“To the village, of course. To the tavern, for a celebration of our own.”
“What!”
“It might be Anthony’s last night of bachelorhood, but it is also mine. And I mean to make the most of it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Mercy said on an incredulous laugh.
“As the plague. I told you I would not be outdone.” Charity paused at the threshold, turning to peer over her shoulderexpectantly.
“You liar,” Mercy accused without heat. “You’re in the throes of ecstatic love. You simply cannot bear to be away from him for more than an hour or two.”
“I admit to nothing. Make whatever scurrilous suggestions you please,” Charity said loftily, tilting her nose in the air. “But youarecoming, are you not?”
“If you’ll admit to it.”
“Two things can be true. I can both want to put him to shame and…miss him when he’s away,” Charity admitted somewhat sheepishly.
“Oh, all right.” Mercy climbed to her feet. “It’s been just ages since I’ve been to a proper tavern. Let me get my pelisse.”
∞∞∞
Anthony trudged through the snow, striving to keep his footing even in the darkness, aiming for the grand house in the distance and the lights dancing in the windows. The journey had been a significantly easier one down the massive hill and in the remaining light of dusk than it was now.
Most especially because he had not had to carry Charity in his arms for it. But she was presently none too steady on her feet, and her pelisse had become lost in the tavern at some point, and he hadn’t wanted to risk a tumble in the snow.
Ah, well. He had had an hour or so of conversation with Thomas and Mercy’s Father, Augustus, before Charity and Mercy had come traipsing into the tavern in want of a little fun. And to their credit, the women had entertained themselves separately for the space of perhaps twenty minutes—through their first pints of bitter ale—before the façade had come crumbling down and what had been meant to be a gentleman’s evening had turned into something quite different indeed.
Perhaps Charity had once had the sort of tolerance for alcohol that her familiarity with wild parties and Cyprians’ balls would suggest, but it had swiftly become clear that she did not any longer. She had, in fact, outdone him at her own insistence—but only because he had thought the wisest course of action would be to let her win.
At least one of them had to be in peak condition for their wedding on the morrow. And as it turned out, it was going to be him.
“I love you,” Charity said, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder like a drowsy kitten.
Anthony swallowed a chuckle. “I know,” he said. “You’ve said it at least three times in the last five minutes.”
“Have I?” She sounded baffled. “Are you certain of that?”
“Quite.”
“Oh. Well, it is true, and I might as well say it.”
“Generous of you,” he grunted as she flung her arms about his neck. “Careful. I’m not at my steadiest in the dark. I might drop you.”
“You won’t. I trust you with my life,” she said rather dramatically, pressing her lips to the side of his neck. “How long until we reach the house?”
“I’m not certain. It’s dark, and I’m no longer quite so proficient at estimating distances as once I was. Losing an eye does tend to wreak havoc on one’s perception of depth. Have you got your gown picked out for tomorrow?”
“Yes. It’s red. Your mother is going to be appalled, I’m afraid.” She tangled her fingers in her hair, scratched his scalp with her nails. A shiver slipped down his back which had nothing to do with the cold.
“I rather think mother has come to terms with you,” he said. “At most, she will be mildly exasperated.” Although if Charity arrived to her wedding looking as green about the gills as he expected she might, then that exasperation might run a bit deeper than the red gown alone would elicit. “Besides,” he added. “I like you in red.”
“She means to teach me how to be a proper duchess,” Charity said. “I suppose it is really quite generous of her.”
“I don’t know. I think I’d prefer an improper one.” At last, the top of the damned hill. His boots crunched upon the gravel of the drive hidden beneath the thick layer of snow. “I don’t want you reformed. I want you exactly as you are.”
“Good,” Charity said. “Because I don’t intend to be anything else, despite your mother’s objections.”
The door opened to admit him before he reached it, and he swept past the footman who had been left to watch the entrance for their return, heading for the stairs. “Don’t move too much,” he warned. “Stairs are damned tricky beasts.” But the light was good, and he went slow and steady, navigating them one at a time.
