by Sue London
He stood and held out his hand to her. “Would you care to repair to the balcony?”
She nodded and took his hand. The warmth of his touch was both comforting and thrilling. He led her to the balustrade and trapped her between the railing and himself. She could feel the heat of him against her back as she looked out at the stars.
“Do you have a favorite star?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.
She laughed. “Not particularly.”
“All right, then which one do you think is the prettiest?”
She looked out at the blanket of stars. “Hmm. That one,” she said, pointing. “The brightest star in Lynx.”
“You mean this one?” He reached past her pointing hand and made a plucking motion. When he brought his hand back he presented a ring to her.
Even in the dim light she could see that it was an outrageously lovely ring. A large light-colored stone surrounded by smaller stones. She wasn’t sure what it meant. It could mean everything. It could mean nothing. “Thank you,” she said, making sure to infuse her voice with delight. But she wasn’t feeling delight, it was something more like panic as her mind warred over whether it was a gift to a beloved mistress… or something more.
“You aren’t very good at hints, are you?”
She refused to permit her hopes to rise. Refused. But she could feel a bubble of hope already. “What do you mean?”
He sighed and moved so that he was standing next to her. He still held onto the ring. “What is your middle name?”
Now she was confused. “What?”
“What is your middle name?” he repeated patiently.
“Tündér.”
“I’m sorry, it’s what?”
“Tündér. It was one of my grandmother’s names.” When he raised a brow at her she said, “It’s Hungarian. It means fairy.”
He chuckled, apparently amused. “Of course it does.” She wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended.
Then he gently took her left hand in his and sank to one knee. She felt her heart start to race, her breathing quicken.
“Sabrina Tündér Bittlesworth, would you do me the great honor of being my wife? My duchess?”
She felt lightheaded and her throat was choked with impending tears of joy. She wasn’t sure she could speak.
“It’s customary to give an answer,” Quince prompted.
“Yes,” she whispered. He slipped the ring onto her finger with a smile and then rose to kiss her.
Chapter Forty-One
Quince awoke with something tickling his nose. Sabre was sleeping with her back pressed against him. He smoothed her hair and then let his hand wander over her shoulder to the dip of her waist and on to the flare of her hip. His beautiful, beautiful fiancée. He should make it official by talking to Robert. But then again they had already negotiated. If he wasn’t mistaken he should get two of Charlie’s best carriage horses, as well. Of course, that was if he took her as his mistress. As a wife there was most likely a dowry. Hopefully it would be enough to give her some spending money. One of his greatest fears for their marriage was not being able to provide for her in the style she was accustomed to. Although she seemed more than capable of making do when necessary, what he had seen of her wardrobe indicated a wealth that he did not currently possess.
She stirred in her sleep, rolling over to snuggle against him. He wasn’t sure if she was truly awake until she kissed his chest and gave a contented sigh.
He kissed her temple. “Good morning, love.”
Her lips turned up in a smile although her eyes were still closed. “Good morning, love.”
“Will you be ready to travel today?”
“Of course.”
He trailed a finger over the silken skin on her arm. “Would you mind…”
She opened her eyes and gave him a saucy smile. “Probably not.”
He chuckled. “I was going to ask if you would draft letters for me to sign, but perhaps your idea is more interesting.”
She sat up. “I would be happy to. What time is it? Should we do that now?”
“You realize you’re rather exhaustingly industrious, don’t you?”
She poked him in the ribs. “And we’re lucky I am if you can’t even be bothered to draft your own letters.”
He caught her hand to keep her from poking at him again and raised her fingers to his lips for a kiss. He frowned briefly. “If we want to leave today it would be best to leave the writing to you.”
She teased, “Do you sit waiting for your Muse to whisper in your ear?”
“No. I…” Quince paused. It was difficult to talk about. “I’ve never written or read very well. It’s odd. I’m much better off hearing information than reading it. Sad, because I happen to adore poetry.”
Her brows drew down. “But you left me a note once. It seemed to be in a fine hand.”
He smiled briefly. “I didn’t want to wake you for fear that you would insist on going with me. But what you could have dashed off in mere seconds took me almost five minutes.”
She frowned. “Oh. That’s why you have Gideon oversee your accounts, isn’t it?”
“Part of the reason. He’s also brilliant at it. Why struggle with something for hours that he can do ten times as well in mere moments?”
“Is that fair to him, though?”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’ve stayed with them. Gideon works endlessly. Are you sure he has time to oversee your accounts?”
Quince frowned. “He’s never complained about it.”
Sabre sighed. “Yes, your grace.”
“That is becoming horribly effective. If you think I’m being ridiculous what do you suggest I do?”
“Obviously I will need to work toward taking over the role from Gideon. You need do very little other than support your wife’s authority over the estates and accounts.”
He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Sabrina.”
