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“I don’t know about Brittingham,” Townsend finally said, grudgingly. “He’s a bit of a boring stick, and my sister…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess she has more craving for adventure than I gave her credit for. A bit of a daredevil, underneath.”
“She was never afraid of anything,” Marlow pointed out. “Gossip or weather, or spirited horses. Just because she’s so very good…” He hoped he wasn’t going red, thinking of her secret, naughty side. “Just because she’s so very good and proper a woman, it doesn’t mean she’s not a bit wild deep inside.”
“A bit mad, I think, to stow away to India only to have you.”
Marlow laughed at that, and Townsend laughed too. August still stood between them to break up any fisticuffs, but the storm seemed to have passed.
“She’s not mad at all,” Marlow said. “Not like me, but she’s not perfect either. And I’m glad, for if she was perfect, it would be that much harder for me to be deserving of her. It’s hard enough as it is.”
Townsend turned to look out at the lawns, his dark hair framing a pensive face. “The plight of every husband is to feel undeserving of his wife. Look at how my marriage started. Yes, I proposed to Jane only to have a go at Wescott. Somehow, she forgave me.”
“Because she loves you,” said Marlow. “That’s clear enough.”
“And Rosalind loves you.” He turned back to Marlow. “That’s clear enough. Take care of her, won’t you? I don’t know how she’ll be received when we return to London. Or you. Your antics were accepted when you were a dashing bachelor, but now…”
“There will be no more antics,” Marlow promised, and he meant it. “I only wish her to be happy and safe. I suppose I’ll have to fix up my house in London. It’s got good stables for her horses, but it needs a better parlor for callers. She’s so social, after all. It must have a nicer garden, and—” He stopped at his friends’ ogling expressions. “What?”
“Marlow, concerned with parlors and gardens? I’m astonished,” said August. “Now, truly, I shall be on my own. None of you have a bit of bachelor left in you, Wescott, Townsend, Marlow. Not a bit.”
“Because we’re all married,” said Marlow. “When will you find someone? That’s the next step.”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
His friend pretended to sound light, but there were worlds of ache in those words. We’ll see. We’ll see if I ever get over Felicity and move on.
“We’ll find you someone when we return to London.” He nudged Townsend. “Won’t we?”
Townsend shrugged. “Or you can bumble into a marriage due to crisis or poor behavior, like the rest of us.”
“At least all of you are happy,” said August, laughing. “However you got there, it all worked out.”
Marlow sobered. “I hope it will all work out. I’m worried about going back to London. I didn’t care when the gossip was about me, but Rosalind…”
“My wife endured her share of gossip in the beginning, with all her animals,” said Townsend. “I recommend her method of dealing with it, which was not to care.”
“Rosalind will care.” Marlow’s voice tightened just thinking about it. “And I’ll care if she becomes upset and feels hurt.”
“Then you must take on the ton in her defense.” Townsend leaned against a marble column, regarding him. “If Rosalind can stand up to my father on your behalf, you can stand up to the gossips. All that matters is that you love her. The rest will work itself out.”
“I love her beyond bearing,” said Marlow.
“Beyond bearing,” echoed August. “I can’t say I’m not envious.”
“You’ll be next,” said Townsend with conviction. “Once we get Marlow and Rosalind settled back into society, we’ll find someone for you to love beyond bearing.”
“I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified,” August joked.
Terrified, thought Marlow. No joke about it. But Rosalind was worth the terror, of that he was sure.
*
Rosalind woke to soft kisses and intimate caresses the morning of her royal wedding. Marlow lay beside her, already her husband. Though their marriage was young, he knew her body to a startling degree and drew her into lazy, languorous lovemaking. She surrendered completely, caressing his muscular frame as he moved into her. The maid had left the window open to admit warm, fragrant breezes from the palace’s vineyard, and Rosalind drifted in blissful sensation, running her fingers through his now-short curls.
When she reached her satisfaction, it was like another warm wave of sensation, of fullness and contentment as he drove into her. I love you, Marlow. I love you so much. He moaned and came to rest, his face buried against her neck, kissing her, always kissing her.
“Beautiful wife,” he said. “I’m glad we’re having a proper wedding today. If anyone deserves a royal wedding, it’s you.”
“It’s us.” She tugged his curls again, what was left of them after he’d sold the rest for her sake. “Both of us, after all we’ve been through.”
