Page 53 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

She shook her head sadly. “You are a ridiculous person,” she said soberly.

“It’s too late to change your mind now,” he told her, his voice severe. “So you may as well come to terms with it.”

“Oh, I knew you were ridiculous from the beginning. I believe I told you as much when you accused me of arranging a romantic liaison with Mr Kirby.”

Beau nodded, remembering. “Ah, yes. So you did. Well, it’s your own fault, then.”

“Entirely,” she agreed, gazing up at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, suddenly hit with the urgent desire to haul her off into a shady corner and show her what it meant to be married to the Earl of Beaumarsh.

“I beg your pardon?” She looked adorably confused, bless her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not yet, anyway,” he added. “You can look at me like that later all you want. Indeed, I insist that you do. It’s most… invigorating.”

She turned pink, which delighted him to no end, but did not stop him from wishing the wedding breakfast was over and done with.

Clementine wished the wedding breakfast would go on a good deal longer. The reality of being married to the Earl of Beaumarsh was finally sinking in. Moreover, their wedding night, which had hardly been something she had failed to consider, was approaching all too rapidly.

Not being a complete ninny, she had worked many of the details out for herself but had approached Mrs Mabbs to confirm her suspicions. Though the children’s nanny had outlived two husbands, the conversation mortified her, and she would only confirm or deny Clementine’s questions, but she supposed it was likely still more information than many women had on their wedding night. She would just have to leave things up to Beaumarsh, a circumstance that bothered her somewhat as she did not like it when she did not know exactly what to expect.

If she were honest, which she always was—with herself, at least—she had been overwhelmed with pride to walk from the church to the vicarage on her husband’s arm. Whilst she did not care a whit for his title, she could not deny how splendid he looked, how very handsome and commanding, every inch a nobleman, and she knew just how much all the other young ladies envied her. She was only human, after all, and had never been envied before, to her knowledge. Plus, discovering that he was still the same person and had not suddenly turned into some unknown tyrant she must fear angering, was also reassuring. The nonsensical conversation they had conducted on their short walk to her family home had gone a long way to calming her riotous nerves, but now they were making themselves known once more.

“You going away now?” Caspar said, running up to her, his little face crinkling with concern.

Clementine, grasping his sticky fingers before he plastered them all over her silk skirts, leaned in, pressing a kiss to his soft cheek.

“Not just yet, but soon,” she said, feeling her stomach flutter with nerves.

“See you again, though?” he asked earnestly.

“Of course you will,” she said, wiping his hands with a napkin before hauling him into his lap. “Beaumarsh has said you may all come and stay with me in the autumn, for as long as you wish. Isn’t that lovely? And I’m not very far away, so I can come back and visit you too, very often.” The words calmed her, for they were true. Beaumarsh had been generous in all things, and so very kind.

Caspar nodded. “Bea and Izzy not going, though?”

“No. And you still have Uncle Bertie,” she said, the name by which the children called her father. “And Nanny Mabbs, and Mrs Adie and Polly. So many people love you. Aren’t you lucky?”

Caspar nodded. “More cake?” he asked thoughtfully.

Clementine nodded and set him down again. “Yes, there’s more wedding cake if you’d like. Ask Nanny Mabbs. She’ll fetch you some, darling.”

Caspar ran off before she could give him a last kiss, but she smiled as she watched him run across the room to find his nanny.

“Well, my lady,” said a deep voice from over her shoulder. “I believe we should depart, or we will not reach Cavendish House until late.”

Clementine looked around, seeing her husband looking down at her. “Oh. My lady. That’s me,” she said inanely, but he laughed and held out his hand to her.

“It is, unless I did something very wrong this afternoon?”

“Oh, no. It will just take a little getting used to. I suppose I had better change, then. I cannot be travelling in this,” Clementine said with some regret, though she had a few lovely new things thanks to Madame Auguste, including an evening gown in the exquisite blue silk she’d been sighing over for weeks.

“It is a pity,” Beaumarsh agreed, a look in his eyes that made her stomach flutter and her heart do an agitated little dance behind her ribs.

“Well, I shall be two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she said, and then regretted it, for surely that was not the sort of thing a countess would say. Oh, well. This countess would say it, and a good deal more besides. Best he get accustomed to the notion now.

Far from being appalled by her cant remark, Beaumarsh’s smile widened, and Clementine hurried off.

Less than forty minutes later and her new husband was handing her up into his carriage. Four splendid bay horses stood waiting patiently, coats gleaming in the sunlight. Beaumarsh climbed in after her and they waved as her family and friends cheered and threw more rice.