That made her beam at him again. “I will most likely enjoy it.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But this morning we have letters to write, packets to prepare, and trunks to pack. That means you need to get up.”
“Exhaustingly industrious,” he repeated.
“Your insults will find no purchase on me. Arise before I decide to do something dire.”
It had been some time since Sabre had experienced butterflies, but apparently the thought of meeting Quince’s mother made her nervous. As soon as the carriage had rolled to a stop she had felt tightness in her chest and jumpiness in her belly. Quince was understandably distracted by his need to check on his family, but he did take a moment to squeeze her hand as he helped her down from the carriage. She gave him a smile that she hoped was as bright and supportive as she meant it to be.
The front door opened before they had gained the top step and a butler bowed them into the foyer. Almost immediately a boy raced out from the hallway.
“Quince!”
The duke caught the lad up in a hug. “Hullo, Thomas.”
“Hullo, Quince. I told them it was you, but they didn’t believe me.”
Sabre saw movement in the hallway and a woman and young man emerged. There was indeed no denying that this was Quincy Telford’s mother. Their hair was almost precisely the same shade. The shape of the face, the arch of their eyebrows. She even moved in a similar way.
The look she gave her son was one of pure adoration. “Quincy! You weren’t expected. What a lovely surprise.” She kissed his cheek.
If Quincy looked exactly like his mother, then the young man next to her must look more like their father. He was broader of face with a more saturnine countenance. The duke extended a hand to him. “Jeremy.”
“Quince,” he said, shaking hands with his brother, “so good to see you.” His voice was surprisingly melodious, especially for his age. Her younger brother Justin struggled to keep his voice from cracking at inopportune times.
Then the duke was looking at her and holding out his han
d for her to step forward. Once she had, he said, “Mother, I would like for you to meet Miss Sabrina Bittlesworth, my fiancée. Sabre, my mother, the Duchess of Beloin.”
Sabre curtsied. “Your grace.”
Quince stifled a snort and his mother looked at him curiously for a moment before turning her attention back to Sabre. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. These are my other sons, Jeremy and Thomas.”
Both of them bowed and Sabre curtsied again in return.
“Quince,” his mother said, “I’m sure the boys would love to show you the model of Bath they have been building.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes, clearly indicating that he was far too mature to have found model building interesting. But Thomas lit up with enthusiasm and started pulling on Quince’s hand. “Oh yes! You should see it! Jeremy has done all the fine bits, but I’ll show you the parts I did.”
Within seconds Sabre was alone in the foyer with the duchess.
“We can have a nice coze,” the older woman said, threading her arm through Sabre’s and leading her down the hallway at a leisurely pace. “How was your journey? Did you come from London?”
Sabre wasn’t sure if the duchess was just being idly friendly or hoping to elicit some desired information. Perhaps both. “The weather was lovely for our drive, although it is hard to leave London this time of year. So many social obligations.”
The duchess sighed and patted Sabre’s arm. “Is your mother in residence then? I should call on her for congratulations.”
“She… She isn’t receiving callers just now.” Having spent so much time with Quince, Sabre was able to see the subtle signs of the duchess’s withdrawal.
“Of course. I don’t go to London often at any rate.”
Sabre stopped and turned to the duchess, taking both of her hands. “Please, your grace, don’t think it is you.” She looked up and down the hallway, and then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Would you like to hear a secret?”
The duchess seemed amused, with a furrowed brow and curious smile. She nodded.
Still whispering Sabre said, “My family doesn’t know I’m engaged yet.”
“But…” The duchess, realizing she was using a normal tone also dropped her voice to a whisper. “But then you aren’t really engaged.”
Sabre arched her brow. “My father has fled to the continent pending legal issues and my older brother knows that if he tries to deny me this that I will run him through. There are no other formalities to consider.”
The duchess burst out with a delighted laugh.
“However,” Sabre said, “I do think that my mother would take the news best directly from me. Even though she has been expecting it.”
“I think you and I shall get along splendidly. And I will wait until you tell me I can call on your mother.”
“Thank you. I just… I knew that you had been a bit isolated here and didn’t want you think…”
“That was very kind of you, dearest,” the duchess said, continuing to lead her down the hallway. They entered a lovely and intimate parlor. The house wasn’t particularly large, but had a comfort and grace to be envied. “Perhaps a spot of tea?”
“Thank you, that would be wonderful.”
Sabre sat and continued to look around the room. It was filled with art, soft fabrics, and furniture that one could sink into. The colors were muted and blended together in a gentle palette. Not at all a typical modern English parlor. It reminded her of the subtle grandeur she had once seen at a castle she had visited.
The duchess smiled. “This is where our family hides away from the world when we can.”
“I like it,” Sabre said. “Very much.”
“Tell me about yourself, Miss Bittlesworth.”
