“But Lady Luck is notoriously fickle,” she added, her voice tight with emotion.
“Auch, this is the time for a toast, not tears, lassie,” said Henning, breaking the serious moment with a rusty chuckle. “It is not pretty at times, but somehow we get the job done.” He raised his glass—filled with Scottish malt despite the early hour—and gave it a swirl, setting off flickers of golden sparks. “To Good always kicking Evil in the arse.”
“A rather crass way of phrasing it,” drawled Wrexford. “But I think we all agree with the sentiment.”
The clink of crystal punctuated his words.
“And besides, it is my understanding that there is further cause for celebration.” He eyed Sheffield. “As I recall, you and Cordelia made a recent promise . . . so I believe you have an announcement to make to Alison.”
The dowager put down her fork and regarded their friend with an owlish stare.
“Er . . . umm . . .” Sheffield cleared his throat. “Yes, well, seeing as everyone is gathered here, Cordelia and I thought we would add to the festivities by informing all of you that we have set a date for our nuptials.”
As he named the day, a pretty shade of pink colored Cordelia’s cheeks.
“In addition, I’m happy to announce that we now possess a country estate, allowing us to begin setting down real roots.”
Seeing Charlotte’s surprise, Sheffield smiled. “Last night I went to inform my father of the wedding. You all know how fraught our relationship has been, so when he started questioning me about how I was going to support a wife, I was so damnably tired of being treated like a wastrel that I revealed what Cordelia and I really do.”
A shrug. “Not only that, I gave him a lecture about the absurdity of not allowing members of the aristocracy to run a business and proceeded to explain in excruciating detail how the future will belong to those who have the freedom to become entrepreneurs.”
Sheffield’s expression turned to one of bemusement. “I assumed he was going to toss me out on my arse, as usual—but to my astonishment, he responded by saying how impressed he was by my pluck and ingenuity.”
His smile stretched wider. “And then he promptly gifted me with one of his minor estates near Bristol, the port which handles much of our shipping to America.” He shook his head. “Who would have guessed?”
Fathers and sons, thought Charlotte wryly, slanting a sidelong glance at Wrexford. Families were indeed complicated.
“Hmmph,” said Alison after all the clapping and cries of congratulations had died away. “That date doesn’t leave me much time to organize the wedding.” She tapped her fingertips together as she pondered the challenge. “But with a bit more luck and the help of the Weasels, I think it can be done.”
“And help from Harper,” added Hawk. “It’s now a family tradition that he leads the procession down the aisle.”
The hound, who was lying beneath the sideboard in case anyone dropped any bits of ham, opened one eye and thumped his tail before falling back to sleep.
Once the laughter died away, Charlotte decided to address the less happy topic that was weighing on her mind before the hilarity got out of hand.
“It’s all very well to shrug off the horrors of this investigation now that everything has ended well,” she began. “But I fear we are in danger of taking luck for granted.”
Her gaze moved to Alison.
The dowager crumbled a piece of the sultana muffin between her fingers. “I expect you are now about to ring a peal over my head.”
“I am,” confirmed Charlotte. “What madness made you take the horribly dangerous risk of attempting to cross steel with a desperate villain? You could have been . . .” A sudden sob welled up in her throat, forcing her to pause.
A spark of remorse glimmered behind the lenses of Alison’s spectacles. “It actually wasn’t quite as mad as you think. I had been practicing—”
“Practicing?” interjected Wrexford.
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw the three boys exchange guilty glances.
Sheffield coughed, trying to smother a laugh. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I know it’s not remotely funny. But dash it all, you have to admit, it was quite a sight to see Alison wielding her blade with the consummate skill of a Death’s Head Hussar.”
“Indeed.” Wrexford raised a brow at the boys. “One wonders precisely how she came to hone such skills.”
“Don’t blame the Weasels and Peregrine,” said the dowager. “It occurred to me that it might be useful if I knew how to defend myself—”
“Useful for what?” interrupted Charlotte.
“Sleuthing,” answered Alison without batting an eye. “You have to admit that we seem to be making a habit of it.”
