It was well past ten when they were finally alone. The guests, and almost all of them had accepted invitations to stay at Wright Hall for several days following the wedding, had retired to their respective rooms in the mostly renovated east wing. Griffin and Olivia had elected to stay in the part of the hall that was still largely a work in progress.
It was no particular sacrifice to take the lesser accommodations. Drafts were of no account on a night neither of them meant to enjoy long out of bed.
“That will be our supper,” Griffin said, responding to the knock at the door. He stepped back, eyebrow lifted when he saw Nat standing uneasily in the hallway. “Here’s a fellow I thought was all tucked in.” He opened the door wider, ushered Nat inside, and gave Olivia a quizzing glance over the child’s head.
Olivia had turned away from the dressing table when Griffin announced their supper had come. She waved Nat to her side and was as puzzled as Griffin when he fairly dragged his feet in coming to her. Clearly he had not arrived at their room in search of another bedtime story, a tactic he used from time to time when he wanted reassurance he could not quite articulate.
Olivia had undone her elaborately dressed hair and run her fingers through the waves. She pulled it to one side and began to plait it, aware that it was something Nat had observed her doing before and found fascinating. His eyes, though wide and fully alert, did not follow the deft movements of her fingers. “What is it, Nat? Has there been a dustup in the nursery?” She wondered at the wisdom of putting so many children in a suite, but Griffin’s sisters were certain the nannies were up to the task.
“No, miss. Everyone’s sleeping. I slipped away.” He revealed this last with neither pride nor guilt. It was simply a statement of fact.
“So you did. You have some reason for it, I collect.”
He nodded, said nothing.
Behind him, Griffin did not have to temper his smile while he spoke in grave and important accents. “I think her ladyship is wanting the favor of a reply.”
Olivia noted that Nat gave a little start and his eyes widened a bit more. “He’s teasing us both,” she said. “Me more than you. He knows perfectly well that I am unused to the idea that I am suddenly become ‘her ladyship.’ Now, tell me. What is toward?”
Nat blurted it out. “Thomas says that we’re married.”
Olvia was so taken aback by this intelligence that for a moment she couldn’t think who Thomas was. Griffin had it immediately and told her.
“Juliet’s son. My up-to-every-trick nephew.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Of course. The one with the cowlick.” She stopped plaiting her hair and took up one of Nat’s small hands. “It is never wise to place too much confidence in someone with a cowlick. Think of it, Nat—he cannot properly manage the particulars of his own hair.” Griffin snorted, but she ignored him in favor of studying Nat’s sober countenance. “We arenotmarried, but I cannot tell whether it is a relief or of some concern to you.”
He didn’t respond directly but looked at the ring on her hand, a square-cut emerald in a bed of twenty-one diamonds, the gold band retooled to fit her slender finger. “Thomas says that since I gave over the ring, it means we’re married.”
Griffin approached and put his hand on Nat’s shoulder. “Clearly, Thomas will have to answer for himself, but the facts are these: you held the ring for me and stood at my side. The vows that were exchanged were between Miss Cole and me, and bound us together as husband and wife.”
Nat considered this. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as they knit. He caught his bottom lip, worried it. The trembling only marginally eased and the narrow line of his scar was stretched by the tension in his countenance.
Olivia sensed it first. She had Nat’s hand, Griffin, his shoulder, and the child still had no idea how he was bound to them. She lifted her eyes to Griffin, saw he’d come to the same understanding. She nodded faintly, surrending the right to make the statement because it was for a father to say to his son.
“You stood for me, Nat, as Olivia’s brother stood for her. I wanted you there because you are my family, my blood. I could think of no one who would better serve as my second than my own son.”
“Your second? Truly?”
Griffin smiled, squeezed his shoulder. “Truly.”
“That’s all right, then.” He nodded once, accepting it. The smile that edged his mouth faded as he turned to regard Olivia. “You’re our family now.”
“I am.”
“But we’re not married.”
“No.”
“Shall you be my mother?”
“If you like.”
There was no hesitation. “I do.”
“Good. It is the same for me.” Before he could glimpse her tears, Olivia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Go. Go with your father back to your room and see if you can’t slip inside the nursery as quietly as you left it.” She gave him a nudge into the shelter of Griffin’s embrace, then sat back and watched them exit the room together.
By the time Griffin returned, their late supper of chestnut soup and warm French bread was laid out on the small round table pulled close to the hearth. Olivia had changed into a fine lawn shift and a deep purple Chinese silk robe and matching slippers made for just this occasion. She was sitting with her back to the fire, reworking the plait in her hair.
