Page 108 of A Fragile Enchantment

Sofia removed herself from beside the fireplace. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she pulled Niamh into an embrace. “Congratulations. I am so happy for you, sister.”

Sister.Niamh held her close as she turned the word over and over again. She’d never had a sister before. “Thank you.”

“Your Grace,” Jack said coolly. It was the first time anyone had addressed her by her title. Gods, she had a title now. She might never grow accustomed to that.

“If you wish to be called by your first name, it’s only fitting you should call me by mine.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat, then went on stiffly. “Carlile wishes to pass on her enthusiastic congratulations on your nuptials. She is quite charmed with your choice of bride, Kit, and expects others will be as well. It makes us look very good to her contingent.” He sighed. “I will have a great many more messages to pass on, as we now have a standing appointment.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kit said warily, as if bracing for thebut.

Sofia cleared her throat pointedly. Jack shifted uncomfortably on his feet and held out the bouquet to Niamh. Neither of the Carmine brothers, it seemed, had any idea how to properly express any real sentiment. “I suppose I should offer my congratulations as well. These are for you.”

Niamh gathered them close to her chest. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

The conversation died miserably. The logs popped in the fireplace and the floorboards creaked as Sinclair bounced his knee.

“Forgive me,” Jack said at last.

Kit’s face twisted with surprise. “What?”

“I wanted to put aside the resentment between us, but I realize that a share of it is mine as well. All these years, I resented you so deeply for crumbling, for not feeling the same pressure or sense of duty that Father beat into me. Instead, I used you. I have behaved monstrously toward you.” His expression grew haunted. “My duty should have been to you, not to what Father would have wantedme to preserve. You are the only family I have left. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kit said gruffly, although he sounded quite emotional himself. “It’s behind us.”

“I promise I will make it up to you.” Jack glanced at Niamh, and his mouth twitched with displeasure. “I cannot say I approve of this match. But… you are good for each other. Niamh, I owe you an apology for how I spoke to you the other day, as well as my gratitude for your interference in a misguided and unethical scheme.” He reached for Sofia’s hand. “You’ve reminded me of what’s important.”

Sofia smiled very tentatively at him. To Niamh’s shock, he returned it.

That was a start. “Thank you, Jack.”

He winced at the sound of his name but did not comment.

“Where’smyapology?” Sinclair asked. Jack did not know Lovelace’s true identity—and hopefully never would—but that did not mean the impulse to annoy him would die easily.

Jack pointedly ignored him. “Well. That is all I have come to say. Be prepared, Kit. When you return from your honeymoon, it seems you and I have a great deal of work ahead of us to reestablish a relationship with Machland and its people living here.”

Kit straightened up with surprise. “You want my help?”

“If you will lend me your time. For now, you are my heir. If we’re to keep the throne in the family, you should be prepared for any eventuality.” He hesitated. “And I would value your insight. You have never been afraid to challenge me.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Despite his begrudging tone, Niamh watched the smallest of smiles curl on his lips.

It wasn’t perfect—far from it. But here, in the cozy warmth of the drawing room, it felt like family.

When Jack and Sofia at last took their awkward leave, the three of them lingered. They sat in the bay window, watching the rainsparkle off the cobblestones. Kit and Sinclair passed a cigar back and forth. Niamh curled into Kit’s side, trying determinedly not to drowse while he traced patterns on her hand.

“What do you think?” Kit leaned over her and tapped the ashes into a glass tray. “Will he keep his word?”

“He seemed sincere enough.” Sinclair snatched the cigar back from him and smiled with catlike slyness. “But if he doesn’t, there’s always Lovelace to keep him accountable. That goes for you, too.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “You’re a prick.”

Sinclair laughed, a full-throated sound Niamh hadn’t heard in a while. “Tell your husband to be nice to me, Niamh. That kind of language isn’t becoming of a good, respectable politician.”

Niamh sprawled out languidly and rested her head in Kit’s lap. With a yawn, she said, “Be nice, husband.”

As if on reflex, he began to stroke her hair. He scoffed. “When have I ever been nice?”