The young lord was pulled from the carriage and passed from one embrace to the next, with many exclamations.
The old woman said to Balthazar, “I’m the dowager baroness. That collection of raving lunatics are my daughter-in-law and Lady Edna’s parents. Do come in, Your Grace, and excuse the unorthodox greeting. We are all topsy-turvy here.”
Balthazar glanced down at Oyster, who had backed himself into a corner, eyes wide, teeth chattering together.
The dowager followed his gaze. “I’ll hazard a guess that interesting looking specimen is not your own.”
Balthazar nodded.
“Well, now, if that is my great-grandson’s dog, he’s welcome here.”
The party eventually managed to get back into the house, all surrounding the young Henry Conroy, otherwise known as Shrimps. Balthazar carried the shivering Oyster, lest he run off in a panic.
Everyone settled round a tea tray and after Balthazar gently hinted that their newly returned grandson had been through some difficulties and might require calm and quiet, they did subdue themselves.
Balthazar thought things were well in hand, as the dowager had taken the baron aside and had what seemed to be a confidential and rather cheerful conversation in a corner. He even heard the dowager say, “Shrimps? I like it, we’ll keep that between you and me.” Oyster had laid down between them and snored, exhausted from all the teeth chattering he’d managed to do all day.
While the dowager occupied the boy, Balthazar spoke at length to the family about what he knew of the young baron’s experiences, including the final adventure at Mondrian’s hands. They had been shocked to discover Mondrian still lived, suspected it had been he who had stolen a box of papers from the house, and were relieved that he’d been taken in by the authorities.
Having assured himself that all was as it should be, Balthazar took his leave. The newly-installed baron walked him out to his carriage.
“I think you’ll be all right here,” Balthazar said.
“I think so too,” the boy said. “The old lady, she is my Great Grandmama. She says she has the most sense of anybody in the house and she says she will teach me to read and that will be our excuse to closet ourselves away and eat cakes. She also says the dower house has a bedchamber all set up for me. I can go there whenever I want, mostly to get away from the talking. She says all my grandparents talk a lot and most of it is nonsense. She likes peace and quiet and I do too. Oh, and she says my tutors will be examined by her and anybody too sour will be sent packing. Also, Oyster likes her terrifically—he is a very good judge of people.”
Balthazar laughed. “I believe the dowager may be relied upon. Now, you are to write me about how you get on. You will get your own stationery with your crest on it and a ring to use as a seal too. You will sign these missives with your proper title. Henry Conroy, Baron Dedmont. It will take time to get used to it, but you will.”
“I guess you never know what will happen to you in life,” the boy said thoughtfully.
“No, you never really do,” Balthazar said.
After all, had he ever imagined that he would marry the lady who had just arranged her own kidnapping?
And yet, the day could not come soon enough.
*
Rosalind had ofcourse adored all the gowns that had been made for her season. But there had been one she had not worn. She’d held it back, certain it was to be her wedding dress.
It was the palest peach silk and quite unadorned, but for a Greek knot on each shoulder. It need not be any more adorned than it was. Especially as her father had gifted her a lovely diamond tiara and Conbatten’s valet, Henri, had consulted on the veil.
Henri had met Rosalind and Miss Mayton at a dress shop in Cavendish Square. There, he’d sniffed at various offerings, stared down the proprietor, and hinted that if the fellow had anything hidden in the back, he’d best go get it. He’d rounded the entire exchange off with noting that the Duke of Conbatten was to view the lace atop his bride’s head and the duke was very particular and had exquisite tastes.
At the mention of the duke, it seemed the proprietor did have something hidden away. A few pieces, actually. Rosalind knew instantly which she must have. An intricate pattern of roses.
The ceremony had been both frightening and thrilling. Conbatten had moved heaven and earth to secure the church on the proposed day and to secure it exclusively. There would be no other couples waiting their turn, as was so often the case at St. George’s. It had been packed to the rafters, and then of course, among the crowd, the queen and her ladies had taken up all of the front row.
Rosalind had never had so many eyes upon her!
Though she was so known for her courage, she’d trembled as she walked down the aisle.
But then, Conbatten had been waiting for her at the altar. Her nerves fled when she reached him. Her beautiful, marvelous Conbatten.
The vows were exchanged and Conbatten produced a lovely gold wedding ring, engraved in the same thyme design as her ruby ring.
Rosalind walked out of the church as Her Grace, the Duchess of Conbatten. She was not really cognizant of that, though. Amongst the cheers of well-wishers, she walked out of the church as the wife of Conbatten. That was the point.
They had decided between them that a Venetian breakfast would take place at the duke’s residence. His rooms were larger, so they said to the earl. Really, she and Conbatten thought it would be far easier to slip away. As soon as the queen had departed, they would disappear too.
