“But it’syourfamily’s tradition, not mine—”
“Youarefamily,” he said simply. “You have been since you stood beside Marianne at that Worthington débâcle. Anyone who faces down society for my girl belongs to our family.”
Catherine carefully touched the lace with trembling fingers. “It’s beautiful. The craftsmanship is extraordinary—look at these knots, Timothy. The precision required to create this pattern—”
“And she’s crying over mathematics,” Edmund said to Adrian. “You’ve found yourself a strange family, Harrowmere.”
“The strangest,” Adrian agreed, warmth threading his voice. “And the best.”
“Don’t go soft on me. I’ve a reputation to maintain. Can’t have people saying Edmund Whitcombe’s turned sentimental.”
“The fearsome merchant king caught indulging in sentiment—what a scandal,” Adrian said drily.
“Exactly. Bad for business.” Edmund turned to Timothy. “Speaking of business—how’s your financial situation, young man? Need me to look over anything?”
“I’m quite secure, sir,” Timothy said. “My architectural practice is modest but growing, and I have a small inheritance from my grandmother.”
“Modest won’t keep the lady in the style she’s accustomed to.”
“I don’t need style,” Catherine protested. “I need Timothy.”
“You need both,” Edmund said practically. “Love is all very well, but it doesn’t heat the drawing room. How much is this modest inheritance?”
Timothy named a figure that made Edmund’s brows shoot upward.
“Your grandmother Adelaide really was a wealthy woman.”
“You knew her?”
“Knew her? She was one of my first investors! Sharp as a tack, that woman. Nearly ruined me with her terms, but she was right in the end. Made us both rich.”
“She spoke highly of you,” Timothy said. “Called you the only honest merchant in London.”
“She was the only honest aristocrat, so we were evenly matched.” Edmund turned to Catherine. “You’re marrying into good stock, girl. Adelaide had the finest business mind I ever met—present company excepted,” he added with a nod toward Marianne.
The rest of the evening unfolded in cheerful disorder—wedding plans tangled with trade discussions, Edmund and Timothy discovering half a dozen mutual connections in shipping and finance. Adrian watched, amused, as his formidable father-in-law all but adopted his sister’s fiancé on the spot.
When Edmund finally prepared to leave, he drew Adrian aside while the others admired the veil.
“You’re doing well, boy.”
“Am I?”
“Better than I expected when you swept my daughter off her feet with all that ducal theatrics.”
“I believe she did her share of sweeping.”
“True enough. Whitcombe women are forces of nature.” Edmund glanced at where Marianne and Catherine were laughing over something, the veil spread between them like captured starlight. “Take care of her—of both of them.”
“With my life.”
“Good man. Still too dramatic, but good.” He hesitated, then added, “And Adrian—when the baby comes—and it’ll come sooner than you think, they always do—remember that Marianne’s stronger than she looks. Your task is to support, not panic.”
“I don’t panic.”
“You’ve read four medical texts.”
“That’s research, not panic.”
