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“That’s what I love most about you, Harry, you’re just so very accommodating.”

Harry’s expression didn’t alter in the slightest.

“Very well.” Michael lowered to his haunches beside Gwen, his overcoat pooling at his feet, instantly attracting bits of stray rope and debris. “I can see you’re rather busy, but when you have a moment to spare, perhaps you’ll join me in the church?” His words might have sounded cutting were his tone not so very warm and amused. “Or if you prefer, the vicar can probably be persuaded to move the ceremony to the docks. We could all take up the ropes and work as we muddle our way through the necessary biblical verse. Imagine the oakum we could turn out together.”

Gwen dropped the ropes and pushed to her feet, ignoring both Michael’s offered assistance and the streaks of wet sand clinging to the lower half of her garments. Chin raised, she marched off toward her impending doom with the men following silently behind her.

The little church was packed with townsfolk shoulder to shoulder in the pews, standing crowded in the back, and spilling out into the streets. Most were there as a show of support for Gwen, though she imagined more than a handful had come to witness the entire event as a sort of bizarre spectacle. Gwen didn’t begrudge them their curiosity. She’d made no attempt to quiet the gossip surrounding their engagement or her very public distaste for the man.

As a result, the entire town had effectively shut its doors to Lord Michael. At first, no one spoke to him at all if there was any other choice; people crossed to the opposite side of the street at his approach, and the cost of a pint at the Wandering Gull rose tenfold—not that Michael seemed to care overmuch, as he continued to frequent the establishment and tip generously. His unwillingness to be bothered by their dislike was having its intended effect. One day at a time, like a favorite uncle patiently coaxing a stubborn child, he’d begun to charm more than a handful of the men out of their dislike.

When the ceremony began, Michael kept his focus intently on her, while she attended to everything except him. He’d worn gloves and Gwen was grateful for the small mercy. It was bad enough to repeat vows she in no way meant without having to touch him as well. Still she could feel the heat of his hands through the kid gloves. Finally, all that remained now was to sign the registry, and it would be done. Then she could return to work and pretend this day had never happened… until tonight, when Michael would be there, in her space, taking up the lion’s share of her bed.

She should have insisted upon separate chambers, at least for a while. He’d been desperate enough for her agreement that he would have let her have her way. But Gwen hadn’t wanted to give him even the smallest opportunity to appease his guilt, and now it was too late. She’d lost her leverage the moment she said I do and would have to live with the consequences of her stubbornness. It would be fine. She could tolerate her wifely duties; Walter had always been quick about it, and before long he’d found other outlets for his amorousness and ceased bothering her altogether. It would be the same with Michael. He probably already had a mistress, though no women had appeared among the entourage of outsiders. His partner, Smythe, his man of business, and a manservant were the only ones currently occupying rooms at the Wandering Gull. She had heard from the proprietor that they’d planned to depart again after the ceremony.

As she stepped away from the registry, a gentleman of similar colouring and build to Michael approached. His attempt at a bow was somewhat sabotaged by the wiggly child tucked carefully against his chest. This would be his brother, Gabriel. Across the room, his wife had separated from the exiting crowd to investigate the stained-glass windows; another similarly aged boy of perhaps one year lay asleep in her arms.

Gwen had intended to dispense the same cool politeness with Lord Gabriel as she maintained with his brother, but found herself reconsidering almost immediately. He had a different, less practiced charm. Or she supposed it was likely very practiced indeed but still… it struck her as genuine.

“Lord Gabriel.” She curtseyed.

“Please. Just Gabriel will do well enough. You’ve married my scamp of a brother; whatever mild benefits might come from being on informal terms with the heir to a dukedom are the least I can offer by way of my condolences.” He flashed a decidedly sweet smile, adjusted the babe on his shoulder, then offered his arm. “I understand you are returning to the shipyard. Might I beg a tour?”

“All right.” She slipped her fingers through the crook of his arm then glanced back toward his wife. Mrs Anson? Lady Violet? Gwen honestly wasn’t certain which was proper, and the thought of getting it wrong was enough to make her avoid addressing the woman altogether until they’d been properly introduced.

The woman in question wasn’t paying them—or anyone else—any mind. She had crouched to inspect something and appeared completely absorbed by whatever it was. Gabriel followed her gaze before shaking his head, watching his wife with open adoration.

“She’ll be along when she’s ready. Best to not rush Violet when something’s caught her interest.”

Naturally, he called her by her Christian name… no help there.

Gabriel led them through the double doors and into the waning light of the October sun. Neither spoke as they wove through the stragglers lingering outside the church. It wasn’t until they were well out of earshot that Gabriel finally broke the silence.

“Michael explained the circumstances behind your marriage.”

She tensed automatically at the conversational direction, then forced her muscles to relax. None of it was this man’s fault.

“Did he? And how precisely did he explain it?”

“That he met the most remarkable woman in the world who, by virtue of counting intelligence among her many attributes, would not have him without an obscene amount of force applied.”

A huff of laughter escaped through the tightness in her chest. “How refreshing that he's opted to be honest.”

Gabriel’s expression remained unchanged despite the insult to his brother’s character.

“I can understand why you’d think him dishonest, but Michael doesn’t make a habit of lying. He’s self-aware if nothing else and could be so much more, given the opportunity.”

“My Lord, if this is to be some Parliament-worthy speech about why I should simply give the lad a chance—complete with an emotionally devastating tale of young Michael, who rescued a wounded bird only to have his cruel mother declare that love and empathy were pointless burdens for his aristocratic heart—you may spare yourself the breath and me the irritation.”

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed, the sound deep and unrestrained. “Oh, well done, Gwen. I see my brother hasn’t exaggerated your attributes in the slightest… Although you’re wrong about the bird — Michael’s always been oddly disturbed by them. But the rest is true enough.”

The babe made a grab for Gabriel’s still-smiling lower lip, then giggled as though eager to join in his father’s laughter despite having no notion of the cause. Rather than shoo the chubby hand away, Gabriel caught it against his mouth and blew a noisy raspberry into the tiny palm, his smile broadening at the boy’s obvious delight.

As his son’s giggles subsided, Gabriel’s expression turned pensive once more.

“If you’ll allow it, I’m going to share a bit of family history with you.” Although his gaze remained fixed on his son, there was an unfocused quality to his expression that gave Gwen the impression he was offering up something tender and deeply private for her benefit. “I was actually raised as the eldest son and heir to the dukedom. Only recently did we discover the existence of my older brother, Oliver, the son of our late father’s first wife.”

Gwen fought to keep her expression neutral. What a blow that discovery must have been. Yet, as far as she could tell, Gabriel bore the loss with remarkable equanimity. He did not seem like a man grieving the lands and title he had been raised to inherit. Her respect for him rose another fraction as a result.