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“Ew,” said Michel.
“You’ll have to get used to it, Michel, my boy,” said Edgar. “Your mother and I will be kissing quite frequently.”
True. They only stopped kissing to eat and sleep. Oh, and to be wedded, but that had included quite a long and thrilling kiss at the end.
“The kissing is all your fault,” Adele told her brother. “Remember when I wrote their names together in the sand? You’re the one who drew a heart around it.”
Michel looked embarrassed. “I might have done.”
“A secret romantic,” teased Mari’s father. “But it wasn’t because of any heart drawn in the sand. I’m the one who orchestrated this union. I sent the lawyer searching for Mari and gave her a reason to come to London, setting the whole thing in motion.”
“That you did,” said Edgar. “And I thank you heartily.”
“But I should still receive my one hundred pounds,” insisted India, jokingly.
“Piffle,” said the dowager. “Mr. Lumley and I should split the prize. Everything traces back to us, wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Lumley?”
Mari’s father turned his face toward the dowager. “Well said, Your Grace. You know, I remember meeting you many years ago, before my eyesight faded. I still remember the unusual amethyst of your eyes.”
The hint of a smile crossed the dowager’s face. “I remember meeting you, Mr. Lumley. I believe my son wished you were his father instead of...” Her voice trailed into silence.
“And now I have you for a father-in-law, Lumley,” Edgar said. “I couldn’t be happier.”
Mr. Grafton stopped eating cake for a moment and lifted his fork in Edgar’s direction. “I predicted you’d marry her, didn’t I? You’ll have to name your firstborn Ambrose after me.”
“Pardon?” Mari asked. “Ambrose?”
“Ambrose Percival,” said Mr. Grafton.
“Edgar,” remonstrated Mari.
Her husband looked sheepish. “Between India’s extortion and your ridiculous name, Grafton, I’ll be lucky to escape this meal with the shirt on my back.”
Mari silently agreed. She’d been dying to rip off his shirt all day.
“Aren’t you going to claim credit, Ravenwood?” asked India, glaring at the darkly handsome duke, whom Edgar had invited over his sister’s strident protests. “I’ve never known you to miss a chance to soak up all of the attention in a room.”
“For shame, Lady India,” said Ravenwood. “You know this day belongs to your brother and his beautiful bride.” He lifted his glass and drank a toast, giving Mari a rakish wink.
“I must admit, we did have something to do with it,” Mari laughed.
Edgar’s hand inched higher on her thigh. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Ah... have you tried the grapes, Your Grace?” She thrust a platter of grapes at Ravenwood.
The conversation resumed around them, rising like a wave, swept along by playfulness and love.
“Do you think all families argue so vociferously?” Edgar whispered in her ear.
“I’m not sure. This is the only family I’ve ever known,” she whispered back.
And it was the best family in the whole world.
“I have something to show you, my love.” His wicked fingers traced a circle along her inner thigh. He tilted his head toward the door.
“Edgar,” she whispered. “Stop that. We can’t leave our own wedding breakfast.”
“They won’t even notice. Come.”
Sure enough, everyone was too busy arguing and laughing to notice when Mari and Edgar slipped away. Or, if they did notice, they pretended not to.
