“Let’s go, then,” Mr. Moore said, as he rose to his feet, gripping the silver head of his cane in one hand. “You’ve bought yourself five minutes, Lockhart. What you do with them—that’s on you.”
∞∞∞
The house was in chaos once again, alive with revelry despite the hour. Even the children had been roused from their beds to participate, and they gobbled down handful after handful of sweets and pastries which had been prepared for a midnight feast to commemorate the occasion.
Grace was on her second glass of champagne, nestled intothe corner of a couch within the drawing room, when Aunt Emma’s voice from the foyer rang clear above the comfortable chatter. “Where in the world have you been? Danny has proposed!”
“Has he, then?” Uncle Rafe appeared in the drawing room doorway, a wide grin wreathing his mouth. “That’s my boy. Where’s Ben?”
“Here,” Uncle Ben said from the far corner, where he stood with one arm wrapped around his wife, Aunt Diana. He lifted his glass toward Uncle Rafe in invitation. “Come join us,” he said. “We’re discussing wedding details.”
“It hasgotto be St. George’s,” Aunt Emma said as she urged Uncle Rafe through the thick of the crowd toward them. “And a midwinter wedding would be lovely.”
“Midwinter!” Danny moaned from his seat on the couch beside his new fiancée. “But that’s months away!”
“A proper wedding takes time,” Aunt Emma said smartly—which Grace thought was rather bold of her, when one considered that it was common knowledge that her own wedding had been by special license, with no more than a day’s notice to all those invited.
“We ought to elope,” Danny muttered to Hannah sullenly.
“Don’t you dare,” Grace said. “I’ll be devastated if I cannot attend your wedding.” And so would everyone else. Probably just family alone would fill out most of the pews. “And I do think you owe it to me, you know, Danny.”
Danny gathered Hannah’s hand in his, holding her fingers tightly. “I would have worked up the nerve eventually,” he assured her.
“But not,” Anthony said archly as he bent to kiss Charity’s cheek on his way into the drawing room, “before you put your foot in your mouth at least a half a dozen more times.”
“Damn,” Uncle Chris said as he handed off his hat to thebutler, Redding, who stood stationed near the door. “I had them engaged by Christmas at the earliest,” he sighed. “That’s twenty quid lost.”
“I beg your pardon,” Uncle Rafe said, casting a disbelieving glance over his shoulder. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve beenwageringon my son?”
“And Hannah,” Uncle Chris said, utterly absent any repentance or shame.
“Serves you right to lose, then,” Uncle Rafe said. “A fine thing for a friend to do—wagering upon one’s children.”
“Ought to take your wife to task, then,” Uncle Chris suggested mildly. “She’s the one what’s been takin’ bets upon them.”
“Emma?”
“Now, Rafe, it was all in good fun—”
Grace chuckled over the rim of her glass. These were the moments she loved best; everyone together with reason to celebrate some new milestone. There had been so many over the years, and no doubt there would be many more. And how lovely it was, to be a part of so many lives, to be a part of something that felt greater than only herself. So many stories forming an intricate tapestry of lives and love and happiness.
Her own threads were woven there too, deftly tucked within the fabric of the family she had been lucky enough to call her own. Someday her own love story would bloom within it—and everyone would be just as delighted for her as they were now for Danny and Hannah.
“Budge up,” Uncle Chris said to Felicity, who occupied the seat next to Grace. “Got some business with Gracie.”
“Oh?” Felicity asked, though, obligingly, she scooted herself to the side, producing a wedge of couch hardly large enough to accommodate him. “What business is that?”
“Personal,” he said. “Some time ago, Gracie asked a favor ofme.”
Oh, no. “Uncle Chris, can it not wait?”
“’Fraid not,” he said, slinging himself into the seat that had been made for him. “You knew you’d have to pay the piper sometime. Don’t do nothin’ for free.”
Grace sighed and drained the last of her champagne. “How much?” She had got quite a bit of pin money left still, but she was hardly in the mood to go in search of it.
“Five minutes,” he said, with a nod of his head toward the drawing room door. “Fer him.”
Grace turned her head to see Henry standing there just inside, his hands flexing at his sides uncertainly, wincing at the aggravation of the bruised and bloodied knuckles of his right hand. He had the look of a man who knew he’d entered enemy territory, uncomfortably aware that he had been in mortal peril from the moment he’d entered the house.
