Chapter 16
The small ceremony and intimate breakfast was not what her parents would have imagined, but Lady Beatrix had no wish to invite half of London and have them stare. So, she and Adam had only invited close family. They had married in the Margaret Chapel at Westminster with little fanfare and were now in the Duke of Hunt’s home for the celebration since she had no direct family to host it.
At present, she stood in her wedding finery in the garden, feeling a wave of trepidation as she watched her handsome husband make his way around the company, accepting congratulations. He was, without question, the most beautiful man present.
That very realization gave her pause.
How had he chosen her?
Well he hadn’t, she corrected herself, scowling. Not really. He’d been put into a corner. No, she couldn’t think like that. He admired her. She knew he did.
She drank in a deep breath, savoring the scent of late summer roses. The verdant garden was beautifully tended, the very copse of trees where she had met her husband in sight.
“Good morning, Lady Beatrix, may I offer you my deepest condolences.”
She flushed as she realized how deep in thought she must have been. “Lady Gemma!” she exclaimed.
Lady Gemma, wife of Adam’s brother, grinned at her from beneath the brim of a superb hat trimmed with a neat blue bow. Now, here was a woman who was the envy of the ton. Russet hair curled about her face, violet eyes flashing mischievously and her berry lips looked ready to part with laughter at any moment.
“Forgive me.” Beatrix blinked, hoping the young woman attributed it to the sun. “Did you say condolences?”
“Indeed,” Gemma said unapologetically. “For you’ve gone from one mad-capped family to another. How ever shall you bear it?” she teased.
Beatrix grinned, realizing that Gemma was a delightful woman. “I’m sure I shall manage.”
“Glad to hear it.” Gemma gave an approving nod. “I quite like my American family, truth to be told, and now it seems you and I are even closer. For we are sisters.”
Sisters.
For some inexplicable reason, she could hardly fathom this. They weren’t really sisters. But Lady Gemma looked as if she were about to enfold Beatrix in a joyous embrace.
In fact, she did just that. Her slender arms wrapped about Beatrix’s waist and squeezed. “We shall have a very good time together. Once, I longed for a sister, and now I have two by matrimony. I am lucky, indeed. You will tell me every infuriating thing about Adam and I shall reciprocate about Alexander.”
“Ah! I do love to see happy women.” The Duke of Aston swept across the lawn, fairly bounding with energy. “And weddings. I love weddings.”
He brandished two glasses of champagne. “For you, Lady Beatrix. You look a bit blown over.”
She eyed the handsome duke that she barely knew. He was the oddest man she’d ever met and, yet, he was incredibly appealing in a bombastic sort of way. He also seemed kind.
Taking the glass, gratefully, she swallowed. “This is all a bit overwhelming.”
“And where is my champagne?” Gemma challenged, tapping the duke playfully on the arm.
“Alas, I have but two hands,” Aston parried. “Besides, my wife wants you. She has questions about presents for infants.”
Gemma’s eyes flared and her cheeks blossomed as her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen which was hidden by a rather full, pale blue, linen skirt. “Your delicacy is astonishing.”
“It’s taken me many years to develop it,” Aston agreed, as if he had not, indeed, mentioned Lady Gemma’s apparent condition.
But Gemma gave Beatrix a final squeeze then headed off through the garden and small, but happy company.
Aston drank deeply of the bubbling French wine then said over the rim of his glass, “Now, for a bride, you don’t look terribly excited.”
She choked on her own champagne.
“Careful. Careful. Mustn’t ruin your gown.”
She tried to discreetly wipe the drops of champagne from her chin. “I am thinking of the future, if you must know.”
“Don’t,” Aston said merrily, shooing on an errant, buzzing honey bee. “Horrible thing to think about. We’ve little control over it after all.”
“I’m aware of the vagaries of time.” If anyone knew, it was she. She’d seen how quickly happiness and security could be ripped out from under one’s feet. It was entirely unpredictable.
“Glad to hear it. Some people do their very best to control it.” Aston nodded. The feathers on his rather astounding and out of date hat bobbed. “There’s no point. The intentions of God and the universe and all that are far grander than we mortals are not ours to know.”
