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His jaw clenched, as did his hands on the arm of the chair, but he remained silent.
For the span of a moment, perhaps two, they stared at one another before Rigby cleared his throat. “For you, my lord.”
The air rushed from Ralph’s lungs as he reached out and took the papers from the other man’s hands.
People were people. Some bad, some exceptionally good, and most somewhere in between. But today, he’d won. The hand of a wonderful woman and the title of Earl of Pembroke: he was going to be a lord.
And Clara would be his countess.
And so help him, he’d use that title to do real good in the world. Even more than the Bushy Hero had managed.
He looked down at the seal, the words blurring before his eyes. What would his late father think that Ralph now outranked him?
It didn’t really matter.
It was the man and not the title that did the deeds and he’d be the best one he could be. Clara would see to that, he had no doubt.
