“There cannot be two of them,” Viola said, her tone hinting that she was rather fearful that there might be.
“I am here. And can hear you,” Van Doren said.
Darden raised his glass. “To Beatrice and Van Doren.”
The breakfast went on merrily for over an hour. Much discussion was had regarding the wedding trip. They were to stay across the road overnight, and then set off for Venice as Beatrice understood it was the most romantic city on earth.
Van Doren declared if he did not at least once stand up in a gondola, tearing at his hair and threatening to send himself over the side and into the murky waters of the canal he would not be worthy of the trip.
Miss Mayton did, of course, point out how often those sorts of gambits could go terribly, and permanently, awry.
Finally, the looks exchanged between husband and wife could not fail to be understood by everybody.
The family walked the couple to the front doors, the earl kissed his daughter, and they were off. They ran across the wide avenue of Portland Place, dodging a carriage as they went.
Genroy had been on the lookout for the viscount and his bride, and had the doors open at their approach.
“Lady Van Doren,” he said, “welcome.”
Beatrice thrilled at the address. Lady Van Doren.
“Come, Viscountess,” her lord said, and they ran up the stairs together, scandalizing the servants.
Of course, once the bedchamber doors closed, Beatrice was rather scandalized herself.
What a man he was, with his shirt off. She’d thrown no end of handkerchiefs in the pond over the years to see if he would take it off and dive in, though he never had.
He had her in her arms. “I do not like to crease your dress,” he whispered.
“There’s nothing to be done about it,” Beatrice said, not caring a jot for her dress.
“Oh yes there is,” he said.
And so, Viscountess Van Doren discovered just how interesting it could be to have a dress off, rather than on.
Chapter Twenty-One
On the nightof his wedding, Matthew supposed he ought to have been stern with his servants and inform them that they were to stop their smirking at once.
He did not do it, though. They were all so clearly delighted with Lady Van Doren and tiptoeing around that first night so as not to disturb.
They had left the wedding breakfast to go just across the road and then scandalized the household by not even stopping to properly introduce the new viscountess to the servants before they ran up the stairs.
It could not have been helped, of course.
They had stayed up there for hours, only coming down when they really thought they must and not looking very well put together at that.
Lynette was to come on the wedding trip to dress Beatrice, but she would not arrive to the house until morning and so Matthew had done his best with the array of buttons involved in his lady’s gown.
Finally, and disheveled, they had come down for dinner. The staff were all red-faced and he supposed he was too.
Shrimps and Oyster had at least provided a distraction from it. The dog escaped the kitchens and bounded up the stairs to discover what might be on the dining table. Shrimps was shortly behind, wailing in anticipation of being thrown to the road on account of it.
The boy and the dog were speedily whisked away in what was becoming a routine in the household.
He and Beatrice had not stayed downstairs for long, just enough time to eat and take a bottle of wine back up with them.
Now, they were in Venice, lazing the days away and lingering over dinner.
