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Stifling laughter, she admitted, “I do so adore your mother”—especially knowing that Lady Redford hadn’t tried to dissuade their union—“especially how she—”
“Mother? What has she to do with us?” His chin thrust out toward her, encompassed himself and the entire gathering. “Except, of course, helping to arrange all of this.”
“A tremendous amount, actually. If she had not convinced me of your worth, if I did not count her as a friend, we would not be here now. Together.”
“My worth? She did not attempt to use sympathy to gain your patience?”
“Not one bit. Only cited your affable, caring personality, at complete odds with the other males in her household.”
Astonishment widened his eyes. “So she did not tell you of the broken leg and crushed hand? Of this?” He raised his truncated arm.
“None of it. She only mentioned—once, mind—that you had suffered an injury and were expected to heal.”
“Had she,” he said slowly, “told you the full truth, you would have known who I was that night.”
“But would we not have been cautious with each other, had we known? Remote from the very beginning? I, for one, was much more at ease with my simple soldier than I would have been had I known who you were from the onset.”
“Can you imagine,” he posed, “if we had known? Our conversation would have been dreadfully dull.”
“Disappointingly droll.”
“Terribly tepid.”
He stopped dancing and hugged her, right there on the ballroom floor, in sight of every guest and all three parents. “I never thought to bandy words with a wife as I have my friends. I would count myself the most fortunate of men to have found both: wife and friend.”
“What about mistress?” she asked archly.
“Anne, I think our bed will already be full enough without adding anyone else.”
After the energetic waltz that lasted far longer than intended, the musicians took a well-deserved rest, leaving their instruments in the gallery and stepping away.
Something Ed was ferociously thankful for, as the turning and twisting had wrangled up his leg until the bones and surrounding flesh were screaming at him. Yelling louder than he’d ever thought to howl.
He couldn’t help but admire how, with a sharp shake of her head, Anne warned off their mothers as the pair scuttled over, pointedly sent them scurrying the other way.
“Well done, my dear.” He hoped she didn’t hear the groan as his body protested each step.
“We both know they want us to stand up and announce something other than your Twelfth Night goose nonsense, but if you don’t sit and rest, I’m afraid you shall land upon your nose, rendering it as crooked as Lord Frostwood’s.”
At that astute observation, he realized he had gripped her shoulder and was leaning on her heavily as they left the dance floor. She found the nearest two empty chairs and ordered, “Wait here. I shall return.”
Then she swept off in a whirl of command and the lightest hint of some flowery fragrance he had every intention of whiffing out where she’d applied it the moment he could get her alone.
For now, the screaming ache made him doubly thankful for her capable manner—even if he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of orders from anyone but his superior officer.
She joined him a minute later, handing him a glass. “Father’s brandy, smuggled from his study,” she said with a smile. “Of a higher quality than what he allowed Mother to serve everyone else.”
Seating herself next to him, it was a pleasant two or three swallows later when he realized it was probably the longest they had jointly gone without speaking. Simply watching the crowd, watching her wave away anyone who dared approach, brought him a measure of peace he wasn’t sure he’d ever known.
In silence, he finished his drink and bent to place the empty glass beneath his chair. As he straightened, pushing his feet into the floor to give him leverage, his teeth clenched on a light moan.
“Thank you, Anne. I admit I lingered overly long out there and, in all honesty, shouldn’t dance again this evening.”
“Of course not. Do you think I didn’t notice how pronounced your limp just now? We must take care not to overdo in the future.”
He took heart from that we. “Ah, I have every expectation that my leg will heal fully, or close to it, in time. But, ah, none that the rest of my arm will reappear.”
“Ah, is right.” Holding a glass of wassail, wafting cloves and other spices, in one gloved hand, she placed her other upon his and gave a gentle squeeze. “Fingers and forearms tend not to be like hair and nails.”
