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“I retract everything,” said Teresa, and kissed him again.
They were both laughing when Tom’s head appeared in the doorway. “Are you finished?” he asked. “It’s just that everyone keeps asking me.”
“Señora Alvarez and I are going to be married,” answered Arthur.
“Oh, good!” Tom looked back and perhaps made some gesture. In the next moment, he and the three young ladies had surged back into the courtyard. It seemed that no one had gone farther than the workshop.
“I told you so,” said Miss Deeping as they surrounded Arthur and Teresa.
“You promised you would stop saying that, Charlotte,” said Miss Moran. “We wish you every happiness.”
“Indeed,” said Miss Finch. “When is the wedding to be? Ada will be furious if she cannot attend.”
“We haven’t planned—” began Teresa.
“It will be quite soon, by special license, and pay no heed at all to other people’s convenience,” said Arthur.
“Are you going to let him dictate to you?” asked Miss Deeping, censure in her face.
“A lady gets to decide everything about her wedding,” said Miss Moran.
“Her last, and often only, efficacy,” added Miss Finch dryly.
Teresa looked up at her earl. His gaze was warm and caressing. Love brimmed up and filled her. “Well, you see, he has promised me an elephant.”
“What?” asked the three young ladies in unison.
“Did he really?” Tom looked delighted. “Can I come and see it? We had one in a play once, and I wondered if…”
“Go away,” Arthur said. “All of you. You ladies, go home. Tom, return to your work or wherever you please. As long as it is not here.”
There were protests. Arthur summoned up his new habit of impertinence and pointed a finger at the door. Slowly, reluctantly, they went. He then returned to the much more pleasant matter of kisses.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next novel by Jane Ashford.
Things are looking up for Diana Gresham and her new love Captain Wilson, until they’re challenged by a scandal from the past…
The Repentant Rebel
Available in Jane Ashford’s upcoming duo,When You Give a Rogue a Rebel.
Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Diana Gresham hugged the thin cotton of her nightdress to her chest and snuggled deeper into the pillows of the posting-house bed. She had never been so happy in her life, she told herself, and today was just the beginning of a glorious future. This afternoon, she and Gerald would reach Gretna Green and be married, and then no one could part them or spoil their wonderful plans—not even her father.
Of course, Papa was unlikely to protestnow. Diana’s lovely face clouded as she considered the terrible step she had been forced to by her father’s harshness. If he had onlylistenedthis once, it wouldn’t have been necessary to defy him. But almost eighteen years as Mr. Gresham’s sole companion had repeatedly—and painfully—defeated any such hopes. Papa was implacable; he had never shown the least interest in her ideas or opinions, except to condemn them. Diana felt only a small admixture of guilt in her relief at having escaped her rigid, penurious home.
A tap on the door made her expression lighten. Sitting up and smiling expectantly, she called, “Come in.” The panels swung back to reveal first a loaded tray, then an extremely handsome young man.
“Voilà,” he said, returning her smile possessively. “Tea. And hot toast.” He swept a napkin from the tray to display it. “I play servant to you.”
Diana clapped her hands. “Thank you! I am so hungry.”
“The unaccustomed exertions of the night, no doubt,” he replied, placing the tray across her knees and resting a hand on her half-bare shoulder.
Diana flushed fiery red and gazed fixedly at the white teapot. She would get used to such frankness concerning the somewhat discomfiting intimacies of marriage, she thought. Her first experience last night had not been at all like the stolen kisses she and Gerald had exchanged in the weeks since they met. Yet Gerald had obviously seen nothing wrong so Diana dismissed her reaction as naiveté. She knew she was less sophisticated than other girls, even those not yet eighteen. Because her father had never allowed her to attend any party or assembly, nor meet any of the young men who visited her friends’ families, Diana was deeply humble about her ignorance, while passionately eager to be rid of it. Until Gerald’s miraculous appearance during one of her solitary country walks—an event she still could not help but compare to the illustration of the Archangel Michael in her Bible—she had never spoken to a man of her own age. That her sole opportunity should bring a veritable pink of the ton (a term Gerald had taught her) had been overwhelming. From the first, she had joyfully referred every question to him, and taken his answers as gospel.
Diana raised her eyes, found her promised husband gazing appreciatively at her scantily clad form, and promptly lowered them again.
