July 1815.
Carys glanced up from feeding Huginn and Muninn to see her husband of three days striding across the grass.
The day after his proposal, Tristan had made the very un-Tristanlike pronouncement that he wouldn’t wait to have the banns posted for three consecutive weeks at the parish church. He’d ridden up to London and petitioned the Archbishop of Canterbury, Charles Manners-Sutton, for a Special License. It had cost him not just the five pounds for the license, but the promise to design a Greek-inspired temple in the archbishop’s garden too. Both men had been delighted with the arrangement.
Carys and Tristan had been married in the library at Trellech at eleven o’clock in the morning, with only a handful of guests in attendance.
Gryff, Rhys, and Morgan had all displayed varying degrees of pride, disapproval, and mistrust. Maddie and her cousin Harriet had both beamed with pleasure. Tristan’s aunts, Constance and Prudence, had both sniffed delicately at their scented handkerchiefs and wiped happy tears from their eyes, while Nanny Maude had sent Carys a wicked congratulatory wink. Frances and James, both of whom had traveled down from London, had gazed soulfully at each other across the room; James had also proposed, but the two of them had decided to observe the formalities and wait the traditional three weeks to be wed.
Carys had carried a small posy of violets and lily of the valley. Harriet, much to her chagrin, had been the one to catch it.
It had been a race to get even a few rooms of their new home furnished in such a short space of time and many were still completely bare, but Carys was looking forward to filling the place with both furniture and love.
Her heart gave a little flutter as she admired Tristan’s long legs and broad shoulders. He carried a roll of paper in one hand, and she blushed at the memory of exactly what he’d been doing with those marvelous hands only a few hours before.
The green master bedroom had been the first room to be furnished.
“I have something for you,” he said as he reached her.
“What’s this, plans?”
He nodded and dropped to the picnic rug beside her. “Yes. New ones for the garden, as you suggested. With the perfect balance of wildness and restraint.”
“Like us.” She grinned.
He unrolled the sheets and used four small stones to secure the corners.
“What’s this?” Carys pointed to a series of irregular shapes a little way from the house. She leaned closer to read the faint notes that had been penciled inside each one.
“Enclosures for your animals. Even bigger than the ones at Trellech.” He grinned at her expression of surprise.
“I thought you’d want them all to stay at Trellech.”
He shrugged. “Gryff and Maddie don’t want all of them. And besides, Buttercup is definitely your bear. As is Brenin.”
Carys smiled. Brenin was the name they’d given to the bear they’d rescued from the traveling circus. The owner had gladly handed him over to her care when he’d been captured by the authorities the morning after she and Tristan had intercepted Lord Holland’s shipment of gold.
Lord Holland was currently in Newgate awaiting trial for trying to aid Britain’s enemies, but the circus owner had escaped his armed escort—undoubtedly due to some dubious contacts and a liberal application of bribes—and had disappeared.
Christopher Howe, according to Victoria, had taken a boat to Calais, and had last been heard of heading toward Paris.
Carys studied the plans, her heart full with the thoughtfulness of Tristan’s gesture. If ever she’d needed proof of his love for her, this garden was it. The tiny saplings they’d planted would take years to mature. Just like their marriage, they would need tending and care, but they would grow stronger and more beautiful every year.
She leaned back and pressed her fingers into the warm grass and watched the two ravens bicker over a twig. Roots and wings: Tristan had given her the perfect combination.
“I don’t see a peacock enclosure,” she said. “Does that mean Geoffrey will be staying at Trellech?”
Tristan nodded. “Absolutely. I am not having that dreadful creature here. I value my hearing. And my sanity.”
“Morgan will be so disappointed.” Carys chuckled.
He slanted her a teasing glance. “Looking forward to setting tongues wagging with our return to London next week? Ready to be unveiled as Carys Montgomery?”
“I can’t wait. I’ve ordered the most spectacular gown. People aren’t going to know what to gossip about first.” She sent him an anxious glance. “You know I’ll always be a devilish Davies at heart, though, don’t you? Are you sure you’re ready for me to start muddying your name with my scandalous ways?”
Tristan caught her chin and pulled her forward for a kiss that turned from chaste to scorching in a heartbeat. The paper crumpled beneath his elbow as they sank to the rug, and the two ravens rose, cawing, into the sky.
He smiled against her mouth. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”