“Adrian?” Catherine called.
He turned.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “For not murdering him.”
“The night is young,” he grumbled, yet humour softened the words.
“He is a good man,” Catherine added quietly. “He makes me feel brave again.”
Adrian was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. “Then I suppose I’ll have to let him live. But Catherine—no more kissing in gardens.”
“What of conservatories?” she asked, innocently.
“Catherine!”
“Drawing rooms?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Libraries?”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
She only smiled.
As they approached the terrace, Timothy stepped nearer to Adrian. “Your Grace, I want you to know—”
“If you harm her,” Adrian said conversationally, “I shall ruin you so completely that future scholars will debate whether you ever truly existed. They will discover fragments and assume you a myth.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Adrian paused at the threshold, brow furrowing. “You truly love her? After a week?”
“I loved her after an hour,” Timothy confessed. “The week merely confirmed my folly.”
Adrian exhaled as though pierced. “Mercy spare us all.”
They stepped inside—and discovered the entire dinner party arranged before the windows like a Greek chorus. Lady Ashford did not even pretend embarrassment at being caught.
“Well!” she declared, hands clasped. “Howdelicious! Young love in my garden. It’s like a novel!”
“More like a farce,” Adrian muttered darkly.
“Now, then—wedding plans,” Lady Ashford continued blithely. “A Christmas ceremony would be charming. Holly, evergreen garlands—”
And just like that, the scandal dissolved into merriment. Guests talked over one another about flowers and trousseaux and the virtues of a winter wedding. Catherine and Timothy sat together, not touching but glowing; Adrian accepted a glass of brandy from Lord Ashford with the expression of a man who had survived battle only to discover he must now host a ball.
“It becomes easier,” Lord Ashford murmured. “Watching them grow up and away.”
“Does it?”
“No. Not in the least,” Lord Ashford admitted. “But the brandy helps.”
Adrian swallowed his glass in one draught. “Then pour another. It will be a very long four months.”
Later, as their carriage rolled home through dark London streets, Adrian pulled Marianne against his side.
“Everything’s changing,” he said quietly.
