Lady Hester would hear of nothing but that she be allowed to host what she called the “wedding breakfast” for Adam and Desirée. After all, she had insisted, it was at Number 7 that all these wonderful tendres had begun. Not entirely true, but Jean-Marc and Meg had agreed as long as they were allowed to oversee the details.
“Stop staring at me,” Desirée told Adam. “Everyone will see you.”
A day and a night had passed since the horrors of Verbeux and Rolly Spade-Filbert. Both had been arrested. And little more than an hour earlier, with help from friends in high places, a bishop had blessed the marriage of Adam and Princess Desirée.
“Stop,” Desirée said. Adam had manoeuvered her into a corner of the small ballroom where they were to eat, and placed himself between his wife and the guests who crowded about the flower-festooned room drinking champagne and chattering. “You’re embarrassing me. What will everyone think?”
His smile had the expected result. Her legs, her stomach, her breasts, all of her most sensitive places tingled or ached. “They all think the truth. I want you all to myself. You and I have been through a great deal but now we are together and I don’t want to share you.”
She couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching. “And I don’t want to share you, but I shall manage for a little while before I bear you away and ravage you.”
Adam actually turned a little pink. “You are beyond all, madam. I think I may take you right here. What have you to say about that?”
Making a little show of fussing with his neckcloth, she said, “I say that I have nothing to fear from the man who was embarrassed when I took him in a deserted passageway.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, and when he kissed her it was so sudden she couldn’t get her breath. She leaned against the wall and he opened her mouth, thrust his tongue inside, rocked their faces together.
Desirée didn’t care that all of their friends must be watching them. Adam’s hands at her waist, stroking her sides, her back, pressed the rosettes of pearls on her ivory satin gown into her skin and she loved the heat of him.
Adam paused and rested his forehead on hers. “I love you,” he said. “I always will. You are my miracle.”
Tears filled her eyes and she whispered, “You are my everything.”
The room had grown silent but for a cleared throat or two and the odd sniffle. Adam looked into Desirée’s face. “I suppose we should join them so that they can eat.”
“But we don’t really want to, do we?”
He raised his brows. “I have another meal in mind and very soon. Come.”
Adam turned and pulled her beside him. Immediately she hid her face. Standing in a semicircle, the gathering watched them. More than a few handkerchiefs were in sight and there was a collective, “Ah.”
Lady Hester, her eyes red despite a wide smile, ushered them to their seats at a very long table procured for the event but, that lady reminded them, soon to be used for many more grand affairs. The others took their places and Old Coot signalled for service to begin.
“A moment.” Jean-Marc stood with his champagne glass in his hand. “One toast before we eat.” He raised the glass high. “To a couple who have proved the strength of their love and commitment to each other. Thank you for bringing such joy to Meg and me, and to our family—including our next little one, I’m sure.”
“Bravo,” the cry went up.
“And to Finch and myself,” Ross said, jumping to his feet. “You brought me closer to my grave in Scotland, but all is forgiven. We should tell you that we are also looking forward to a new family addition.”
Latimer rose and pulled Jenny up with him. “My wife tells me I should assure you that you have our love always, and I do assure you of that. We love you. Including the little More who is not yet with us.”
Laughter and applause followed before Hunter stood, “Sibyl and I wish you as much happiness as we have found.” He indicated a second table where the children sat, trying to behave, with teenage Hayden—Finch and Ross’s adopted boy—Birdie, and Toby attempting to keep order. “I speak for all the children, too—including the one we await.”
Sir Robert beckoned Lady Hester to his side, gave her a glass and raised his own. “Lady Hester is not increasing,” he announced amid laughter. “But in May we shall marry.”
“And live here,” Lady Hester said, looking like a rosy girl. “Robert understands how attached I am to this house. I can never explain exactly what each of you means to me, and to see Adam married—to Desirée of course—is more than I could ever have hoped for.”
Desirée could scarcely bear the burning in her throat. She turned to Adam, only to discover his attention elsewhere. He stared from his father to his mother, seated side by side probably for the first time in some years. The former’s regard was steadily on his wife while her head was bowed, her face not visible.
Abruptly, Lady Elspeth stood up. She had no glass but she said, “I wish great happiness to my wonderful son and his bride. Thank you for allowing me to share in your lives.” She turned to Gilbert and offered him her hand. “My husband and I both wish you a wonderful life and hope you will visit us often when we return to the farm.”
