Francie felt a bit desperate to keep Reggie to herself for a few more days. How could someone have become so paramount to her in less than a fortnight? Was she truly a terrible person for not checking on her cousin? She likely was. She'd made all these decisions about her future without considering Phoebe at all. What if the doctor hadn't proposed? What if Phoebe hadn't accepted him? Francie should get assurances from Reggie that he would take on responsibility for the Grenard girls if Harry hadn't. He would, wouldn't he? He'd been the first one to propose to Phoebe in the beginning, just to honor his friendship with Wally. It hadn't set well with her at the time, the idea of them marrying, but now it horrified her. Good God, what if Phoebe's predicament and Reggie's honor had forced the two of them together? She shuddered to think how that might have turned out. Most obviously, to her at least, was that then Francie couldn't have married him. And quite honestly she couldn't imagine being this happy with another man. Who else could fight with her one moment and tease her the next? Although he didn't always understand her turn of mind, he remained determined to figure it out. And she had to admit that he really was deucedly clever at solving problems. She'd not even known that one thing she needed was time away with him before they turned themselves over to their families, but she had.

Now here they were, settled into a luxurious bed in a luxurious hotel and he was dangling a berry over her nose, just out of her reach. Each time she bit at it he pulled it back. Soon she was going to bite him. He finally relented and put the fruit in his own teeth and settled over her for a kiss. They bit the berry in half and tried not to choke while chewing, kissing, and laughing all at the same time. When they could breathe again he pulled back to look down at her.

"I need to get on with marrying you."

"Why?" she asked.

"What if that berry had killed me and you were pregnant?"

"That does sound terrifying."

"You don't sound terrified."

"I suppose I would have to live out my days as a lady pirate then."

"That makes no sense, you would have my child to care for."

"Pirate child," she corrected.

"I'm trying to be at least a bit serious, Francie."

"You're failing miserably at it."

"Francie," he said in a warning tone.

How did he not know that just goaded her to tease him more? But she relented, seeing as how he'd brought their imaginary pirate child into it. "Well, how do we get married?" she asked.

"The proper way is for the banns to be read."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we publish our intentions and wait two weeks."

"That sounds terrible. What are the other options?"

"Well, special license, which means petitioning the Archbishop."

"That sounds more terrible."

"Or running off to Scotland to be married over the anvil."

"Scotland is cold."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

She circled her fingers in his hair. "We just came south, so it makes little sense to go north again. I don't know about you, but I don't know any Archbishops. I'd say that leaves us with the banns."

"That's what I suspected as well. It will also be what our families expect."

She tapped her fingers against his thick skull. "Which means if we hope to get married anytime soon we need to announce it to our families and have it published nearly immediately."

"It sounds advisable."

She sighed. "Which means I should go to my uncle's tomorrow so we can follow this plan."

He perked up. "Oh? We're using plans now?"

"Oh stop, you," she said, shoving at his shoulder. He chuckled and kissed her again in earnest.

 

***

 

Reggie had faced battle and quite a few other gruesome things in his life, but he found that standing on the doorstep waiting to deliver a quite defiled niece to her uncle made him quake in his boots more than all the rest of them. Maybe if he hadn't defiled her again this morning. Twice. While she enjoyed screaming into a pillow.

A dour faced butler answered the door. "Yes?" It was the sort of tone that told you he would much rather say no. Reggie knew he wasn't looking his best, but he drew himself up to his full height and used every ounce of his training and breeding to bend the butler to his will.

"Reginald Burnham, son of Viscount Goldshire, and Miss Francie Walters."

He felt more than saw her turn her head toward him. He'd not quite covered the son of a viscount topic yet. The butler stepped back, as he'd expected, ushering them into the home. And it was, quite clearly, a home. Although far from the fanciest townhouse he'd visited in London, it was one of the few that made him feel immediately welcomed. Unlike its resident butler.

"This way, sir, ma'am." Doors were opened to a front parlor and they were left without instruction.

He looked over at Francie and she shrugged, then mouthed 'Viscount Goldshire?' He patted her hand. "I'll explain later."

"Oh yes," she said. "Oh yes you will."

Just then the door to the parlor was pushed open by a swirling ball of energy wrapped in a pale blue morning dress and topped with golden curls. "Francie!"

"Sam!"

The two girls embraced. They could be sisters. On a quick glance one might not be able to tell one from the other.

"You've grown up!" Francie said.

"As have you!" The blond cousin acknowledged his presence in the room with a quick curtsy. "Sir."

Francie's attention was drawn to the doorway and Reggie realized this must be the aunt and uncle. His sweet Francie's face crumpled a bit and she ran into their arms like a lost daughter. She did have family. Real family. He had some regrets that he'd not followed his original plan, as Walters deserved to have some say over his impetuous niece's marriage. But on the other hand, if Walters didn't agree to the match then Reggie would just have to steal her and take her to Scotland, because he refused to consider a future without her.

The resident Miss Walters appeared at his elbow. "And you are?" she asked archly.

"Reginald Burnham."

"Not your name, sir. We already have that."

"I, well. I need to talk to your father."

Mr. Walters broke away from the family embrace to greet him. "Burnham."

"Walters." Reggie executed an appropriate bow.

"Thank you for bringing Francie home to us." Reggie was excellent at ton subtext and Walters was gently inviting him to get the hell out. He was a spare man, Francie's uncle. He looked worn and homey, rather like the rugs and drapes, as though they'd all been here happily rusticating together while the wilder parts of London pursued foolish garishness. Reggie calculated his odds. Did he insist on talking to Walters now, potentially alienating the man because he'd not had a chance to ensure his niece was happy and healthy before considering the question or her marriage? Or did he risk walking away now to pursue it at a later date. As they'd discussed, publishing the banns soon was the goal. But not alienating his future in-laws was probably also a worthy goal.

"I'm just happy she has you," Reggie said with a nod. "I'll be at my father's townhome if you need me."

Francie pulled away from her aunt. "Reggie?"

He bowed over her hand. "Miss Walters. I hope I can call on you soon?"

"Of course."

And then, to show his suitability to her family, he got the hell out when invited to do so.