James watches Reginald stuff the crinkled paper into his pocket. He’s right. The letter has no bearing on his life any longer, nor his mother’s.
“Don’t let him get you down. This is a good day,” Reginald says, taking James by the shoulders.
James forces himself to nod. “Right.”
“And tell MissWilson I expect her to be ready tonight at eight.”
“I will,” James promises.
Reginald grins. His plans have something to do with MissWilson, Thomas Parker, and a delicious meal, he thinks. Reginald squeezes his shoulders and then nudges him toward the door. James blows out a breath and heads out into the square to face the proverbial music.
What his soon-to-be ex-stepfather thinks truly no longer matters. And yet even as he hurries across the square toward his future, the weight of his past hangs heavy around his neck.His stepfather actually congratulated him. So proud of him forpulling one over on Havenfort—tickled pink that James will receive a Havenfort dowry and continue the Demeroven line with Havenfort’s daughter.
What utter rot. He hardly cares about Gwen’s money. And there won’t be an heir to the Demeroven estate. The line will die with James. He’ll do the most he can while he has the title, and give as much to charity as he’s able. Make it count, and then let it go.
Even if he felt a flutter of something primal and natal and desperate at reading the wordsI am proudfrom that man, whatever childhood disturbance it reawakened will fade with time. James is heading toward his real family—the one he’s chosen, the one he’s building—and he will leave his stepfather’s words behind.
Distracted by the damn letter, it’s only when he rings the bell at the Havenfort townhouse that James remembers why he’s here, and that he should be very anxious.
MissWilson opens the door and immediately yanks him inside, beaming. “They’re all waiting for you,” she says.
James laughs, surprised, and lets her tug him through the ornate foyer and up to the sitting room. “I’m on time.”
“True, you’re better than Gwen. I do wish you luck with her, she’s allergic to punctuality.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” James says, pushing down the loud laugh that wants to escape. “Reginald says he’ll be by at eight, by the way.”
“Oh, excellent,” MissWilson says. “Now, enjoy.” She opens the door to the sitting room and pushes him inside, whirling around to head back downstairs before he can even say goodbye.
He’s immediately accosted by Mrs. Stelm, demanding his tea preference while Mrs. Gilpe pulls off his frock coat. He tries totell Mrs. Stelm it really doesn’t matter, but they’re gone before he can get a word in edgewise.
And then Beth’s at his side, guiding him over to sit down on the settee with her and Gwen. Bobby smiles at James, ensconced in an armchair with very pink cheeks and baby Frederic in his arms.
“Now, Mother and Lady Harrington are set on us having the reception here, but we did want your opinion, just to make sure you don’t want to have the reception—”
“At my townhouse? Goodness, no,” James tells Beth, accepting that he’s fully part of a discussion now that was going on long before he arrived.
“Good, good,” Lady Harrington says. “I’ll be happy to provide linens. We kept Meredith’s,” she tells Lady Havenfort.
“I’m sure we have some, but that would be lovely, thank you,” Lady Havenfort says, smiling over at Beth, Gwen, and James. “Albert, you’ll take James and Bobby for their suits, yes?”
“Of course,” Albert says from his perch against the mantel, drink in hand. “Uncle has already made an appointment with his tailor.”
“And I’ll go along to make sure everything fits correctly,” Lord Havenfort puts in.
James blinks, having somehow missed him in the armchair next to Bobby.
It’s just that watching Bobby coo down at baby Frederic is entirely distracting. It’s doing all kinds of things to his chest and stomach and other parts of him, so he wrenches his eyes away, turning to meet Gwen’s. Who absolutely has caught him mooning over Bobby. She nudges him and he blushes.
“And the licenses?” Lady Harrington asks.
“All settled,” Albert says quickly. “Expedited, though not alarmingly so,” he adds to Lord Havenfort.
“Just young people in love,” Lord Havenfort agrees.
“Yes, I must say, Lord Demeroven, I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you,” Lady Harrington says.
And it’s then that James’ brain catches up to him and he realizes he probably ought to be terribly mortified in her presence, since the last time she saw him, he was—