She searched his face, trying to make sense of the wisdom which was coming from such an outrageous gentleman. “I do believe you are telling me not to worry.”
“So I am. Delighted you noticed.” Aston gestured across the perfectly-manicured lawn with his glass. “He’s an interesting fellow. You’ll never be bored. And you’re interesting yourself. So, he will never be bored. I cannot think of a better thing.”
She pressed her lips together, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Pretending to study the flowers blooming in a nearby bed, she began, “But he is—”
“What?” Aston interrupted with the sort of self-importance common to dukes.
It was tempting to prevaricate. But she did not. “An adventurer.”
Aston winked at her. “And you’re not?”
Before she could reply, the duke spotted his son over by the fountain on the other side of the garden and headed off, calling, “Tony, you scamp, come and chat with your father.”
She considered Aston’s advice. Could she take it? She hoped she could. It seemed the only path to happiness.
Turning her gaze back to her handsome husband, she allowed herself to smile, allowed herself to enjoy this moment. It had not been planned but it was still something to rejoice in.
Everything was going to be just fine. More than fine. Much to her amazement, she was about to have a family again. What more could she desire?
And at that moment, Adam turned towards her. Their eyes met and he, too, smiled, a slow, promising smile. He stepped away from the Duke of Hunt and started to make his way towards her.
The sun danced in his golden hair, painting him a veritable Adonis.
He walked with an incredible confidence, his gaze never leaving her. He made no attempt to veil the clear desire on his face.
In that moment, she knew Adam Duke was wild. And he always would be.
*
Adam mounted the sprawling steps of his wife’s imposing London townhome, wondering, once again, how the devil such a thing had transpired. He wasn’t displeased, but it was still an amazement to him, his current state in life.
The Westport townhome, much like the Duke of Hunt’s, was no small affair. Detached and standing at the head of a small square, the parkland before it was an orchestrated wild land. The house sat, like an important old woman who had aged exceptionally well, lording over the smaller but elegant houses in her vicinity.
There had been some discussion as to where they might live but, with the return of her family title, it had been quickly decided that they should live at Westport House.
So, just before the wedding, Argyle had brought over the majority of Adam’s things and put them in what was apparently to be his new London home.
In all his years, he’d never dwelled in a place that outwardly appeared to be a mausoleum.
His childhood had been spent in a beautifully made, but small brick house. He’d been born to wealth. It was what had given him the freedom to sail for morals and not for profit. In Boston, there had been no need to build a palace as some did. His father had been quite content with a house that suited his family since, more often than not, he was away at sea.
And in London, he’d always stayed aboard his ship or in small lodgings.
He was no stranger to grandeur, but he had never lived day in and out in it.
She took his hand. “Welcome home,” she said softly as she led him up under the surprisingly large portico.
Home.
He followed her, feeling more out of place than he ever had in any foreign land.
The doors at the top of the stairs opened and the butler in the doorway beamed with pleasure.
Bowing, the older man with hair as white as snow said, “Lady Beatrix, I cannot express my delight that I am to be in your service again and that you have come back to your rightful place.”
Beatrix beamed, her whole being aglow. “Thank you, Braxton.”
“Captain Duke,” Braxton said with just the right mixture of deference and respect.
Adam met the retainer’s eye squarely. “It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of one who has served my wife’s family for so long. I hope you shall eventually tell me tales of them and her childhood.”
Braxton’s eyes flared at this strange request and, yet, his eyes, for brief moment, softened. “It will be my honor, Captain. Now, please. The staff is waiting to congratulate you.”
The staff.
Adam felt a moment’s hesitation before he swept it aside. While he had not had a staff, he had been in the command of hundreds of men. Much like his own ship, this house, as large as it was, would need a veritable army to care for it. Even so, he wasn’t sure what he was going to make of the situation. He’d never been a man bent on ceremony.
He dressed himself, cared for most of his own things, and well. . . He’d always dined at other people’s houses, ordered dinner from the local pie shop, or been given a passing fare on his ship.
Adjustment would be necessary, he reminded himself. He was nothing if not flexible.
All that mattered was the joy and poignant expression on Beatrix’s face.
At long last, it was she who had come home and he couldn’t be happier for her. He would prevail in this new life. After all, it’s what he always did.