Relief washed over her mother’s face, and for a moment, Ariadne wondered if her mother would start crying. Over the past few months, she had tried to put herself in her mother’s shoes, frantic and worried about her life and her children’s lives and how to protect them all.
She was not sure if she would have taken the same route her mother had, but at the end of this road, she was not too unhappy about it.
“How is Emily?” Isolde asked. “I hope she was not too hurt?”
“No, thank goodness,” Ariadne breathed. “Silas had only given her a sleeping draught, but he’d used ether on the nursemaids. She slept through the night and only came around quickly after we got her to the doctor. She is fine now.”
“That’s a relief,” Marigold sighed while fixing her spectacles. “I’d hate it if she had witnessed the entire ordeal. Such a thing can be very harrowing to the psyche.”
“Me too,” Ariadne added. “It took Cedric and me a while to fully explain what had happened, but she doesn’t seem all that perturbed by it.”
Celestine shuddered. “Enough about all this maudlin business. Shall we talk about this upcoming masquerade ball in fifteen days?”
Ariadne opened her mouth to ask Celestine how she felt about Silas as a villain instead of the handsome knight she may had once thought of him as, but clamped her lips shut. Her sister was right; it was past time to skip over the distressing events of two weeks ago.
“I am told it is going to a crush of the season,” Ariadne said. “And your costumes are almost ready from the modiste.”
“Lovely,” Celestine bounced on her chair and clapped. “I am going to be such a brilliant goldfish.”
Marigold wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think anyone will get my costume.”
“That’s because you dressed yourself as a rat.” Celestine rolled her eyes.
Puffing out a breath, Marigold said, “It’s a ferret, Celestine. It's far removed from a rat.”
As her sister started to bicker, Ariadne wondered about the best time to tell them she had missed her courses for two months in a row and that soon…. her sisters would all be aunts of a different kind, because they had already enfolded Emily into their lives.
As a matter of fact, the girl was staying with Mother and sisters for the next few days.
For now, though, she just wanted to enjoy the moment. It had been hard to come by. Her mother was free of her uncles’ clutches and her sister now had her socialcachéto propel them to find good matches for life.
Cedric truly loved her, and she loved Emily as if she had birthed her. His false friend was now in prison, and while she knew itscarred him deeply, at least he now had some closure about his wife.
“What’s that smile for?” Celestine elbowed Ariadne.
“Just being generally happy,” she said while thinking of Cedric. “After all this, I am simply happy.”
Stepping into his home, Cedric peeled his jacket away to hand it to his footman and headed up to his rooms. Every time he sat in the House of Lords, he was tempted to scream, but every time he stepped out, he was glad he did not.
Now, he simply wanted a night with his wife, and with Emily gone, he was looking for a long, intimate night with Ariadne. She’s been gone since yesterday and should be back tonight.
He stepped into the bedchamber, and his mind, and spotted Ariadne on a nest on the floor, her nightgown nothing more than a slip of moonbeam spun into a cloth.
She looked up while swirling a glass of wine. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”
Her creamy curves played peek-a-boo along the edges of the gossamer cloth; her nipples were dull and pink behind the slip, the slit up her thighs showcased her rounded hips and shapely legs.
In his entire life, he’d never seen anything more erotic.
Tugging at his cravat, he dropped on a chair and plucked his waistcoat away while his eyes landed on the basket of food near her. Picnics were getting to be a normal staple in their relationship when either of them wanted to distance themselves from the crushing strains of proper etiquette.
Shucking his shirt and boots, he sat across from her and near the flickering fire.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said as she pulled the basket closer to her. “I have your favorites here, roasted pheasant, chicken, fruit?—”
“You?” He asked.
She smiled innocently. “For dessert.”
