“Will you stop fussing? You look perfect.”
Stephen watched as Thalia smoothed her skirts for what had to be the hundredth time. Turning left and right, she squared her shoulders and critically observed her appearance.
“The tiara is too much,” she mumbled, touching a finger to the gold and ruby coronet he’d given to her as a wedding gift—along with a matching set of earrings, necklace, and bracelet. They were all a match for her engagement ring. “Don’t you think it’s too much?”
“You’re a duchess,” he reminded her, something he found himself doing often. “Nothing is ever too much.”
They had been wed two months ago in a lavish wedding at St. George’s. Thalia had been terrified to appear before the whole of London nobility as his bride, but the moment they’d stood face-to-face at the altar, the fear had melted from her eyes. They had gazed at one another, and a sense of rightness had fallen between them. She looked at no one else for the rest of their wedding day.
The new Duchess of Westerfield became an overnight sensation. Their surprise union had become the talk of London and beyond, and was being portrayed as whimsically romantic. The handsome duke lifting a spinster bookseller out of the gutter and making her his duchess. It didn’t matter that the story was only half-true, when it turned Thalia into the ton’s newest darling. If anyone disparaged her in private the words never reached his ears, or Thalia’s.
They had remained in London long enough for Thalia to have her presentation at court and endure the tutelage of his mother in the social graces. Stephen had been anxious to depart for their honeymoon, but his mother had insisted that it was important for Thalia to belong.
“You will have to formally introduce her to the ton,” she had reminded him. “You cannot throw her into that situation without preparation.”
Stephen had grudgingly admitted that his mother was right, and waited impatiently through weeks of Thalia’s tutoring in everything from silverware and place settings, to proper forms of address. At last, they were able to leave the city, with Stephen whisking the entire family away to Westerfield Abbey—the ducal seat on the coast of Devon. Once there, Stephen had spent his days stealing Thalia away whenever he could, as his mother had engaged her in planning her first ball.
Thalia had seemed overwhelmed by all the preparations, but she and his mother got along famously. Whenever Stephen entered the salon for Thalia’s particular use, she would gaze up from samples of china and silver and smile.
Tonight was the night. All of the beau monde had journeyed to Devon to be introduced to the new duchess. Everything was arranged, with Thalia’s gown being created over three weeks—it’s crimson hue a match for the damask waistcoat he wore.
“Will anyone think poorly of me for wearing red?”
Stephen took her hand and turned her away from the mirror. Her gown was in the latest style, the bodice encrusted with beading and edged in gold thread. A gauze over-skirt dotted with more gems fell over the satin underskirt. White gloves were the perfect contrast, and her jewels sparkled in the candlelight.
“My love, they will think you are a goddess. Red looks so beautiful against your skin. Now … breathe.”
Thalia gripped his hands and took a slow, deep breath. He held her gaze, nodding and smiling when she seemed to relax a bit.
“Now, we are going to go into that ballroom so I can present you to the people who will bow and kiss your slippers whenever you pass from here on out. We will dance and drink champagne, and eat too much dessert at supper, and have a marvelous time. Then, we will leave for our wedding trip. Oh, but not before I give you one final wedding gift. It’s a surprise.”
Stephen had planned a months-long expedition for himself and his bride. First, they would visit Ireland and Scotland before striking out for more exotic locales. He planned to take her to Paris and Rome, Venice, and Athens. They would swim in oceans and explore ancient ruins and eat Parisian cuisine. He would introduce her to the world of wonders she had missed living her entire life in London. With the Season at an end, they were free to do what they pleased. Stephen could hardly wait to have her all to himself.
“Yes,” she said with a genuine smile. “All those things sound wonderful.”
“Good. Now take my arm. Remember not to use your full smile … your face will begin to ache within an hour. And don’t worry about committing any faux pas. Everyone seems to adore you. They will be forgiving.”
She pulled in her smile a bit, reining in its wideness but losing none of the charm. “All right. I am ready. And what’s this about a surprise? Haven’t you given me enough already?”
