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“What do you have that I do not?” Peter asked, trying to sound aggrieved. He did not wait for an answer but gave way to Uncle André, who called Bertrand a lucky dog and unashamedly hugged him.

His father spoke again when the noise had subsided somewhat and everyone had resumed their seats.

“The Dowager Countess of Stratton absolutely insists upon a grand family wedding at Ravenswood,” he said. “Fortunately, she has no opposition from me. Or from Stephanie or my son, I understand. Weddings are indeed for families as well as for the bride and groom.”

If only weddings would plan themselves, Bertrand thought ruefully when they finally retired from the dining room, the gentlemen as well as the ladies, and he took Stephanie by the hand and led her to the conservatory. Only a scant half of the evening remained. Tomorrow she would return to Ravenswood to organize their wedding with the help of her mother and the Countess of Stratton, her sister-in-law.

He was envious of Geoffrey Cobb, who would have Maria’s company for a little longer as she stayed here to discuss their wedding with Estelle and Ann Cobb before returning to Everleigh Park to complete the arrangements.

He shut the door of the conservatory behind them and took Stephanie in his arms.

“Dash it all,” he said, “but I wish this was not the final night.”

“It is not final,” she said. “Just the start of a new life, Bertrand. A final night was the one at Christmas, especially as you had just agreed that I was buxom and all those other things. But even that turned out not to be the end.”

“Thank God for Vauxhall and coincidences,” he said, holding her closer.

“And for Captain Paulson’s shocking bad manners, bless his heart,” she said.

“May I make the same request of you as the one Cobb made of Maria?” he said. “Will you set our wedding for the earliest possible date?”

“I will,” she said. “I wish it could be tomorrow, but that is not possible, is it?”

“Even a dash for the border and Gretna Green would take longer, I am afraid,” he said. “Tell me you will miss me.”

She sighed and closed her arms tightly about him.

“I will,” she said. “But I will be busy. And I will look forward to that glorious day when you come to Ravenswood and be with me forever.”

“And then I will bring you home to stay,” he said.

Tomorrow was going to be an agony. But he must remember the miracle of having persuaded her at long last to trust him and love him. To marry him. Tomorrow he must hold to the happiness of knowing she was leaving him in order to return home to plan their wedding.

It was a dizzying thought.

“I love you, Bertrand,” she whispered.

“I am a mite fond of you too, my love,” he said, and kissed her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stephanie’s wedding was set for the middle of September, just far enough into the future for the invitations to be sent out and answered but not too far to stop Winifred and Nicholas from coming. There would still be two months to go before her expected confinement.

“Though if I were feeling any healthier and more filled with energy,” Winifred wrote, “I would be dangerous. Nicholas is such a love. He worries about me constantly. But I would not stop him from attending your wedding with the rest of the family, and wild horses could not keep me away. How terribly, terribly excited I am for you and Bertrand. I cannot imagine two people more right for each other.”

There was a great deal of preparation to be done after the invitations had been written and sent out, not least being the decision of where all the guests would stay. Ravenswood was large and spacious and could accommodate everyone at a push, but allotting rooms would take some thought and ingenuity. All the Westcotts would surely come since they considered Bertrand to be one of them. Indeed, any of them would have stared with blank surprise at anyone who pointed out that he was merely the son of the man who had married the woman who had once been bigamously married to the late, unlamented Humphrey Westcott, Earl of Riverdale. Of course Viola was a member of the family, they would have protested. She had, in all good faith, given them Camille and Harry and Abigail, undisputed Westcotts, had she not, and put up with the late Humphrey’s villainies during all the years she had believed herself to be his wife and countess? And of course Marcel, Marquess of Dorchester, Viola’s present husband, was therefore one of them. Bertrand and Estelle were unquestionably of their number too as his offspring. It would all be a matter of simple logic to the family.

The guest list on Bertrand’s side also included the uncle and aunt who had raised him, their son and daughter and their spouses, the marquess’s brother, and his sister with her family.

Stephanie’s mother decided that Aunt Kitty and Uncle George, her brother, would stay at the cottage by the river with her and Matthew. So would Pippa and Lucas and their children.

Sir Ifor and Lady Rhys, the Wares’ closest neighbors, expressed an eagerness to open their home to some of the guests. So did Baron and Lady Rutledge and Colonel and Miss Wexford. All three offers were accepted. Ben made his own arrangements for his family to stay at the home of Cam Holland, the village blacksmith, an old friend of his. The Misses Miller, longtime owners of the village shop, were quick to invite Ben’s aunt, having made her acquaintance at a fete several years ago and corresponded with her ever since. Owen would happily stay with his uncle Charles Ware, especially as Clarence, his cousin and close friend, would be there too for the occasion.

Bertrand, at his own request, and to the consternation of Gwyneth and Devlin, had asked if he might stay in the rooms above the smithy where Matthew Taylor had lived and worked for many years before marrying Stephanie’s mother. He still had his workshop there. The living quarters were tiny but cozy and overlooked the village green. They would be used for the wedding night too, though several of Stephanie’s relatives had suggested more spacious and glamorous alternatives. Stephanie agreed with Bertrand, however. She could not imagine a more intimate, romantic setting for her wedding night.

A large number of people jumped into action to help with the wedding plans. Everyone loved a wedding, after all. And of course everyone loved Stephanie, though she was somewhat oblivious to the fact. Devlin and Gwyneth, delighted to have a large wedding to host, looked after the hiring of extra staff to help with everything from cooking meals to cleaning rooms to grooming horses and tending carriages. Sir Ifor Rhys held longer-than-usual choir practices at the church, instilling in his choristers the need to achieve nothing short of perfection for the wedding of their beloved Stephanie, though it would have to be done with the absence of her voice. Eluned Rhys offered to do the floral arrangements at the church with a few other ladies and consulted with Stephanie about her preferences. The Misses Miller washed and starched and ironed the altar cloths from the church. Mrs. Proctor, the village dressmaker, made Stephanie’s wedding gown even though Devlin had tried to persuade his sister to go to London and a more fashionable modiste. Mrs. Proctor made all her clothes, Stephanie had said, even the more recent, figure-flattering ones, and she had always done a perfectly satisfactory job of them.

Stephanie puzzled for a while over whom she would have as her bridesmaid. Her nieces were too numerous to ask them all, and most of them were rather young anyway. She had no unmarried sister and no one friend closer than any other. She ended up asking Joy, the eldest of her nieces, and remembered that at Devlin and Gwyneth’s wedding, when she herself had been the bridesmaid, Joy had been a flower girl, all tiny, bouncing energy clad in pink froth. Now she was a long-legged, pretty, very slender girl—everything Stephanie had wished to be at her age—hovering on the brink of young ladyhood.