight into the Duke of Elkington. She hadn’t seen him standing out on the terrace. Eliza bounced off his chest with a surprised grunt and flailed, desperately trying, and failing, to catch her balance.
The Duke’s face was a study in shadows and moonlight, brow furrowed, eyes dark, lips turned down in a contemplative frown as he reached out to grip her shoulders and steady her.
Eliza sighed, resting her gloved hands on his chest as she looked up at him.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
* * *
Raphe lethis hands trail down and rest, ever so lightly, on Miss Wingfield’s waist, staring down into the pale, moonlit oval of her face. How strange, that he’d been out here on the terrace, worrying about life, about everything that had transpired since the Midsummer Ball, about whether this very apparition of a woman cared for him or not, and then she suddenly appeared as if summoned.
Did she want to be courted by Lord Edward Melthorn, as it seemed she did, or did she harbour feelings for Raphe as he did for her? Miss Wingfield’s lips parted as she gazed up at Raphe, and somehow — in that moment — he knew exactly how to find all the answers he needed.
Raphe’s hands tightened on her waist, and he pulled her close, lowered his head, and kissed her soundly.
Raphe was still lost in kissing Miss Wingfield when the doors to the terrace burst open.
“Good heavens!” That exclamation was his mother. He’d know her voice anywhere, but he was quite reluctant to release Miss Wingfield and give his mother his full attention. “Well, I suppose I have two Christmas weddings to plan, now.”
“This has been a much more eventful evening than I expected it would be, to be sure.”
That voice, however, Raphe did not recognise. He pulled back slightly and looked over, spotting Miss Wingfield’s mother, the Viscountess of Gainsbourne, at his mother’s side.
“Two weddings?” Raphe stood up a little straighter and arched a brow at his mother. “What do you mean, two weddings?”
“Well… obviously, you must marry Miss Wingfield, and your sister—”
His mother’s voice broke, and she shook her head.
“What about Catherine?”
Raphe frowned, his hand still resting at the small of Eliza’s back.
“I absolutely cannot believe what has happened with your sister tonight. She must marry Lord Edward Melthorn, of all people. Lord and Lady Rosebury caught the two of them alone together in the library, kissing rather passionately, so naturally everyone in attendance at the Ball knows about it already. I cannot believe those horrible gossips were the ones to catch them together.”
Raphe pressed his lips together, trying not to smile.
“How is Catherine?”
“Deliriously happy, for reasons I am reluctant to examine right now.”
His mother snorted, shaking her head.
“And how is Lady Bitterwood taking the news?”
Raphe chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to imagine which one of the two mothers would have taken the news worse.
His mother’s expression turned positively feline, and she let out a delighted chuckle.
