“You, sir, are a scoundrel,” Auntie Agatha announced, opening her eyes to pin Blade with a disapproving glare. “My beloved niece cannot possibly marry you.”
“Auntie Agatha,” Felicity intervened, “I have already agreed to wed Mr. Winter.”
“Your father has not given his approval of such a match,” her aunt argued. “Nor would he.”
“My father will be happy for me to wed Mr. Winter, particularly when he learns Mr. Winter is willing to provide Esme and Cassandra with dowries and help to ease his debts. Truly, I could not ask for a better husband.”
Not because of those reasons, but Blade’s generosity was undeniably sweet.
“He is a bastard,” Auntie Agatha exclaimed,sotto voce.
Unfortunately, her whisper carried to Blade.
“The bastard son of a Covent Garden doxy, if you must know,” he said, shrugging. “Fortunately, Lady Felicity is willing to overlook my sins and give me a chance to redeem myself.”
I love you, she mouthed at him.
He winked.
“Saw that, dear girl,” Auntie Agatha said with a harrumph, banging the floor of the yellow salon—where they had chosen to privately deliver their news to her—with her cane. “You cannot possibly be in love with this rakehell. He has a terrible reputation.”
Yes, he did.
But Felicity loved him anyway. He was more than the sum of his past. More than his parentage or where he lived or what he had done. He was the man who kissed her with such gentleness, it made her want to weep. The man who held her heart in his hands.
“He is a fine man, Auntie Agatha,” she defended Blade. “I could not ask for a better husband.”
Her aunt snorted. “You could certainly ask. What happened to Lord Chilton?”
“I do not love him,” she said. “I love Mr. Winter.”
“If Chilton would prefer his nose to remain unbroken, he will never again sneak away to the mistletoe with my future wife,” Blade clipped.
Auntie Agatha fanned herself. “You see, my dear? The man is a brute.”
He was hardly a brute.
“A brute turned gentleman,” Blade corrected, grinning, his dimple reappearing.
Was it her imagination, or was Auntie Agatha flushing beneath his rakish regard?
Her aunt fanned herself some more. “A gentleman, you say? Hmm.”
“When you get to know Mr. Winter as I have, you will realize he is perfect for me in every way,” Felicity told her aunt, and that much was the utter truth.
Her future husband’s gaze connected with hers. His smile said more than words could, and it warmed her heart.
“I love your niece, and I promise to do everything I can to be a good husband and make her happy,” Blade told her aunt.
Auntie Agatha flapped her fan with more determination than ever. “You had better, Mr. Winter. Or you will answer to me and my cane.”
She thumped it on the floor to emphasize her point.
The door to the salon clicked open to reveal Lady Emilia, wearing her angelic smile. “Do forgive me for the interruption, but I was wondering if we might get started talking about modistes for Lady Cassandra’s and Lady Esme’s seasons.”
“I am generally considered an arbiter of fashion,” Auntie Agatha disclosed with the air of a queen.
Lady Emilia settled in with Felicity’s aunt, and the two began a discussion about the merits of lace. Felicity had not realized Blade had drifted nearer to her until his lips hovered at her ear, making her shiver.
