"I don't mind Dahlia, but you'll want to call him Lord Herbert," said the wife, beringed hand out for kissing.
They each obliged, though Darbyshire didn't bother to shake, instead holding his drink with both hands. "I'm not sure I've heard of you before, I thought the Benedict and St. Albans holdings were..."
"Not that?" said Julian sweetly. "We're the Guardians of the Charmer's Way, the title comes with the position. Our little viscounty is quite small, as suits us. My sister's husband took over the majority of the St. Albans holdings, including the marquessate."
"I was glad to be rid of them," said Alex cheerfully, "though Julian kept a small Barony in order to stay properly in the family, as it were."
Dahlia looked even friendlier, then, if not genuinely than at least interestedly, while her husband looked even more annoyed. Julian wondered how the man was going to manage the party as a mere Baron if he made that face every time someone outranked him.
Perhaps it was the idea of having had a chance at being a Marquess and fobbing it off on someone else with the sort of glee Alex was showing.
They were saved from thinking on it when Geoff, who'd slipped off after the introductions, returned with someone they did know: Whitby Chilcott and his consort, Grover Chilcott nee Barnes.
Geoff did introductions first this time, while Smithson emerged from behind the bar to offer the couple cider.
"You two look so happy," said Julian cheerfully, taking Grover's hands in his and giving him a kiss on the cheek when he obligingly bent down. "I'm glad you found the Master-husband of your dreams."
"Thank you. You've rather landed in it yourself, I hear," said Grover, voice soft and sweet as ever, cheeks pink with good health and his whole being leaning just a little toward Whitby.
"You've taken good care of him," said Alex to Whitby, while Dahlia and Darbyshire took their chance to meander off and stare at the art. "I'm glad Lucas invited you two, you'll love Geoff and not be snotty to him."
"Oh dear," said Whitby. "I do remember the charming doctor from your solstice party, I believe, and he doesn't deserve any of that sort of behaviour, though I suppose it's inevitable given the crowd."
"Well, we'll shield him as best we can," said Julian. "Alex is great at making nobility feel like they're naughty children."
"It's a hobby," said Alex cheerfully. He'd taken over the role of sending people away when they 'just stopped by' the cottage, and had gotten very good at putting those people in their place, noble or not.
"I'm sure you'll be just as kind to Grover as you are mean to those who deserve it," said Whitby, with just a tiny edge.
"Of course," agreed Alex readily. "Grover is a precious treasure to be treated with the utmost care."
Grover giggled along with Julian, and then Whitby took that as a good cue to seat himself and his consort in the conversation group by the fire, leaving two more spots for the brave to join them.
Or, possibly, their hosts.
More people trickled in, including Leslie Winston-Smythe, who was apparently a cousin to Dahlia and greeted her fondly before coming over to pay his respects to the others from the courtship. There were a number of Barons and Baronets, a few other gentry with no titles, but hilariously it seemed that Alex and Julian were going to be the highest-ranking peerage at the party.
"You had the soap bubble, right?" asked Alex, after shaking hands.
Winston-Smythe laughed. "It figures that's what you'd remember. Yes, and as predicted it was all the rage at fancy dress parties the year after."
"It was a great costume," said Grover happily.
Chilcott took this as a cue and offered, "Did you want to join us?"
Winston-Smythe shook his head. "No, I should mingle. Not all of us have titles we can throw around," he teased with a little wink, though Julian got the feeling he was somewhat put out that Alex had ended up with a title and Julian both, if not the original marquessate.
Once he'd wandered away, a couple of Julian's old friends wandered by, people he'd socialised with a little while he was with Cecil.
"St. Albans, it's been ages! How are you?" asked the woman of the pair, Imogen Lockwood. She was in a sporty little fashionable dress with what Julian felt was a reasonable amount of bejewelled accessories, a matching set of hair comb, necklace, earrings, and a bracelet, along with her wedding ring of course.
"I'm doing very well, how are you?" Julian asked, clasping both hands with hers briefly. "And your husband?"
"Oh, Morty dear is doing just fine, aren't you?" she said, smiling over at him fondly and a little sharply.
"Of course, dear. I'm Mortimer Lockwood, and this is Imogen," he said, introducing them to Alex, who was sitting there looking amused.
"I'm Alex Benedict-St. Albans," he replied, shaking hands when proffered. "I don't know a lot of people from Julian's life prior to the Courtship, have you known him long?"
