Cap chuckled and looked remarkably at ease in the wingback chair he sat in. “Well, when put that way, I suppose it should have more pomp.”
“No,” Rogue grunted. “Not even a little, Cap.”
Jeremy smiled, his eyes moving to the door, just beyond which, his bride was mingling with the few guests they had been able to coerce back to London so long after the Season had ended.
It had been a full five weeks since their engagement, which was longer than usual, but for some reason, Lady Riverton had insisted on seeing to Helen’s trousseau along with Mrs. Dalton, and so the fuss had gotten in the way of a timely ceremony by usual Society standards.
Jeremy hadn’t minded, especially not now that Helen was his wife. Not now that he felt full to the brim with all the joy and contentment in the world.
There hadn’t been anything wanting in his life before this, but at the moment, he felt as though there had been a void that was now filled.
“Oh, look at that smile,” his brother drawled, his teasing tone an unusual one for him. “One would think he’s besotted.”
“Think?” Gent laughed, clapping John on the back. “He’s more far gone than any of us ever were!”
Jeremy turned to look at the roomful of men and bowed a little. “And gladly do I accept such a title, and more gladly will I wear it. My wife will be more envied than any of yours for having such a husband, and you’ll all spend the rest of your days desperately trying to match us.”
They all laughed at that, though Rogue’s was in derision.
Having seen Rogue and Amelia together, there was a fair bit of competition there. Actually, all of them were shockingly devoted to their wives, and it would be a struggle to match any, let alone surpass them.
Well, except for John.
“And now we just have to find a bride for Sphinx,” Jeremy pointed out as he sipped his beverage once more.
His brother skewered him with a cold look as the others all rounded on him.
Jeremy knew better. If John married, it would surprise both of them. He was too reserved and reclusive, and any wife of his would have to measure up to his intellect and let him have that reserve.
There weren’t many of those, as far as they knew.
Helen had already decided to put her mind to it, and John was properly warned, but he liked Helen so much that he might permit her interference.
To a point.
“Where did Fritz get to?” Cap asked aloud as he rose with a groan. “I know he was here, we sat by him and Lady Rothchild.”
“Not sure,” Jeremy admitted, looking out the door. “He said he’d… Oh, here he is now.”
Weaver approached the study with determined steps, eyes lowered, his face set.
Jeremy’s stomach dropped, and his mind raced. He couldn’t have anything disastrous on his wedding day. He couldn’t. He needed this day for Helen, for both of them, some time to just be before the danger in his life reached him again.
Weaver gave no indication of his thoughts as he entered the room, but he lifted his eyes to them all and shut the door softly behind him.
“Weaver?” Cap prodded, his tone formal and businesslike, while the rest of them stood almost at attention.
Weaver stared at him a long moment, then looked over at Jeremy. “I am sorry to do this on your wedding day, Rook, but word has just reached me, and I don’t know when the next opportunity would be to share this.”
“Share? Share what?”
The entire room seemed to hold its breath, eyes fixed on this particular Shopkeeper, one of their leaders, and the one who seemed almost one of their own at times.
Weaver exhaled, swallowed, then raised his chin.
“Trace is alive.”
About the Author
Rebecca Connolly has been creating stories since she was young, and there are home videos to prove it. She started writing them down in elementary school and has never looked back. She lives in Ohio, spends every spare moment away from her day job absorbed in her writing, and is a hot cocoa junkie.
Coming Soon
The London League
Book Five
“Nothing but a trace remains...”
by
Rebecca Connolly
By Hook or By Rook (London League, Book 4) Page 19