“Ah-ah,” he chided. “It isn’t a surprise if I tell you what it is. And no, I haven’t given you enough. The entire world wouldn’t be enough for you. No more questions. It’s time.”
Clinging to his arm, she allowed him to lead her from their shared bedchamber. The attached duchess’s suite would continue to go unused, for Stephen could not imagine passing a single night without her in his bed.
As they neared the staircase, she gave him a worried look. “Do you promise to help me keep an eye on Theo? I am worried that she will fall prey to the first man to glance her way.”
Stephen had harbored similar concerns about his new sister-in-law. She was lovely and he cared dearly for her, but she was young and naive—much like the parade of debutantes who debuted each Season.
“This is only her first ball, and the only one she will attend until her official coming out,” Stephen said, patting Thalia’s hand. “I will help you keep watch, and by the time she debuts, she will be better prepared to live amongst society.”
“Thank you for all you have done for her and my mother. I’ve never seen them so happy.”
Stephen smiled, thinking of his mother-in-law, who had made fast friends with his own mother. The two drank tea and chatted late into the night after dinner, and took their morning walks together. Theo was busy delighting in all the new things her status now afforded—a fashionable wardrobe, a horse of her own and someone to teach her how to ride it, jewels, and a room the size of a small palace.
“I am glad. I want them to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
They had now reached the doors of the ballroom. Two footmen waited to open the doors that would usher them into the next phase of their lives.
Thalia looked up at him with all the love in the world in her eyes, reminding Stephen just how fortunate he was. “I am happier than I ever dreamed, and it’s all because of you.”
“The feeling is mutual, my love. Now, are you ready?”
“Yes. I’m ready.”
The doors swung open, and the music from within the ballroom faded away as several hundred heads swiveled in their direction. The clamor of voices hushed, and one could have heard a pin drop.
Stephen led his bride forward just as they were announced, coming to a stop at the top of the curving stairs leading to marble floors below.
“The Duke and Duchess of Westerfield!”
Heads bowed and skirts spread in curtsies like a rippling ocean wave. Stephen laid a hand over his bride’s where it rested in the crook of his elbow. Together, they made their way down the staircase and into the throng.
Later that evening, a puzzled Thalia took precarious steps down the back staircase of Westerfield Abbey. Her husband had blindfolded her, leaving Thalia to trust him to guide her. The excited murmurings of half their ball guests followed them into the night, the summer air having given way to the crisp coolness of fall.
“Almost there,” Stephen whispered close to her ear. “I hope you enjoy your gift, my love.”
Thalia grinned and held tighter to his arm. She would never grow tired of hearing him call her ‘my love.’ Nor would she ever grow tired of his flair for the romantic and dramatic. From the day of their engagement, he had been spoiling her rotten. Thalia protested, but secretly reveled in his attention.
He had just announced to their guests that he had a spectacular end to the evening planned, and he wanted them all to witness it. So, about one hundred guests had followed them through the French doors and off the back terrace. Her feet found soft grass as they reached the large stretch of lawn leading to the gardens.
Stephen placed a hand at the small of her back to bring her to a halt, then the warmth and solidity of him materialized at her back. His hands found her shoulders, and he kissed her cheek.
“I was unable to make this happen for you at Vauxhall,” he said as he untied her blindfold. “But I was determined for you to experience this at least once in your life.”
Thalia blinked as the fabric fell away from her eyes—revealing a massive hot-air balloon resting right on the house grounds. She made a small sound of shock and turned to look at Stephen over her shoulder.
“How on earth did you arrange this without my knowledge?”
Stephen grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “You were too busy making plans with my mother. As well, the balloon didn’t arrive until the ball was well underway. You were mingling and did not notice.”
“Oh, Stephen!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him—much to the delight of the onlookers, who cheered and clapped. “It’s wonderful! I … I’m speechless.”
“Well, there’s nothing to do now but step inside and take flight.”
Trepidation curled in the depths of Thalia’s gut. “Is it safe?”
