He bent nearer, lowering his voice. “Twice only? Then you did not observe the third. I was nearly overcome at the sight of Cousin Horatio’s waistcoat. The buttons are fashioned in the shape of anchors… I have never known embroidery so cruelly abused. Anchors. ”
Hetty’s laugh rang out. “If such finery moves you to weeping, it is a wonder you did not dissolve entirely upon the altar steps at the sight of me.”
“I very nearly did. Only the solemnity of the occasion preserved me from utter collapse.”
She shook her head and cast her gaze about the crowded room with a fond smile. The double drawing rooms of the Tolliver townhouse – ordinarily reserved for more sedate entertainments such as tea – had been thrown open and transformed in honour of the breakfast. A long table stretched beneath the chandelier, groaning with dishes both savoury and sweet, while footmen wove through the crowd with punch bowls and syllabub trays. The carpet had been rolled back in anticipation of dancing later that evening, though for the present, the room was given over entirely to Tolliver chaos.
Aunt Belinda was seated in high triumph beside one of Theo’s elderly aunts, recounting another embellished retelling of the SwanBoat Incident of ’98. Across the room, Lottie and Cousin Horatio had abandoned civility altogether and were conducting a spirited duel with a pair of forks, to the mild horror of a footman stationed nearby. Mari, meanwhile, had entrenched herself behind a formidable display of hothouse roses, her book held aloft in defiance against all such disorder. By the cake table, Nell and Benedict bent their heads together in grave conference, their furtive glances betraying a campaign of some delicacy – Hetty supposed it was how best to secure a contraband portion of marzipan without incurring their mother’s wrath.
“Have you observed,” Theo said in a low tone, “that our respective Mamas appear to be holding a secret parliament? Your mother has produced a list, and I cannot imagine that bodes well.”
Hetty followed his gaze with a theatrical sigh. “No doubt it contains a schedule of visitations, a ledger of household economies to be maintained until our great-grandchildren are grey, and, naturally, a scheme for the christening of a child who has not been so much as imagined, save by her.”
“How excessively optimistic of her. Has it not occurred to Lady Tolliver that we are quite as likely to murder one another before we have even the leisure to consummate our union?”
“Do try to behave,” said Hetty, affecting prim severity.
“It is far too late for that, my dear. You have married me, and I mean to behave abominably the instant we are left alone.”
“I should be sorely disappointed if you did otherwise,” she murmured, her eyes alight with mischief. “I expect diligence. Thoroughness, even.”
Theo bent nearer, until his lips brushed her ear. “My dear Lady Langley, thoroughness shall be but the beginning. I intend to chart and re-chart every inch of you until you forget your very name.”
Hetty strove to maintain composure, acutely aware of the cheerful throng about them, utterly oblivious to the scandalous exchange taking place beneath their noses. “Such bold words, my lord. One might almost suspect you of overestimating your capabilities.”
“Shall we put it to the test? I should think fortnight of uninterrupted study ought to suffice.”
“A full fortnight? Surely you will perish from exertion by the second evening.”
His answering chuckle was low and dark, and traced his thumb over the inside of her wrist. “I assure you, my stamina is equal to my intent.”
“And your ribs?” she asked archly, though the catch in her voice betrayed her.
“They are healing admirably.”
“Then you ought not provoke me, sir. I am notorious for losing patience.”
Theo bent closer still, his voice little more than a rumble. “My darling, to provoke you is, in fact, the entire point.”
She was spared responding by a sudden shriek from across the room.
“Did you see that?” came Nell’s breathless voice as she hurtled towards them. “The swan-shaped ice sculpture was beginning to melt, and Uncle Percival attempted a rescue!”
Hetty blinked. “Did he indeed?”
“Yes!” Nell cried, flinging her hands skyward for emphasis. “He proclaimed it a matter of artistic preservation and attempted to carry the sculpture – the entire ungainly creature, mind you – across the drawing room. Whereupon he slipped! And dropped the entire thing directly into Cousin Edwina’s lap, and she shrieked like a woman possessed. Oh, Hetty, it was magnificent! How could you have missed it?”
Hetty pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders quivering with suppressed laughter. Beside her, Theo gave a muffled cough into his cravat. “If Cousin Edwina has been christened with a frozen swan, I regret exceedingly that I did not witness it.”
“Oh, you should have seen her expression,” Nell continued triumphantly. “Positively biblical. And now Uncle John is roaring for towels for Edwina and shouting about dignity. Oh, what a day to remember! Wait – someone has produced another tray of syllabub, and it’s headed directly towards Lottie – who, I should add, is presently brandishing a butter knife at Horatio. I must see this!” With that, Nell turned and dashed away, vanishing into the throng before either of them could respond.
A tremendous crash sounded somewhere behind them, followed by Uncle Percival’s booming reassurance: “All is well! I have merely dropped the head!”
Theo turned to Hetty with a look of solemn deliberation. “Do you suppose we ought to render assistance?”
“On no account,” Hetty declared firmly. “Let him meet his fate with what dignity remains. We shall take refuge amongst the puddings.”
Theo gave a grave nod and extended his arm. “Then allow me the honour of escorting you to the cake table, Lady Langley. With any luck, we may arrive before it is overturned, ignited, or pressed into service as a duelling platform.”
