Anna laughed, and it felt good. So much of the animosity between them had vanished during their discussion in the woods. Things may never return to how they’d once been, but a sense of lightness, of joy, had replaced the bitterness.
Anna grabbed his arm and tugged. “Come along, Duke. Now that this circus is done, we can finally escape.”
He allowed himself to be dragged out the door and down the steps. “Escape the country with its fresh air and easy pace, you mean?”
She made an appropriately sullen face. “Exactly.”
He laughed and moved to shake hands with the archbishop—who’d been patiently waiting for them to exit the building.
Anna shook her head as Jackson expertly smoothed the frown from the old man’s face with his charm. She glanced back toward the interior of the chapel.
Baroness Febass and Viscountess Holloway had joined Lady Tisway at the altar, their trio joined by a fourth, easily recognizable by the dark veil.
Anna watched the widows converse with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, their bodies all turned inward to form a four-pointed circle.
Lady Febass and Lady Holloway had their backs to the door, but Lady Tisway’s pleased smile was clearly visible.
Anna took in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s body language—open and affable—and frowned.
The widow’s veil was too dark to make out much of an expression, but Anna swore the other woman was smiling as well.
Anna snorted and turned away. Of course, Mrs. Dove-Lyon was smiling.
Her veil had revealed a slash of teeth, lips, and humor at seeing her prey thoroughly caught.
“I can’t expresshow grateful I am that you let yourself be thoroughly caught by your duchess.” Figaro sat up from his lounging position on Jackson’s bed, a sudden idea lighting up his face. “I should like to send Mrs. Dove-Lyon my gratitude. Quick!” He raised his voice to a gross holler. “Stevens, fetch me parchment and paper!”
Jackson’s valet waited for confirmation.
“May as well, Stevens,” Jackson said. “Figaro will be insufferable otherwise.”
Stevens bowed and exited the room without a word.
“So well trained.” Figaro’s thoughtful expression didn’t bode well. “Think the man’s constitution is strong enough to invite my dearest sister for tea next?” A sly look. “I’d be interested to hear her side of prenuptial events.”
Jackson shook his head as he removed the cravat at his neck. He never should have confided in his ridiculous,theatricalbrother the circumstances of his and Anna’s reunion. “I’m so glad you approve.”
“Heartily.” Figaro settled back against the pillows. “It’s like you’ve come alive again. Jokes, sarcasm—dear God, man, youlaughedat yesterday’s breakfast. I thought I’d swallowed a bit of bad egg at first, sure I was hallucinating.”
“To be fair, the health of the eggs was questionable,” Jackson said. “Not to worry. The menu will be given back over to the dowager within the day.”
At the mention of their impending departure, Figaro eyed the trunks at the foot of the bed. “You’re leaving immediately, then?”
A fleeting pang of guilt shot through him. “As soon as my bride is ready.” He’d sent word down to the stables to have the buggy prepared—the smaller vehicle a more pleasant ride during the three-hour drive back to London—while ordering the main carriage to come along after with his and Anna’s trunks and their personal attendants.
Figaro frowned. “I’d hoped you’d stay through Michaelmas.”
“You could always attend us back to the city.”
“No, thank you. London does not agree with me.”
“Not to worry,” Jackson said. “We’ll return for Mother’s ineffable Christmas party. I’d hardly be allowed to miss it with all the unfortunate roasted geese over the fire—not to mention the fowl she’ll order the poor servants to serve at the event.”
Figaro shuttered. “Then again, what is life without a bit of disagreement?” He threw a quick grin Jackson’s way. “It seemsto be just the thing for bringing sullen dukes back to their humors.”
Mention of Anna’s challenging demeanor had Jackson reliving his wife’s most recent transgression. As the bishop had proclaimed them husband and wife, she’d reached up on tiptoe to place a kiss directly on his lips. His mother had sputtered a proper conniption. Life with Anna would never be easy. Or boring. “‘Disagreement’ is putting it mildly.” And far too distastefully.
“My dear sister-in-law is the most charming creature to ever step foot inside this grand mausoleum,” Figaro said, his expression growing serious. “If you screw things up with her as you are wont to do, I may keep her as my relation and cut the rest of you.”
