His gaze returned to Louisa. He noted how she tilted her head when listening and the subtle flex of her fingers on her glass while preparing a retort. Her slightly crooked smile seemed to anticipate the next joke at the world’s expense. Even from a distance, he could tell she was aware of his gaze. Her senses weretoo keen for anything else. The way she glanced his way and quickly looked away indicated she was planning a counterstrike.
He braced himself.
At the edge of the dais, Lady Honoria, in a bright canary yellow gown, had taken the stage and was reciting a sonnet she claimed to have written. Niall thought it technically impressive, with every rhyme executed precisely and every metaphor blunt. He could see Louisa’s circle struggling to maintain composure, a few stifled giggles breaking ranks before being silenced.
Niall let the music wash over him. All of this was theater, and he no longer wished to direct, only to enjoy the spectacle.
The afternoon’s warmth deepened, bringing a languor that threatened to subdue even the most energetic guests. In the shadows between the trellises, couples slipped away for whispered conversations. In the open, Lady Alexandra crowned the new badminton champions with basil wreaths and led a parade of children and several grown men to the lemonade station for victory toasts.
He caught Louisa’s eye again. This time she held his gaze, her mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. He saluted her with his glass, and she responded with a slight, improper raise of her eyebrow.
If this was what it meant to be tamed, he thought, then the world had entirely misrepresented the process.
He moved through the sun-dappled crowd with just enough of his old grace to remind everyone, himself included, of the man he had once been. He refilled his glass, never wanting to be caught empty-handed at his own party, and paused near the poetry dais, where Louisa was now engaged in a spirited critique of Honoria’s verse.
“It’s not that I object to rhyming ‘soul’ with ‘bowl,’” Louisa said, “but I do think the ‘bowl’ ought to be filled with something more interesting than tears.”
Lady Sophia clapped her hands in delight. “Brandy,” she suggested. “Or laudanum.”
“Or both,” Lady Alexandra chimed in, collapsing onto the settee, a basil wreath slipping down her brow. “I hear Lady Honoria’s preferred breakfast is a medicinal cordial and the tears of her rivals.”
“I’d be happy to provide both,” Louisa said, and the three erupted into laughter.
Niall found himself on the periphery, a spectator in his own play. Louisa, noticing him, patted the seat beside her. “Come, husband,” she said, loud enough for the nearest gossip to hear. “We’re taking bets on who will be the first to faint from Mrs. Berkeley’s lemonade.”
He took the seat, careful not to spill. “My money is on Lord Bertram. He’s already on his third glass and has lost feeling in his left arm.”
Sophia leaned in. “There’s an apothecary’s bet too. How many of us will need ‘revivifying salts’ before supper?”
He chuckled. “Lady Louisa makes her own.”
Louisa shrugged, feigning modesty. “It’s mostly vinegar and a pinch of Latin. The key is in the labeling.”
Lady Alexandra snapped her fingers. “This is what I missed during my own debut. Parties where the only danger is to one’s sobriety or pride.”
He lifted his glass. “To pride, then.”
They drank, and for a moment the entire garden seemed to lean toward their laughter. Beyond, the party continued, but Niall wanted nothing more than to sit on this battered settee, watching his wife outmaneuver the world.
The afternoon waned, the sun slipping behind clouds, the music softening as the quartet adjusted.
Lanterns were lit, their paper shells casting pale ovals over the grass. Sophia, was teaching a group of children and theBishop of Rochester how to play Dead Man’s Shuffle, a card game so cheerfully depraved that Louisa had to pretend to be shocked for the benefit of the more delicate guests.
In the golden haze, he reached for Louisa’s hand and felt her fingers interlace with his, cool and certain as dusk.
It had been an excellent party, precisely the kind of day he had once thought impossible.
He pressed her hand to his mouth, kissed the knuckles, and was rewarded with the smallest, most private of smiles.
Yes, he thought. He could spend the rest of his life like this.
They stood together as the lanterns flickered and the music resumed.
He had once been the scandal. Now he was simply and irrevocably hers.
If the devil ever needed redemption, Niall was content to find it in Louisa’s unwavering gaze.
Niall slipped his hand around Louisa’s waist, and she welcomed the closeness, resting her palm on the back of his hand. It felt comfortable, the culmination of the evening.
