“I already am,” she whispered, and fell into his kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The parlor at Arendale House was missing Jem’s friends, but Lucasta was glad to see it held all of hers: the Gorgons, Cici, Judith, Bertie, and the younger Falstead siblings, who tumbled about with excitement over their evening out.
“I’ve done it,” Jem announced as he ushered Lucasta inside. “I’ve persuaded Lucasta Lithwick to marry me.”
His proclamation was met with cheers of delight and more applause. Bertie burst into tears of joy.
“A wedding!” she cried in rapture. “Please tell me you will wait until we are out of mourning, so we might have a proper celebration.”
“It won’t be as soon as I could wish.” Jem sobered as he turned to Lucasta, taking her cape from her shoulders, letting his fingers brush her neck and collarbone as he did. She shivered. The saffron gown had held up beautifully, the fabric catching the light every time she moved, and the style flattered her frame. She warmed under Jem’s appreciative glance as he met her eyes.
“Now that the funeral is over, I must go tell my father he is the Marquess,” he said. “And I will insist on bringing Portia andthe children to England. They must be free. I cannot allow him to let my brothers and sisters be treated as property.”
Lucasta decided not to mention that, as his wife, by English law she too would be considered his property, under his complete legal control. Being a wife was a far cry from being enslaved. Her throat was sore tonight, not from singing, but by the many times she’d forced back powerful emotion. Her heart moaned at the thought of being away from him, but he was right.
“I agree,” she said quietly. “We shall marry when your family—allyour family—can be present.”
“Lucasta! Lucasta! Lucasta!” Tressie and Starria whirled up to her, hugging Lucasta again and again, until Hannibal pushed them aside for his own embrace. “You were brilliant.”
Lucasta soaked in their attention, hugging them back. In marrying Jem, she would gain a raft of siblings and a new cousin just her age. To one raised an only child, the thought was thrilling and slightly alarming.
Tressie gave a happy sigh. “And that gown is perfectly lovely. Jem, when shall I be allowed to wear long skirts, like a real lady?”
The butler hovered, clearing his throat. “Milord,” he began, looking distinctly nervous. Lucasta had noticed before that Jem’s butler did not have the stiff indifference that was prized among his occupation. She liked him better for it. “There is the matter of the town coach.”
“Yes?” Jem asked, distracted by the children romping around him.
“It has been dispatched, sir, at the request of?—”
“How now!” cried a booming, authoritative voice. “Have we come to our senses yet, or are we all still foolishly petting my niece?”
Two women appeared in the wide doorway leading to another of the formal staterooms. The first was Lady Payne, wearing an expression for once more bemused than harried.
Holding her ladyship’s arm with one hand, supporting herself on a walking stick with the other, was an imposing figure of a woman wearing a gown whose panniers placed its age in a previous decade and whose powdered wig was doubled in height by a structure that looked like a bowl of fruit with feathers. Her face was lined, powdered, patched, and staring sternly at all of them, but a twinkle surfaced in her eyes as she gazed at Lucasta.
“Aunt Cornelia!”
Lucasta rushed across the room and gave her aunt a deep curtsy. Aunt Cornelia, Lady Evers, adhered to the manners of an earlier epoch as she did the dress. “What brings you to London?”
Her great-aunt grumbled and let Lucasta lead her to the largest and most comfortable chair, which Annis yielded to a greater dignity. Cornelia settled herself with enormous fuss, arranging her panniers and letting her yards of skirts sweep elegantly around her. Then she clasped both hands atop the golden knob of her walking stick and fixed her stare on Lucasta.
“Frotheringale, that fool, was making noises about coming here, and I suspected his intentions were no better than Pevensey’s had been all along.” She scoffed. “I sent you the note warning I’d come for you, didn’t I? Yet you fell into his clutches like a peagoose. Thought you had more sense, gel.”
“I do!” Lucasta exclaimed. “I didn’t marry Gale.”
“Good.” Cornelia snorted. “If I wanted you for him, I’d have told him so myself ages ago, and Almira, that harridan I call a sister-in-law, can go hang herself with her garters. And I would never have allowed Pevensey to rivet you to his hey-go-mad rapscallion of a son, either.”
The sound of choked laughter from Annis made Cornelia turn her head. “How now, and here you are as well, thefearsome foursome! The count’s daughter, the duke’s daughter, the soldier’s daughter, and the vicar’s get.”
Her eyes moved over each of the girls in turn. “Who is it named you the Gorgons? Olympe will fall down laughing when I tell her how Miss Gregoire’s girls are being admired in the highest circles. I always told her to rein in those radical Enlightenment ideals of hers at her school, but she’s French, and there’s no fixing that.”
“Jem named us the Gorgons.” Lucasta cast him an impish glance. “Indeed I believe he pronounced me a veritable Medusa at the occasion of our first meeting.”
Aunt Cornelia raised a set of glasses tied to her bodice by a gold chain. “You’ve brought him to heel good and proper, and fixed the leg shackle, too?”
Jem cleared his throat. “I have the honor,” he said, “of having my hand and my suit accepted by your grand-niece. With your approval, of course,” he added in a tone that implied he would marry Lucasta no matter who objected.
