Rowan stood before his childhood home, staring up at its ancient Tudor facade and far-reaching wings as if seeing the structure for the first time—through the eyes of another. In this case, his betrothed’s four siblings and the twins’ spouses. Their delight and enchantment with Hadlow Estate was evident from the moment they turned onto the long drive leading from the main road to halt before the massive double doors.

“You could run a carriage and four through that door,” the tall, dark-haired, young woman—Payton—gushed, making Rowan smile in agreement. “You wouldn’t even scratch the edges, I dare say.”

“I can tell you that I have yet to try that, though I suppose my stable master would have my hide if I tried, not to mention what a grievous offense my butler would take to the action,” Rowan replied.

“I cannot imagine living in a place as grand as this,” one of the auburn-haired twins sighed.

Rowan could not, as yet, tell the pair—Jude and Sam—apart, except for when their husbands stood at their sides. Jude’s husband, Lord Cartwright, was a peculiar gentleman indeed, while Samantha’s husband was eccentric yet not beyond normal conversation.

“I was certain you would overlook missing the Stratford Academia gathering in Warwickshire for Marce’s nuptials.” There was no teasing tone in Lady Cartwright’s voice.

“You are correct, my dear wife,” Cartwright stepped next to the woman and wrapped his arm around her waist, answering Rowan’s question as to whom the sister was. “I relish the chance to examine the structural integrity of this monstrosity.”

“Thankfully, I was in need of a stay away from London,” Miss Payton chimed in again.

“Managed to amass another mound of gaming debts?” Lord Garrett poked at his youngest sibling. “I told Marce we should have confined you to a nunnery long ago.”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” Miss Payton said, leaping away from her brother. “Because you cannot win a single hand when I am at the table.”

“A duchess,” Lady Ridgefield muttered. “I can hardly believe it.”

“That Marce is finally to wed, or that her title will outrank yours?” Lady Cartwright shot back with a grin.

“Girls!” The warning in Marce’s tone had the trio of women snapping their mouths shut. “I expect all of you to act accordingly, be polite, and do not, I repeat, do not cause even a breath of trouble. No horses in the house, no spouting ridiculous things about titles, and, by all that’s holy, no card games.”

“We promise,” the women said in unison; however, Rowan noted at least two of them had fingers crossed behind their backs.

The coming fortnight would prove eventful for more than just his marriage to Marce.

Rowan had spent the last several weeks acclimating to the new Marce he’d discovered. She was resilient beyond what he believed, and firm and in control when it came to her family, yet she was also the voice of reason amongst the group. Her siblings did more than obey her, they actually listened and heeded her advice.

Was this the self-assured woman his mother had known all these years? A woman he’d been blind to?

“Apologize to your sister, Garrett.” When Jude giggled at Marce’s admonishment, his betrothed turned her stern frown on her. “And you, Judith, apologize to Samantha.”

“I am having some financial troubles in town,” Payton admitted when Garrett offered his apology.

“And I am a mere marchioness, and Jude was correct, I am envious, dear sister,” Lady Ridgefield admitted.

“You are incorrigible, the lot of you,” Marce said with an exasperated exhale. “But you are mine, and so, I will forgive you all almost anything. However, I will not easily forget if you embarrass me before the duchess.”

“Go on inside and select your rooms. You have your choice of any suite in the west wing,” Rowan called as he pulled Marce to his side. Her siblings rushed past them and up the stairs, entering Hadlow with the excited nature of a group half their ages. “I truly cannot believe you are responsible for raising that lot.”

“How so?” Marce smiled up at him, and all he could think about was settling his lips on hers, carrying her up the stairs of Hadlow to the east wing free of guests, and laying her upon his bed. “Because they are a mismatched, wayward group?”

“No.” Rowan shook his head, for a moment thinking he had offended her. “Despite the hardships your family faced, they have all kept a certain innocence about them.”

“Perhaps I kept them from witnessing the cruelty of the world—” She paused, her smile broadening, making his heart twist. “Though that means they missed some of the best of things, as well.”

“Like what?” He couldn’t help but ask, his breath hitching in his chest as he awaited her answer, though he knew what she would say. She’d been repeating it for many months now, as if he’d ever forget what she tried every day to make him believe.

That he deserved happiness.

“You.” She rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, her mouth leaving his far too soon.

“I think I was solidly on the cruel side of things,” he mumbled, leaning close to claim her lips once more, but when she pulled away he asked, “You cannot disagree with that?”

“Shades of grey, Rowan,” she chastised.

“The only shade of grey I long to see is the dove-colored gown my mother had made for the wedding. You know what I speak of”—He wagged his brows—“the dress with the white lace trim and flowing skirt.”

“You saw my dress? I haven’t even seen it yet!” She swatted at his chest as the sound of laughter floated from the manor. Marce’s siblings burst back into the afternoon sunlight before rushing around the side of the house. “My heavens. What are they doing?”

When she made to turn and stalk after her siblings, Rowan placed a light hand on her elbow to halt her. She glanced back at him, and he nodded toward the doors. Crossing the threshold was Tobias with Rowan’s mother on his arm.

“My son,” the duchess called with a wave, her smile beaming brighter than the sun above. “And my dear, dear Marce. You have finally arrived. I fear I sent the children round back to find their gifts.”

“They aren’t children, Mother,” Rowan said with a deep chuckle, offering his arm to Marce before starting toward the door. “Lady Cartwright and Lady Ridgefeld are long married.”

“Do not even attempt to spoil my fun, Rowan,” the duchess chastised. “There were only so many gifts I could give you when you were young. But now, I find I have many more children to bestow gifts upon. Besides, it is only one horse.”

“Per sibling,” Tobias said, assisting Leona down the steps.

“Oh, Your Grace, that is far too generous,” Marce gushed. “Whatever will we do with all of them?”

“They can be brought to London, or perhaps your new home on the neighboring estate; however, I would be delighted if they remained at Hadlow. It will bring your family here often to help care for them.”

His mother’s triumphant grin had them all laughing, and Rowan would not be the one to correct his mother’s thinking. The wayward bunch he’d first spied through the front window of Craven House was all grown up, adults in their own right.

“It is good to have you home,” the duchess said as Marce stepped forward to embrace her, Rowan following suit.

“It is wonderful to be home.” It had been many years since Rowan felt at peace anywhere, especially at Haldow. “That Lady Marce will soon be my wife only makes this day and every one to follow very special.”

“Lord Cresthaven, my dear, I think I should return inside and see to tea.” His mother patted Tobias’s arm, and the pair turned back toward the house, leaving Rowan and Marce alone.

“Horses, Rowan.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. “Did you know anything about this?”

He shook his head, though he expected nothing less of his mother. “She once procured a true magician for my birthday surprise. Oh, and one year, at Christmastide, she had the entire house transformed into a winter wonderland, all because the year was unseasonably warm and she wanted to wake up to a white Christmas morning. Unfortunately, the paper she had brought in from London had a certain grey hue to it.”

“Shades of grey!” They both laughed in unison.

“There is one thing that is not grey, Rowan,” Marce said, her laughter falling away. “My love for you. It will not vary or waver. That much I can promise you.”

Without another thought, Rowan drew her into his arms, lifting her from the ground and swinging her in a wide circle. As she threw back her head and giggled with utter abandon, Rowan knew, without a doubt, that he would dedicate the rest of his life to seeing Marce smile. She deserved more than mere contentment. She merited a life brimming with joy, happiness, and absolute pleasure.

Rowan hadn’t always believed he was a man capable of giving her all those things, but the way she smiled down at him now—trusted him, loved him—gave him the strength to believe he could give her all she deserved…and much, much more.