“Your arrival couldn’t be better timed,” Grace said. “I am to give my first entertainment here at Raven’s Court three days from now. How nice it will be to have family attend. I will have the staff make up your rooms.”
Cassandra laughed without humor. “Have you not got to know my brother yet? We would be about as welcome as the plague.”
“We are staying at the Langham Hotel,” Penelope said hastily. “It is your honeymoon, after all.”
Grace tried not to let her relief show. “You must do as you like, of course. But rooms at Raven’s Court are yours whenever you wish to use them.” She took her place on the settee to preside over the teapot, deftly switching the subject. “Have you had any news from The Willows since I have been gone?”
“Indeed we have,” Simon volunteered. “Will has brought your brothers to visit our stables several times, and we’ve had quite a bang-up time together. They’ve promised to help me cut down the tree for Everdene’s annual Christmas fete.”
She beamed, gratitude welling up inside her thinking how healing it would be for the boys to find themselves enfolded into a larger, loving family. “That is so kind of you, Simon.”
Penelope’s eyes sparkled. “He and our Kit are two of a kind. Dear Kit was toddling after a dormouse in the barn the other day. I live in fear of the day he’s nimble enough to catch one.”
Grace smiled at the antics of Simon and Pen’s adorable little son. Kit would be cousin to the child she now carried. Would they become fast friends? She imagined the pair at Bennet’s age, racing around the lovely parklands as Simon and Lucien once had, climbing in the hayloft, learning to ride on twin ponies.
“As for Christmas,” Penelope continued, “I am quite determined this year’s celebration will be the most delightful we have ever held.” She selected a little cake and took a bite. “All of the crofters will come, and our neighbors. And you and Lucien, if you are able.”
Grace thought how precious that would be, her first Christmas as Lucien’s wife, familiar faces gathered around, children bobbing for apples and playing games like snapdragon. Would her own child be part of those traditions once he or she was born? “It sounds lovely.”
Simon slid an arm around his wife. “Speaking of family traditions, is Lucien off at his offices in Westminster?”
“No. He and Arkwright have gone to examine conditions at Pinchbeck’s factory.”
Cassandra’s lips pursed. “Looking for ways to squeeze more money out of the people who work there, are they?”
“Quite the opposite,” Grace protested, stung. “He has gone to see the conditions workers are laboring under.”
A strange expression came over Cassandra’s face. “I’m sorry…you were talking about Lucien, were you not?”
Grace nodded, then regaled them with the story of how they met Sibby Rose and Scrap, and their visit on returning little Sibby home the day after the riot. “Of course, you should have seen the look on your brother’s face when Scrap climbed into Lucien’s arms like a wee monkey and pilfered his pocket watch.” Her voice trailed off at the realization that Lucien’s family was staring at her.
Suddenly Simon burst out laughing. “I would have paid good coin to see that,” he said.
Penelope’s eyes sparkled, and small smile played about Jane’s mouth, the first Grace had seen on her since her return. Cassandra, however, looked at Grace as if she suddenly sproutedhorns. “Pray tell what any of that has to do with his visit to Pinchbeck’s factory?”
“The children’s father, Mr. Nolan, was fired from his job two years ago for interfering when the foreman beat a child. He left London in search of work and has been missing ever since. Lucien has gone to find out what he can.”
“Lucien, you say?” Cassandra gave something of a scoff.
If nothing else, the story seemed to ease the tension and Grace managed to keep the conversation flowing until, at last, she heard noise in the corridor, then the familiar rumble of Lucien’s baritone. She flushed and excused herself, hurrying out to meet him and shutting the parlor door behind her.
Her heart squeezed at the sight of her handsome husband. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled as he shed his cloak and high-crowned hat. His cravat had wilted, his usually pristine frock coat marred by a light dusting of lint, the faint smell of something unpleasant clinging to his clothes. But his eyes were the most changed.
Weariness and relief filled his gaze as he saw her, as if Grace were everything that was warm after trudging through knee-deep snow.
Love, mingling with an unexpected shyness, rippled through her. She would have given anything to be alone with him so that she might share her news. A child—their child—would arrive come spring. Part of her and part of Lucien. If a boy, the child would be the heir he had needed for the title, but now, she dared hope for so much more.
“Welcome home.” She slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, thinking about the babe inside her, her heart welling with hope and trepidation. “As eager as I am to hear about your time at the factory, that will have to wait. We’ve had a surprise visit. Family come from Everdene.”
“Family?” A muscle in his jaw tightened.
“Penelope and Simon were coming to London and Cassandra insisted she and Jane come along to congratulate us on our marriage.”
There was something in his face she couldn’t quite decipher. “Let me put myself in order. I’ll be back directly,” he said.
Lucien was true to his word, returning in an exquisitely tailored superfine jacket, his cravat crisp, his hair combed. He smelled of spices and soap, and yet there was a stiffness about him, as if he were, once again, the man at that first dinner party at Everdene Hall when he’d faced the earl. Rigid with the people he should have felt most comfortable with.
Simon hastened toward him, a wide grin on his handsome face as he shook Lucien’s hand. “We’ve spent a pleasant hour with your lovely bride. Congratulations. We wish you both happiness.”
