He wisely said nothing more.
For a moment, Dash only stared at them.
Then, slowly, the last of the fight left his shoulders.
“I suppose,” he said, dragging the words out as though each one cost him dearly, “there may be a few benefits to having one’s best friend marry one’s sister.”
Beatrice’s eyes brightened.
Dash pointed at Gideon, apparently seeing something similar in his own expression. “Do not look so relieved. I haven’t finished.”
“By all means.”
“You will make her happy.”
Gideon held his gaze. “Yes.”
“You will treat her with respect.”
“Of course.”
“And you will protect her from harm.”
“To the extent that she permits it, yes.”
Dash looked at Beatrice then. Whatever he saw in her face seemed to answer any remaining questions he still had.
His expression changed.
Softened.
“Then yes,” Dash said quietly. “You have my blessing.”
Beatrice drew in a quick breath.
Dash looked back at him, and now there was something almost rueful in his eyes. “And God help me, Hawk, I suppose I am glad of it.”
That, more than the blessing, nearly undid him.
EPILOGUE
Gideon had expected, perhaps foolishly, that after being shot, bandaged, interrogated, forgiven, and betrothed, he might be permitted a few short minutes to collect himself.
He ought to have known better.
Ambrosia had other plans.
“We should announce it tonight,” the new Duchess of Dasborough said, looking far too pleased for a woman whose wedding ball had very nearly included murder in the gardens.
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Tonight? Ambrosia, no. This is your celebration.”
“And announcing the betrothal between my sister and my husband’s dearest friend shall only improve it.” Ambrosia’s smile deepened. “Happiness is not a finite resource. When shared, it does not shrink—it grows.”
Dash, standing with a glass in one hand and his other arm around his wife’s waist, looked as though he had no objection whatsoever to any plan Ambrosia devised.
Besotted fool.
Gideon could hardly judge him.
