“Only if you promise to shield me from Lady Worthington.”
“Deal. I shall act as a human wall of disapproval.”
She kissed his cheek. “Then yes. We will go.”
* * *
Peregrine Estate, Gloucestershire
One week later…
The gathering was, predictably, a chaotic triumph. And yet, as Alexandra stood amid the din of laughter, clinking glasses, and dramatic reenactments, she felt a comfortable ease settle in her chest. Magnus was beside her. And somehow, within the chaos of her family, she’d found her peace.
Lavinia had organized the festivities with military precision, her usual air of serene authority masking the steel beneath. She disapproved of Sophia’s chaos, of course—but somehow, it always made her smile in the end. There were seating charts, croquet tournaments, formal dinners, and carefully planned walks through the orchard. Sophia had undone half of it by encouraging wine with breakfast and orchestrating a midnight game of charades that ended in someone (possibly Author) reciting Shakespeare from atop the dining table.
Alexandra and Magnus arrived fashionably late, as was their custom, and were immediately pounced on by a flurry of children.
“You’ve brought him back!” cried one wide-eyed little girl with golden ringlets. “The earl who kissed you in the rain! Auntie says it was legendary.”
“Does she now?” Alexandra replied, eyeing Sophia.
“I may have embellished slightly,” Sophia said, not at all sorry.
Magnus raised a brow. “What exactly did you say?”
“That you carried her through a thunderstorm, shielded her from lightning, and declared your love under a bolt of divine fire.”
Alexandra looked up at the clear blue sky. “Should we be worried the heavens will smite us for Sophia’s fibbing?”
“Let them try,” Magnus replied, slipping an arm around her waist.
Later that afternoon, Alexandra found herself seated on a bench beneath the shade of a cherry tree while Magnus tried, unsuccessfully, to explain the rules of lawn bowls to three overenthusiastic boys.
“He is very good with children,” Lavinia said, sitting beside her.
“He is surprisingly patient,” Alexandra admitted. “Especially for a man who used to dodge matrimony as though it were a pox upon his house.”
“You changed him.”
Alexandra shook her head. “No. He chose to change. For himself. For us. That’s the difference.”
Lavinia smiled. “You look happy.”
“I am. And that still surprises me sometimes.”
“Because you didn’t expect to love him?”
“Because I didn’t expect to let him love me.”
The confession came quietly, almost as if speaking it aloud made it too real. Alexandra’s fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt, the weight of her own vulnerability settling in her chest. She hadn’t just let him love her—she had wanted him to. And that was the most surprising truth of all.
Across the lawn, Magnus looked up and caught her gaze. He smiled, crooked and warm.
Alexandra smiled back.
* * *
That evening, after dinner and copious glasses of claret, the family gathered in the drawing room for music and cards. Sophia insisted on reading a romantic poem aloud, which prompted Arthur to declare his eternal devotion to sentimentality.