Desirée watched her husband. He and Lucas exchanged a long glance. There was too much to absorb, almost too much emotion to absorb. Lucas put an arm around Enid’s shoulders and clearly could not form words.
“Everything is getting cold,” Lady Hester said, dabbing away at her eyes and nose with her handkerchief. “Coot?”
The staff set to work at once while Adam and Desirée held hands tightly under the table. She put her mouth to his ear and said, “Everyone is to have a new child. Except Lucas and Enid as far as we know.”
“And us,” he said, kissing her cheek. “But we’ll see if we can’t change that very soon.”
Desirée refused the soup and reached for a sugarplum instead. This she held close to her lips but before she popped it in, she said, “We already have changed it.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “How?”
“Dear, dear, I had no idea how little you understand about these things,” she told him. “I’ll explain later, but I do believe it happened on our wedding night.”
“Minx,” he said. “Wonderful minx. How am I supposed to sit here? I will not share you, or this moment.”
Desirée squeezed his thigh and said, “I think you should eat. You need your strength.”
Evans came into the room and bent to talk to Lady Hester. She nodded and continued eating her soup.
“Where’s Barstow?” Jenny asked, obviously savoring her soup.
“In Brighton,” Lady Hester said, offhanded. “She and Mr. Lumpit were married there several days ago. She wrote that they preferred a quiet affair and time alone. But they will return to live at Number 7.”
Chuckles ensued but Lady Hester said, rather loudly, “I’m very pleased for Mr. and Mrs. Lumpit. Everyone deserves someone to love.”
Without warning, sugarplums, fruit and nuts began to cascade from the exquisite silver epergne at the center of the table. Gardenias floated from their decorative dishes. Desirée opened her mouth to exclaim but no sound emerged. Apparently of its own volition, the epergne fell to its side and rolled back and forth until Lucas stopped it.
Old Coot waved a maid forward to clear up the mess.
Everyone continued eating as if each of them had decided the less said about toppling delicacies, the better.
Evans came in again, this time with a somewhat awkward Anthony FitzDuram. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make the blessing,” he said, and Desirée felt badly for him. “Thought I should pay my respects as soon as I could, though. All the best to the bride and groom.”
Desirée and Adam said, “Thank you,” a little too heartily.
Anthony made to leave but Lady Hester told him to stay and a chair was brought for him, and a place set.
“Are you sure you want to go to the attic?” Adam whispered to Desirée. “Sibyl and Hunter offered us their rooms until we decide on a new place of our own.”
“The attic,” Desirée responded. “That’s where we first lay on a bed together. Today that bed shall discover that there is always more to learn about the art of making love.”
He kissed her neck—in front of everyone. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Mmm,” she said, doubting he wanted to go more than she did.
“Before our bride and groom leave,” Lady Hester said knowingly, raising titters around the table. “I should let you know that when they have chosen their new home—and I know it is to be in Mayfair Square—then Mr. FitzDuram will join us here. He has decided to do what he has always wanted to do. He will write wonderful poetry and considers the attic just the place. So you see, my tradition of giving refuge to worthy protogées continues.”
With a yowl, Halibut, who must have been under the table, shot into view, hissing and snarling as Desirée had never seen him do before.
She could have sworn she heard feet thumping and she definitely felt a heavy breeze whirl about them. Glasses blew over, spilling champagne.
“I say,” Hunter remarked, grabbing for glasses with the rest of them.
Halibut, his eyes crossed, drew himself up and seemed to walk on the tips of his claws, or stalk rather.
“Look at him,” Adam said. “He is annoyed.”
“Very annoyed,” Desirée agreed. “But we are going now.”
They stood up.
Halibut took off for the door but pulled up before he reached it. Thumping sounded and the cat backed off, only to sniff about suspiciously before sitting down with a disgruntled look on his face.
“If I were given to fancy,” Finch said, “I’d wonder if some spirit is angry with us.”
Jean-Marc got up and opened the door. “Off with you two,” he said, grinning. “You’ve had a tiring day and need your sleep.”
From downstairs came a crashing noise.
Desirée and Adam ignored it and followed Halibut up to the attic.