“Emily,” she said. “How do you like Marianne and Marina, the Donovan twins?”
Clara had introduced Ariadne to her daughter’s friends, who had expanded the circle, and now she had seven girls between the ages of seven and twelve.
Now, Emily had more friends, and Ariadne was happy for her. Some of the girls were already in boarding school, and the mistress was highly recommended.
“I like them,” Emily said, “Marianne likes books like me, but Mariana prefers dolls.”
“My sister loved dolls when she was younger, too,” Ariadne said. “Celestine loved to dress them up and make tea parties with them.”
Emily wrinkled her nose, “I prefer animals.”
“Which is a good thing,” Ariadne replied. “Animals know those with good souls.”
Arriving at the sweet shop, Cedric stepped out first and helped both down before they stepped to find the other girls and their families already arrived.
While feeling the repulsive stares on the back of his neck, Cedric wondered if he should have privatized the shop for a day. He was aware, distantly, that his height was among the many things that made people uneasy. Six feet and three inches of scarred, silent duke tended to clear a room more swiftly than a declaration of plague.
Emily ran over to Amelia the moment they entered the shop, and the two girls hugged as if they had not seen each other half an hour ago.
“Your Grace,” Lord Hamden, Clara’s husband, approached them with a bow. His wife was on his arm, a ray of sunshine in daffodil yellow.
“I see Modiste Redmonde has done her magic again.” Clara laughed as she kissed the air near Ariadne’s cheek. Even as new tola biseas Ariadne was, she understood that was the way the ton ladies greeted each other at times. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”
‘She has,” Ariadne dimpled. “Your ensemble is captivating.”
Cedric tried to regulate his eye roll, but Ariadne saw him anyway. “I dare say our gentlemen must think we are featherbrained chits for gabbing about trims and trefoils.”
“We do,” Cedric replied.
“Notwe,” Samuel shook his head, the light glinting off the grey in his temples. “You are not going to get me in trouble.”
Snorting, Cedric looked around, easily skipping over the open stares and whispers. The girls were flocking to the counters, and after deliberations and debates worthy of ones in Parliament over the menu, the seven girls got what they wanted.
When the sweets arrived, he sat back and watched his wife and daughter’s delighted faces as they sampled the delicious confections.
Watching her interact with the children, Cedric had a sudden thought on —if it came to it—how she would be with their own children. A mental image of her belly swollen with his child constricted his chest with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. Her eyes in the small, sweet face of their son, her smile in the smile of their daughter, and his chest.
“A coffee,” he told a passing waiter.
While the ladies gossiped and the children chattered, Cedric shared a table with Samuel and two more lords to discuss a new bill on the table at Parliament, a place where he had a better footing.
He happened to look over to see Ariadne grab a napkin and wipe a smudge of cream from Emily’s nose, and fixed a small clip in Amelia’s hair, and the shocking wave of possessiveness her felt had him staring for longer than he wanted.
“Am I late?” Silas’ voice cut through his reverie, and he looked over to see his friend stride in, tan breeches, tall Hessian, sapphire blue waistcoat, and blue cut-away jacket.
His brows lifted. “I was not aware you were coming.”
“And miss this chance to see you insunlight?” Silas’s face held wicked delight. “No one could pay me to miss that.”
“Gentlemen,” Cedric deadpanned to a group of four. “Let me introduce the court jester, Silas Crane. Lord Stromwell.”
“I’ll happily ride on a camel’s back, juggling fifteen balls and balancing three teacups on my head if I can see this.” Silas laughed, waving at a waiter and getting himself a cup of black tea. “I must know what kind of mesmerism your lovely wife has so I can use it to get you to attend my parties.”
Throwing back the rest of his coffee, Cedric dryly added, “You’ve got a better bet of hell turning into ice.”
“I’ll take those odds,” Silas chuckled. “Now, please tell me how this came about? You despise sweets.”
Samuel chuckled. “His lovely wife. Do you not know the power of the female mind?”
