They sat in companionable silence until there was knock on the door.
“John?” Evie said from the other side, “It’s time for us to walk to the church.”
Richard and John pushed to standing at the same time, groaning.
“My muscles feel like they’ve been in a meat grinder,” Richard said.
“Mine too.”
Richard knocked his elbow into his brother’s ribs. “Not ideal for a wedding night.”
Laughing, they joined Evelina in the hallway, and Richard sank to the back of the large group bursting out of the house and down the drive.
Near the front of it, to Evie’s side, walked Beatrice and Selena, their arms looped round one another’s waists. Martin strolled nearby, smiling at Selena. Perhaps his future would also hold a parade to a chapel soon enough.
No matter how well Richard knew Beatrice or how many times he visited a house in London with her, they would never be able to walk next to one another in public like that, sharing small smiles and whispered words.
Selena leaned over and whispered something in Beatrice’s ear, and Beatrice looked over her shoulder, searching the crowd behind her until she found him. When their eyes caught, she turned around and weaved her way through the oncoming crowd until she stood beside him, then she set her steps to his. He shortened his stride to fit her smaller one.
“You should be up front with your brother,” she said.
He shook his head. “I do not wish to spoil the merriment. I’m in a dour mood today.”
“It’s my fault.” She didn’t lower her chin but faced her culpability head high.
“No, sweetheart,” he whispered.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Mark my words,” a voice, high and loud, called out from the crowd, “there will be another wedding at Slopevale in three weeks’ time.”
Everyone looked around for the speaker, but no one could find her.
“Who?” a second voice queried.
“Why, Mr. Clark and Miss Bell, of course,” said another.
Still, everyone looked about, failing to find the speakers.
“Damn Daniel,” Richard growled.
“Where is he?” Beatrice hissed, her cheeks roses as everyone parading before them spun around to inspect them for signs of matrimonial intent.
“There. Behind Peterson,” Richard whispered.
Daniel waggled his fingers, then pulled his hat low. “They’re in love!” he cried out, that fake voice rising high and loud. “Miss Bell and the old marquess’s bastard.”
Peterson scowled, gaze flashing to Beatrice.
“Oh God.” Richard surged toward Daniel. Had to remove the man before any more harm was done.
Beatrice hid her face behind her palms.
Before Richard could reach Daniel, John pushed his way to the back of the crowd. “Is that true?” His gentlemanly instinct rode him hard, would demand honor if anything was even the least bit untoward.
Disaster. Richard had to save Beatrice from a permanent entanglement she didn’t want. “Miss Bell?” He laughed. “And me? In love? It’s absurd. Isn’t it?” He threw the question at Beatrice. He’d dug the hole, now she could throw the body of these romantic accusations inside its grave, bury it deep.
After a moment of shaky silence, she lifted her gaze to him, threw her shoulders back in that position he knew so well. It said she had no doubts. It said confidence steeled every inch of her perfect soul. She stepped closer to him, her smile so mischievous he wanted to kiss it, right there in front of everyone.
