“Perish the thought.” He could not help but consider how one went about begetting the offspring that would make Caroline a mother, however. With smooth strength, he scooped her into his lap, eliciting a startled yelp.
Her surprise short-lived, Caroline twined her arms about his neck. “Whatever are you about, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
His grin widened. She had a fine figure, his wife, and eyes that sparkled with expectation. “I do not want you to worry that kiss was only for show.”
“I certainly hope it was not,” Caroline said and kissed him.
This time it was a knock on the carriage door that halted them, and Richard raised his head with considerable reluctance. The knock sounded again, but he imagined his father’s footmen knew better than to actually open the door.
Caroline reached up to smooth his hair. “I do love you, Richard.”
“Certainly you do. I am very lovable.”
“And so modest.”
“That as well.”
Her arms still about his neck, she met his gaze squarely, waiting.
Richard kissed her again, softer. “I love you too, Caroline.” He cupped her face. “My life would be far less full without you.” He thought of the endless missions for Padgett. How important and yet unfulfilling they’d become. Of years away from England and his family, fighting for King and Country, and years more secretly in England, but hidden from them. With a sudden lack of levity he said, “I do not know where life would be taking me now if I had not convinced Bingley to bring you in on our ruse.”
“I do not know either, but in a far less entertaining direction, undoubtedly.” She shifted from his lap and began checking her gown. “How is my hair?”
“Stunning.”
With a laugh, she raised her gaze heavenward. “I should have brought a mirror.”
A third knock sounded.
“And I should have brought a pistol,” Richard muttered, then flung open the door.
The footman jumped back, quickly covering his surprise with a bow. “Colonel.”
Richard climbed out, then offered Caroline his hand. Once he had her on his arm, he turned to the footman. “Peter, is it not?”
The man bowed again. “Yes, sir.”
“You are doing a fine job.”
“Thank you, sir,” Peter said, clearly nervous that Richard knew his name.
Little did Peter know, Richard made certain to know the name of every member of the staff of any house in which he resided. Their names. Where they came from. If they were reasonably trustworthy.
While in Netherfield Park he’d learned that, despite her airs, Caroline did the same. Just one of the many wonders of hermind and her way of viewing the world, that made her the perfect wife for him.
“Shall we go charm my father’s peers?” he asked, gesturing to the formidable front steps of the Earl of Matlock’s London house.
Caroline had re-donned her besotted, blushing expression. “Whatever you like, my husband.”
Marshaling his own features to hide his amusement, Richard escorted Caroline in.
Having made a detour to London on their way from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire, where Elizabeth would see her new home for the first time, she and Fitzwilliam strode arm in arm into what was certain to be the wedding breakfast of the Season, trailed by Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley. Matlock House, one of the larger homes in London, was impressive enough in architecture and décor alone, but decorated for a wedding, the halls and parlors appeared fairytale-lovely. Having been to Jane’s wedding breakfast months ago, Elizabeth readily saw the former Miss Bingley’s expert touch in the vines, crystals, ribbons, and flowers that wrapped columns, turned doorways into archways of blooms, and graced every tabletop. The occasional awed face, as well, spoke of the success of the decorations.
“This is breathtaking,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is as if we have entered the fey realm.”
“Are you regretting our simple affair?” Fitzwilliam asked with a note of worry.
Elizabeth smiled up at him. “Never. Our small wedding and breakfast were perfection. For whom would we have put on such a show? Fortunately, we do not need to impress a room full of nobles.”
