“Yes, my lady.” Agnes’s utter calm irritated her.
“Good heavens, Maeve. Let the girl earn her keep.” Lady Ingleby’s agitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Harlowe was only a viscount, not a marquis or a duke.
Maeve turned from the mirror to her mother. “Mother, you are wound more tightly than a spool of thread. This ceremony is very intimate—” A thought hit her. Her mother had likely invited the whole of thehaute tonback to town. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what, dear?”
“You know Harlowe and I wished to keep our ceremony small. Only the Kimptons and the Brockways.”
“Maeve, you are truly the most selfish of daughters. Why, I only included a few others. How often does my only child marry?”
“One time too many,” she muttered under her breath.
“We really do need to talk about your ridiculous notion in residing at Cavendish Square. It’s unseemly for you to live in a famous courtesan’s home. I don’t care if the woman is dead. That house is forever tainted.”
“That’s enough, Mother. We’ve had this conversation before and the matter is settled. The house belongs to Harlowe and it’s a lovely home. I refuse to listen to another word about it.”
Maeve was surprised her mother didn’t stomp her foot. “It’s too far away.”
“Hardly that, Mother.”
“But, darling, what if you have children?”
Children.Maeve stopped herself from touching her stomach. She could be carrying right that moment. “We shall survive the scandal.”
Her mother dabbed at faux tears. “You are an ungrateful child.” She sniffed.
“How many are here—”
“I cannot abide talking to you a moment longer.” Her mother flittered out on a timely exit. She should have trod the boards.
Agnes leaned in. “Fergive me fer sayin’ so, milady,” Agnes whispered, “But his lordship doesn’t seem put off in the least by yer freckles.”
No. Just my street urchin running tendencies.Maeve refrained from commenting. “Hmm.”
“Have you any idea who she invited?” Maeve asked Agnes.
“I think I saw Lord Dorset.”
Maeve groaned.
“There were one or two others I recognized but can’t remember by name.” Agnes patted Maeve’s hair. “There, milady, I’ve done all I can.”
Maeve turned to the mirror and checked her appearance, stunned by her reflection. Though her stomach was a flutter of nerves, she’d never felt more confident than she did in that moment. She was about to acquire a husband and a child, and she couldn’t have been more miserable…or happy. This wasn’t how a new bride in her second marriage should feel.
Harlowe could break her heart, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Harlowe had half a mind to file a complaint with Parliament on the use of cravats. They should be declared instruments of torture. Ingleby’s formal parlor was packed. Besides the Duke of Addis, the Kimptons, and the Brockways, the only invitees he and Maeve had approved mind, Lady Ingleby had seen fit to invite the Duke of Oxford, Lady Parther, Lexum, and his new bride, Felicity. And of course she hadn’t dared left out the Faulks, Martindales, Peachornsbys, Lady Dankworth, and Dorset. Harlowe stifled his sigh. The only people missing were Welton and Shufflebottom for God’s sake.
Irene was the only child in attendance, though anyone who spoke with her had to realize she was really a grown person in a child’s body. Her sister, Cecilia, was supposedly socked away in the nursery with Nathaniel. He would have loved shaking things up by bringing Penny and Mary, but having Lady Ingleby faint would have taken away the spirit of his own wedding. One he had every intention of remembering. Regardless, he had his own surprise for his new bride when they arrived home.
Harlowe was surprised how jittery he was. He couldn’t help feeling he was in a waking dream. That he would jar to consciousness and he would be in his chamber at Lore’s. But, of course, that was not the case. Across the formal parlor, Kimpton waited with Lore. His brother-in-law would stand by Harlowe’s side, and Lorelei for Maeve.
Harlowe did his best to block out the hum of chatter cluttering his thoughts. In most instances, Maeve had a calming effect on him. He was ready for the quiet. But she’d been furious with his machination in manufacturing this wedding. He had a Regent’s Park worth of ground to make up.
He tugged at his collar for the third or fourth time; he’d lost count. What he needed was air. He pulled out his watch. Twenty more minutes. Clearly, Lady Ingleby was using this wedding to her own advantage. He glanced over to the woman in question. She stood speaking with Oxford and Lady Parther, hobnobbing with the best. The lady never wasted her opportunities.
“Lord Harlowe?” The soft voice came at his elbow.
