‘Really?’ Henry frowned at his friend as if his words were difficult to understand. ‘Don’t you feel as if you simply must be joined by children, a family of your own? Gwen and I certainly do.’
‘That’s because you’re in love,’ Jacob said, surprised to be having such a conversation with his jaded, cynical friend.
‘Yes, we are,’ Henry said, looking over at his bride. ‘As I said, who would think the two most unlikely men in London would fall in love?’
Henry had once again adopted that smitten expression. He was certain that he never looked at Margaret in that manner. Did he?
‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he asked, keeping his voice as detached as possible. ‘What makes you assume I am in love with Margaret?’
Henry turned his attention back to his friend. ‘It’s that soppy way you kept looking at her. I recognised it immediately. And when old Fenshaw joined you I could see how much you wanted to get away from him. I pointed it out to Gwendolen and she agreed. You’re a reformed man. Just like me. Love has changed you. Even when you were talking to Helena, a woman reputed to be one of the most attractive in London, you looked no more distracted by her appearance than you would be if you were talking to your maiden aunt.’
Soppy? Really? Jacob doubted that, but before he could contradict his friend, Gwendolen joined them.
‘I was disappointed that your wife left before I had a chance to talk to her,’ she said to Jacob.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. She was called away suddenly.’
‘It must have been very urgent for her to leave your side,’ Gwendolen said, a note of suspicion in her voice.
Hardly. She could visit her friends at any time. That wasn’t the urgency. The urgency was to get away from him.
‘I hope nothing is wrong,’ Gwendolen continued. ‘And I do hope we can all get together once my husband and I return from our honeymoon.’
She smiled at Henry, obviously enjoying referring to him as her husband. ‘As I said to my husband earlier, apart from ourselves, I have never seen two people who are more in love or more right for each other than the two of you. My husband might not have noticed it at his weekend party, but the other debutantes saw it immediately. Margaret was besotted with you, just as you were with her.’
Jacob tried to make sense of her words, but it was as if she was suddenly speaking a foreign language. That was not how he remembered their time together at Henry’s weekend party.
‘And when we saw you swooning over each other at the church today it was obvious your time together had caused that love to grow,’ Gwendolen continued.
‘No, we’re—’
‘So, whatever little spat the two of you have had, fix it, because Henry and I want to have friends who are happily married and just as in love with each other as we are.’ She looked over at the rest of Henry’s friends, who were now being corralled towards the door by the footmen. ‘And I think it might be a while before any of those men are struck by Cupid’s arrow.’
‘But—’
‘And it would be a tragedy if the two of you fell out during our wedding.’ She sent Henry a sly smile. ‘You wouldn’t want to ruin our happy day, would you?’
Jacob had no answer for that.
‘So, off you go then,’ Gwendolen added, making the same shooing motions Helena had done with Fenshaw. ‘Go and make it up with your wife.’
It was apparent that Henry was not the only person to be changed by love, as this woman was certainly not the reserved and compliant young woman that Margaret had described.
But were they right? If someone as unlikely as Henry could be changed by love, was it also possible that he too could be? Could he become a man who Margaret could love? There was only one way to find out.
‘Off you go,’ Gwendolen repeated.
Following the bride’s instructions, he left the room, a small spark of hope flaring inside him. He wasn’t sure if he could fix things between him and Margaret, but he had to try, because if he didn’t he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jacob hurried out of the house, ignoring the rowdy calls from his friends to join them, jumped into his carriage and gave the driver instructions to make haste to Margaret’s parents’ house.
A footman opened the door. Jacob pushed past him and entered the drawing room, not waiting to be announced.
Both parents looked up at him over half-moon glasses, the father from a newspaper, the mother from her embroidery.
‘Is she here?’