Stephen nudged her forward, and they began the walk toward the balloon. “Mr. Cunningham’s design is the safest in England and he is experienced. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with your life.”
The aforementioned Mr. Cunningham stood beside his balloon with a wide smile as they approached—wearing a greatcoat and a plaid cap—a pair of goggles lowered around his neck.
“Good evening Your Graces,” he said with a sweeping bow. “Welcome aboard!”
Stephen took Thalia’s hand and helped her inside the open basket, which felt surprisingly sturdy beneath her feet.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Cunningham,” Thalia said as the man followed them inside. “I am honored to have you take me on my first flight.”
“The honor is all mine, Your Grace. Now … don’t be alarmed. The ascent can be a bit shaky, but once we’re high enough it’s smooth sailing.”
Thalia bit her lip, moving into the circle of Stephen’s arms as Mr. Cunningham began toying with levers and pulleys. A burst of fire went up into the ignited balloon, causing Thalia to gasp and shrink against Stephen. Her husband chuckled and held her tight as they lifted off the ground. The basket bobbed and dipped precariously, and Thalia closed her eyes, afraid they might go toppling at any moment.
The sensation of being lifted churned her stomach and made her heartbeat accelerate, but she took deep breaths and reminded herself that Stephen had done this before. He wouldn’t have planned this if he thought anything could go wrong.
“Open your eyes, my love. You’re missing the best part.”
Thalia obeyed and pried her eyes open, realizing that the frightening swaying had mostly ceased. She gasped, gripping at the edge of the basket as the vast holding of Westerfield Abbey sprawled out below them—growing smaller by the minute. Cool air whipped against her face and she laughed, delighted by the sensation.
“Oh my God,” she shouted to be heard over the wind. “It’s incredible.”
“I told you,” Stephen murmured, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. “Now you know how it feels to fly.”
“The night’s perfect for it!” Mr. Cunningham called out, still operating his levers and such. “Relax and enjoy the ride, Your Graces.”
“Ah, I almost forgot,” Stephen said, moving away from Thalia and crouching to retrieve something.
Thalia smiled as she recognized a silver ice bucket, a bottle of uncorked champagne nestled inside. Stephen produced two flutes, giving them to Thalia so he could pour. The bubbling wine filled both glasses, and Stephen left the bottle inside the bucket and retrieve his drink from Thalia.
Raising his glass, he gave her a look filled with naked devotion. “To my beautiful duchess … the pride of my heart. And to many years of happiness … and children. I’m thinking there will be at least six.”
Thalia held her glass back before Stephen could complete the toast. “Six?”
Stephen gave a sheepish smile. “It seemed appropriate.”
“Hmph,” she snorted. “Says the man who will not have to carry and birth them.”
“If you were to produce twins it would cut down on the number of pregnancies.”
“Stephen Alexander Warwick Conrad Dryden!”
He groaned. “I’m going to strangle Mother for teaching you all of my names.”
Thalia wrinkled her nose at them. “I would have read it off the church register when you signed it, anyway. Six children, Stephen? Isn’t it … a bit much?”
He raised his eyebrows at her and shrugged. “We are a duke and duchess. Nothing is ever—”
“Too much,” Thalia finished for him. “So I’ve been told.”
“Fine,” Stephen relented. “Four children.”
“Three.”
“Done,” he agreed. “Unless, of course … the twins, you know…”
She slapped playfully at his chest, which prompted Stephen to take advantage of her proximity by grabbing her waist and pulling her closer. He held his glass up.
“You don’t have to give me a thing to make me happy. You’ve already made me the happiest man in the world.”
Thalia touched her glass to his. “Still … six is a nice even number.”
A wicked grin overtook Stephen’s face, then he took a long pull of his champagne. “Then Mr. Cunningham had better land this thing right now or turn his back and cover his ears. I’m ready to begin.”
Muffling the hysterical laughter coming from Thalia’s throat, Stephen then swooped in and consumed her lips in a fiery kiss.