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“Mr. Bates knows everything,” Felicity said, as Jemima fastened the necklace and handed her the earrings.
“Almost everything,” O’Mara murmured, shooting a look at Jemima the lady chose not to meet.
“I am sorry that you cannot join us at Lowell Hall, Jemima, after the ceremony,” Felicity said. “I imagine we will make for Sussex as soon as all is said and done.”
“I am delighted to witness your wedding, but then I must be seen—see my aunt, for I have neglected her these several days.”
“Does she guard you jealously as treasure, Lady Coleman?” O’Mara inquired.
“Something very like,” Jemima returned.
“You must come as soon as you may,” Felicity said.
“As soon as your duke releases you, which will not be in one hour or two hours. I hope you are at ease with thoughts of the marriage bed?” Jemima looked slyly at the duke’s chamberlain. “O’Mara can answer any questions you may have, I am sure.”
“It will not be necessary.”
“Won’t it?” Jemima and O’Mara chorused.
“Not entirely,” Felicity said. “Have I a cloak to go with this gloriousness?”
Jemima laid a Cloak of Equal Gloriousness over her shoulders, and as Felicity smoothed on her gloves, she took in her entire ensemble. “Jemima, your genius makes the luckiest bride in Christendom.”
“The loveliest,” Jemima retorted and nodded with satisfaction. “You’ll do. Ma’am.”
She curtseyed, and O’Mara made her deepest reverence. A light knock on the door signaled the readiness of the coach, and Felicity took a deep breath, filled to surfeit with hope and joy. It would appear that her twenty-fifth birthday was turning out rather auspicious after all.
“Do I need a reticule?” she asked. Jemima shook her head and pointed, hopping up and down and letting out one of her characteristic laughs as Felicity ran her hands down her hips and slipped them into the pockets of her wedding gown.
* * *
The coach rolled a very short distance to the district’s signature edifice. “We are to be wed here?” Felicity stopped short of pressing her face against the window to gape at Carlton House.
“His Highness is a very dear friend of Lowell Hall,” O’Mara replied.
“Are you joking?” The door opened, the steps were let down, and Jemima exited. Felicity turned to O’Mara and hissed, “Is he…?”
“Remember the law, Your Grace.” O’Mara gestured; Felicity took the footman’s hand and stepped down.
A crowd had gathered as word spread that Fallen Felicity had been caught after all. A raucous cheer grew in strength and followed them through the front doors as a voice boomed down from the landing of the grand staircase. “His Grace is in a desperate state. I’ve never seen a man so eager for the leg shackle.” George Augustus Frederick, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Chester, and most notably, Prince of Wales, stood with his fists on his sturdy hips. Turned out in full, majestic regalia, his lush head of hair coiffed in great waves, he was impressive in height and girth, and yet there was something warm and endearing about his personage. The women made their way up the stairs, and he smiled toothily as they made their curtsies upon joining him. “How finely feathered you are, soon-to-be-erstwhile Miss Templeton,” he said, raising her to stand. “Doubtless your work, Lady Coleman?”
“Stuff it, Georgie.” Jemima unclasped one of the medals on his sash and re-pinned it one millimeter to the left of its original placement. The Regent giggled and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Felicity, agape at this familiarity, glanced over at O’Mara, who was occupied with studying the sculptures in the recesses around the gallery.
“Your groom awaits,” Prinny said, offering his arm to Felicity as a servant took the ladies’ cloaks. “It is my honor to bring you to him.”
Carlton House put the Lowell Hall staterooms to shame. As they processed from the Ante Room, the Lesser Drawing Room, and into the Lesser Throne Room, Felicity noted an excess of footmen, serving to put the Hall’s ranks in perspective.
“This, madam, is in all likelihood the last grand event to be held in this tedious pile,” the prince said, slowing his lumbering gait to accommodate her smaller strides. “What think you, is Carlton House not too…too tedious?”
“Your Highness,” Felicity replied. “I think you are an artist, and each room has been your canvas. Having achieved your masterpiece, it is time to create elsewhere.”
Prinny tapped her on the nose as Jemima rolled her eyes. “Very good,” he said. “You’ll do. Unlike your bosom friend, you appear to be a good egg. Do you agree, O’Mara? Yay or nay?”
“You are all that is perceptive and fair in judgment, Your Highness,” the duke’s chamberlain replied.
“An equivocation such as only you can utter.” He nodded to the footmen who flanked the doors to their destination. “In we go, madam. Welcome to the family.” He winked and led her through.
* * *