“What would you like to know?”
The duchess thanked the young woman who brought in their tea and then began to pour. “Oh, I don’t know. What are your hobbies and interests? What is your family like?”
Sabre accepted her cup. “You probably deserve a more candid answer than the one I would give most of the ton.”
“I might appreciate that, yes.”
“Quince and I came to know each other over our shared love of fencing.”
“Oh! That’s an unusual sport for a lady. Bravo to you, dear!”
“Thank you.”
“Do you practice it or only admire the sport?”
“I practice it. Although of late I have not been spending the time on it as I should.”
“No? What have you been doing instead?”
Sabre realized the trap she had accidentally designed for herself and thought quickly to keep from admitting that Quince had been her primary diversion. “Traveling. My brother was indulgent enough to take me on his Tour with him and we spent eight months on the continent.”
“How unusual. Was it just the two of you?”
“My mother went as well.” Sabre laughed as she recalled, “Charlie, my brother, said she was all that stood between me and conquering at least one small nation on our travels.”
The duchess laughed again. “Quince told you just what to say to entertain me, didn’t he?”
“No, but he did say that he thought we would find an accord.”
“Indeed! I wish that I’d had half your confidence and experience at your age.”
Sabre frowned. “It couldn’t have been easy, being married to the duke.”
The duchess paused. “No, of course not. But we shan’t dwell on it.”
“Quince tells me that you hold a salon.”
“Yes, each week. It will be tomorrow night.”
“How fortuitous! He also told me that you dislike Gideon Wolfe, something I must approve of. Although I find that Gideon is growing on me.”
The duchess scowled. “Probably for the best, since I find Quincy to be immovable on the subject of his friend.”
“Gideon happens to have married my best friend. As Jack is also stubborn on the subject of her husband, it does seem that my best course of action is to make do.”
“I wish you the best of luck on that, dear, as I find him to be odiously overbearing. Is that how you met Quincy, then, through your friends?”
“Strangely, no. They had planned to introduce us at their ball but we met at my brother’s house before that.”
“Then I suppose it was meant to be.”
“You believe in fate?”
The duchess’s fingers worried the corner of the throw pillow next to her. “Not necessarily. But as I’ve aged I’ve begun to wonder. There is often more afoot in the world than I can account for.”
The boys came tumbling in at that point. Thomas had to tell his mother every detail of what Quince had asked about the model and how it had been answered. The duchess was finally able to distract him with tea and biscuits. Jeremy asked polite questions such as one expected at a tea, to which Sabre gave her more usual answers. The duke was quiet but seemed to be enjoying the intimate family scene. It reminded Sabre of spending time with the Walters. Jack’s family had been her model of what a close, loving family looked like.
As their light repast wound to a close and the duchess set to ensuring that her guests were housed, Sabre was reminded that she would be spending the nights here without Quince’s company. This would need to be a short engagement, she thought. Being constantly separated from him for propriety would shortly become tiresome.
Chapter Forty-Two
Quince waved away his valet. It wasn’t like this was a formal London ball, just his mother’s salon of bluestockings from the region. Sabre had convinced him that they shouldn’t talk to his mother about Draco’s identity yet, lest it should make her nervous and tip their hand if he should be there tonight. His fiancée remained convinced that she could recognize him. And Quince himself was convinced that he would recognize the voice again.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” his brother asked.
Quince looked over to where Jeremy was sitting in a chair near the window, holding a book he had been readin
g until he lost patience. The most entertaining part of staying at his mother’s house was that she didn’t particularly treat him as a duke. While here he roomed with his brother and received very little special treatment, but a lot of familial affection. As much as he enjoyed spending time with his family, he missed being alone with his fiancée. Last night Sabre was in Jessica’s room. It had been difficult not to go to her, but he couldn’t imagine anything more beastly than making love in his sister’s bed. And no matter his intentions he was sure that if he went to her that is exactly what they would end up doing. Of course, he didn’t have to imagine more beastly things, he had read about them. Had some of that documentation with him now.
“Perhaps,” he replied drily. In some ways his relationship with Jeremy was strained. The young man had grown up as the oldest brother, the man of the house. Having an older brother appear, and a duke no less, after all those years seemed to be a source of some frustration. But he would grant Jeremy that the young man was generally respectful. “You could go down without me, you know.”
“Then they would only ask me where you are. Why invite that?”
“Why indeed? Fortunately I find myself ready.”
Jeremy set his book aside and rose.
“One thing,” Quince said.
Jeremy stopped and waited with an expectant look on his face.
The duke took a deep breath. It was hard to know exactly how much information to trust Jeremy with. But as of the prior week he was Quince’s heir. It was possible that Quince owed him all the details. If not now, then later. “There could be unpleasantness this evening. It would mean a great deal to me if you would ensure that mother and Sabre are safe.”
