It suited him.
The marquess nodded in approval, and with a little wave, Clementine pulled him along to greet Goldie and Reed.
Next in line were Baron and Baroness Westcott. Melanie greeted them with a touch more familiarity, having met Gardenia—Nia, as she was affectionately called—on several occasions. The baroness was positively glowing, her hand resting lightly on her rounded belly, evidence of the child she carried.
“Not long now until the big day!” Nia said brightly. “Are you taking a wedding trip?”
Melanie glanced up at Harry. “We’re going to tour Harry’s estates.” They had agreed to hold off on deciding where they would take up residence until after their trip.
Nia’s brows shot up, but she smiled in approval. “Goldie said you missed the country.”
Melanie had, but now, she felt like home was perhaps not simply a place, but more of a feeling…
“My lady,” the baron said warmly, bowing his head in greeting before turning to Harry with a grin full of mischief. “Still haven’t tied the knot yet, Malum? Careful now, I’ve seen how slippery these brides can be.”
“How quickly you forget,” Nia interjected, her eyes sparkling with teasing amusement. “If I recall correctly, thetonwas positively shocked when they learned that I got you to the altar.”
Westcott chuckled as he glanced at his wife. “I was the one shaking in my boots.”
“Were you?” Nia asked with mock innocence, her laughter bubbling up as she leaned closer to him.
Melanie couldn’t help but laugh too, especially as she caught Harry watching her. “Don’t worry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m counting the days.”
“Good,” Harry murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “Because so am I.”
Westcott was adjusting Nia’s shawl around her shoulders, more serious now. “Not to worry if we cut the evening short. I don’t want Nia overdoing things.”
“Oh, that reminds me—” Melanie smiled. “Goldie has arranged for tea and biscuits to be served in the library all evening, so Nia can step away and rest at any time.”
The other woman’s expression was all graciousness. “My little sister thinks I’m made out of glass—although I’m sure I’ll take her up on that.”
“Wasn’t it a visit to the library that set this betrothal in motion?” Westcott chuckled at his joke. His grin was mischievous, his tone playful.
He couldn’t have known that he was prodding at something of a sore spot with Melanie’s fiancé. Predictably, Melanie felt him stiffen beside her.
“I will forever be grateful to have been compromised in that library,” she announced unapologetically.
Westcott’s teasing demeanor softened. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it. Congratulations to you both,” he said, turning his sincere gaze from Melanie to Harry. “I wish you every happiness.” After shaking Harry’s hand, he steered the baroness toward their host and hostess.
Melanie turned to Harry, her fingers clasped around his arm. “I really am glad for that night in the library,” she said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had any reason to propose that day.”
His silver eyes locked onto hers. “Oh, sweetheart,” he replied, “I would have found a way to make you mine, no matter what.”
She stared up at him, wishing they were alone, until the sound of Josie’s giggling broke the spell.
Melanie looked over to see a gentleman with dark hair bowing over her little sister’s hand, his light gray eyes glinting with charm. There was something unmistakably familiar about him.
The man straightened, offering a polite farewell to Josie before turning toward Melanie.
When he reached the two of them, he clapped a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry stepped forward and, to Melanie’s astonishment, embraced the younger man—a gesture so unguarded it left her momentarily breathless. Harry rarely showed his emotions so freely, and the sight was disarming.
“Reggie.” His voice caught, a wide, uninhibited smile lighting his face. “When the devil did you get here?”
“Got your letter just in time,” the younger man replied, his silver eyes glinting with humor as they shifted to Melanie. “And who’s this enchanting creature? Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Harry turned to Melanie, his voice warm. “Sweetheart, this is my brother, Reginald Preston. Reg, Lady Melanie Rutherford. Soon to be Melanie Preston—my duchess.”
