Cassian watched his sister and her new husband seal their marriage with a kiss. Yes, he was happy, but he remained cautious. He could not help it. His hand gripped the curve of his cane as he continued to stare, as if he could not believe the scene unfolding before his eyes.
Kit wore a pristine coat, a stark contrast to what he had been wearing during his gambling and drunkenness. It looked like he was ready to turn over a new leaf with Marta. He looked at his new bride with adoration, and perhaps a touch of concern that she might disappear again.
The Duke of Stonevale waited for some cousins to steal his sister away for a moment. When he saw her laughing heartily at something a cousin said, he approached Kit.
“You have been given a second chance in life, Hawthorne,” Cassian declared, clearly about to issue a warning. “But you know what will happen if you break my sister’s heart again. You have no right to give her even a moment of unnecessary grief. If I ever see a single tear in her eyes, I will kill you for real. When that happens, there will be no more bargaining or mercy. I will not let Juliana rescue you, either. I hope we are clear on the terms.”
Kit did not even flinch. He met Cassian’s gaze directly this time. “I understand, Stonevale. I do not expect you to do anything less. Marta is too precious to be trifled with. I already ruined several of her years, and I do not intend to make her suffer ever again.”
Meanwhile, Juliana watched her brother and her husband talk from a safe distance. She smiled softly at the sight of the two of them. Of course, knowing her husband, she knew threats were being made. She could not even fault him for it. Marta had gone through hell because of her brother. No sensible older brother would allow his sister to go through that again.
It was then that Juliana spotted a familiar figure making her way across the garden with the particular energy of someone who had arrived late and was determined not to let it show. Catherine, now Mrs. Thompson, was dressed in a becoming shade of yellow, her husband a step behind her, looking mildly bewildered by the pace she was setting.
“I wrote that we would come,” Catherine said breathlessly, reaching for both of Juliana’s hands. “Mr. Thompson took rather longer than anticipated to find his good coat, but here we are.”
“You came all this way,” Juliana said, genuinely moved.
“Of course I did.” Catherine squeezed her hands. “You are my dearest friend. And besides,” her eyes glinted with the particular mischief Juliana had always loved about her. “I owe you rather a lot. If you had not agreed to stand watch in Lady Hampton’s gardens that night while I slipped away to meet Mr. Thompson, none of this would have happened.” She glanced back at her husband with an expression of unguarded affection. “I got my happy ending because you gave me ten minutes in the dark.”
Juliana laughed. “I also got caught kissing a duke in those same gardens, so I would say we are even.”
Both women laughed.
Someone cleared their throat to her right. She turned to see her grandmama standing there. Lady Hawthorne was always a graceful presence, with her back straight and her chin tilted up, even at her age. Her face looked softer today, though. Kinder.
“Today is a lovely day, Juliana. I suppose I must say it,” she began, adjusting her otherwise perfect sleeves. “I knew everything would work out in the end for you. You have a way about you. I knew fate would take your side and bend to your will.”
Juliana could not help but raise an eyebrow at that. She was not one to believe in such a magical way of seeing things. She was not superstitious, either. However, she understood what her grandmama was trying to tell her.
“I know I have been quite hard on you, dear granddaughter,” Lady Hawthorne continued, her voice losing some of its usual certainty. “I pushed you too hard and knew I hurt you, and for that I must apologize. However, I was also afraid that if I shielded you, you would end up like Marta. The world had broken her. I wanted you to be stronger. Unbreakable, if possible.” She looked at Juliana with eyes that were, for once, entirely unguarded. “I see now that you always were.”
The young duchess felt a lump in her throat. She had not expected her grandmama to turn sentimental, especially with her, especially here, in the middle of a wedding breakfast. She reached for the older woman’s hand and squeezed it.
“I appreciate your tough love, Grandmother. I suppose it was what gave me a spine over the years. It made me braver, too. Brave enough to march into a duke’s bathhouse with a parcel under my arm and come out with a husband.”
Lady Hawthorne laughed at that, genuinely and without reservation.
“Tough love?”
Both Juliana and Lady Hawthorne turned to see the Dowager Duchess materializing from behind a rosebush and carefully arranged topiary, with the unhurried air of a woman who had been listening for some time and had decided she had heard enough to contribute. She narrowed her eyes at her frequent nemesis and smirked.
“There is nothing tough about you, Honoria. You are sentimental and silly. You could not discipline your grandson if your life depended on it. And you hide behind those awful hats.”
Much to Juliana’s considerable surprise, Lady Hawthorne giggled. There was no sarcasm in the sound. Just pure, unguarded mirth.
“Well, you, Anabelle, are a menace to society.”
“That is precisely why we must join forces,” the Dowager Duchess confirmed, her smile one Juliana had never seen on her face before and hoped very much to see again.
The two old ladies linked arms and began to move away through the guests, whispering and giggling like two ladies sharing a secret.
She was still watching their retreating figures with a mixture of amusement and disbelief when Lady Hawthorne detached herself from the Dowager Duchess and walked toward Cassian, who had appeared at Juliana’s side, with the particular purposefulness of a woman who had already decided how the conversation would end.
“Your Grace,” she said, addressing him with a sweetness that immediately put Juliana on alert. “I almost forgot.”
Cassian inclined his head warily. He had learned through painful experience that Lady Hawthorne’s sweetness was its own kind of warning. “Lady Hawthorne.”
“I have been meaning to resume my afternoon calls now that the season is beginning,” she said pleasantly, smoothing her gloves. “I find I need an escort at my old age. Someone with a suitable carriage and a title that opens doors.” She smiled at him, serene as someone holding a very good hand of cards. “I thought of you immediately.”
