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“That will do well for the center, Alfie,” Arthur said.
“That nickname is not for your use.” Lowell called up another smug smile and explained no further.
“Fair enough,” Arthur said and slapped him on the back. He drew Ben’s attention to Lowell as he turned away: an imprint of his mucky hand showed clear as day in the center of Weston’s finest. Bates rolled his eyes but neglected to inform his Alpha of the alteration to his ensemble.
“Alfred, in all honesty.” Arthur heaved another sturdy branch onto the arrangement. “Am I meant to keep the footmen?”
“They are presently arrayed in your livery,” Bates said as he dumped another load of twigs at the base of the structure.
“Which you organized, brother,” Ben added. “You hired Lady Coleman yourself.”
“Will you not allow me to torment His Grace the Duke of Lowell? Pap’r-faced villains.”
“Is he still invoking the bard?” Georgie moaned.
“He quoted at me on my wedding day.” Lowell rolled another log into the clearing. “Osborn, it is the pleasure of those in my care to work with the gifts they discover. I cannot employ each and every one to best effect. I am pleased they have found places here.”
“And with ten more on their way. Or is it twelve, Lowell?” His Highness sounded smug indeed.
Lowell refused to be goaded. “I shall remind my duchess to alert Lady Coleman about the requirement for more clothing.”
“Or will Bates do so?” Ben looked innocent, a sure indication that he was scheming.
“Ah?” Arthur sniffed more gossip in the air.
“No baiting Bates, if you please,” Georgie said. “It reflects ill on the lady.”
Ben groused as he moved to his brother’s aid. “I can’t be the only one in these parts seeing to the succession.”
***
Felicity turned to Charlotte. “I trust your daughter is well after her ordeal?”
“She is, thank you,” Charlotte replied. “Our cubs are resilient in their own ways, and it is difficult to knock Ursella from her perch.”
“She is our Omega,” Beatrice announced, her pride as great as if the child were her own. “Even at her young age, she was more than a match for Hallbjorn.”
“I understand His Highness has resolved the issue?” Felicity asked.
“He has, although I have yet to discuss Arthur’s plan in retrospect as he did not inform me of it beforehand.” Arch looks were shared around. “And I leave His Highness’s methods to his discretion.”
“A duke in general and aversipellisin particular is not always as forthcoming with their plans as we would like,” Felicity said.
“Your diplomacy is breathtaking.” Beatrice laughed. “I try to set a good example through my own behavior in devising a daily schedule for the household. I have yet to discern its influence on Osborn.”
“Beatrice, are you well, truly?” Felicity took her hand. “I must admit to trepidation when I heard of your nuptials, and under such circumstances.”
“Thank you, I am well.” Beatrice busied herself with the detritus of the tea table. “I was not at first, as you may well fathom.”
“A woman of wealth forced into a marriage with a stranger,” Tabitha said, “presents more than one challenge to overcome, I suspect.”
Beatrice nodded. “Yet I was fortunate to discover upon my arrival at Arcadia a purpose tailored to my abilities, one I was pleased and eager to undertake. And it served to establish common ground.”
“Yes.” Felicity folded her serviette into the smallest square she could contrive with the thick cloth. “Common ground is quite necessary.”
“Indeed.” Beatrice had a notion her friend referred to bed play. “Some ground was more common than others. And in certain instances, if such a mission was not up to my abilities, I discovered my husband’s talents in tutelage.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Charlotte rolled her eyes.
