Hurtheven joined them.
“May I present, His Grace, the Duke of Hurtheven,” Cheverley said.
“Pleased, Your Grace,” Alicia said. “Lord Cheverley, what are you doing here?”
“Been here since you came,” Hurtheven replied. “Although why I am here depends very much on how you answered Ash. Yes—then, I am here to celebrate. No—I am here to console.” His eyes moved between them. “Looks like a yes. Put down your wife-to-be, Ash.”
Ash set Alicia on her feet, keeping one arm firmly about her waist.
“Enough pleasantries.” Hurtheven tugged his waistcoat. “We’ve a wedding to attend.”
After some confusion, vows were exchanged and the register was signed.
Voices rose to a clamor as Ash broke with convention and kissed his duchess.
For the first time in his life, Ash didn’t mind the gossip. From this day on, when people talked of the Duke of Ashbey, instead of whispers of madness and murder, there would be merry tales of a duke and duchess in love.
Epilogue
Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashbey, watched from the window as her husband directed their son, Phillip, Lord Delmare, into the Duke of Hurtheven’s open landeau. Just this morning, Ash and Alicia had reached accord, as a result, at the grand age of three, Delmare received permission to climb the carriage step without holding onto his father’s hand. This very serious honor informed the wee one’s stature—he held his chin level to the ground, and his little spine, perfectly straight. Alicia suppressed a giggle.
At Ash’s side, a nurse carefully placed Alicia’s daughter, Lady Felicia, into the cradle Hurtheven had made of his arms. Hurtheven leaned over the babe, attempting to make the eleven-month-old smile with exaggerated expressions. Felicia grabbed Hurtheven’s chin. He kissed her tiny fingers. Felicia’s musical baby-laugh wafted through the window, open to the crisp September air.
Hurtheven was not as immune to the children’s charms he sometimes liked to profess.
“We’ll return after the fashionable hour,” Hurtheven spoke to Ash.
“Take care of them,” Ash replied.
“I always do,” Hurtheven answered.
“Go! Go!” Phillip said with a scowl.
Ash leaned into the carriage and whispered something into Phillip’s ear. Phillip frowned, then nodded, inching his way back into the seat. He folded his hands—a deceptively angelic posture. Hurtheven was in for an adventure today.
Alicia turned away from the window. Her children were safe with Hurtheven, though she suspected his motive had little to do with an overwhelming desire to visit the Serpentine’s ducks. She held the collar of Ashbey’s banyan closed as she wandered to the bed and reclined on the mattress.
Judging by the racket coming from the stairwell, Ash was ascending the stairs two steps at a time. Naturally, he was out of breath when he opened the door. A roguishly delicious lock of hair spilled over his forehead. He closed and locked the door.
Alicia leaned toward her husband, a languid and spontaneous response to his presence. “You know why Hurtheven takes them, don’t you?”
Ash worked his fingers into his cravat, loosening the knot. “Because we have the two most charming children in all of London?”
“True.” Alicia’s heart glowed. There had never been a prouder Papa. “But, no.”
Ash pulled the cravat out from his collar, and then shrugged out of his coat. “...To provide us a few hours of peace, then.”
Lud,those forearms. Thosehands. She sighed. “No.”
Ash leaned on the wall next to the bed. “I give up. Why does Hurtheven bother himself with our children?”
“Because young ladies stop and coo at Felicia,” Alicia lifted a brow, “and lean down to exclaim over wee Delmare.”
Ash grinned. “Seen though his farce, have you? Clever duchess.” He lifted himself from the wall with the smooth ease of a man aware of his allure. “You inspired his artful use of the children, you know.”
“Me?”
Ash hooked his thumbs into the waist of his trousers. “He discovered our children’s propensity to encourage feminine conversation during your highly-praised house party at Wisterley.”
