Page 71 of The Lady’s Deception

Without lifting his head, he nodded. “Camellia is amazing.” The words were slightly muffled, but his state of shock was clear. “And I—I’m a father. Of two beautiful little girls.”

Paris let out a low whistle. “More Burke women, eh?” Though he had the utmost faith in Cami’s ability to reform this particular rake, daughters would surely seal the deal.

His father nodded sagely, his thoughts apparently traveling a similar line. He made his way to the sideboard, poured two fingers of brandy, and took them to his stunned son-in-law. “Well, today goes to prove what I always say: Men may make the laws, but justice is a woman.”

Everyone, even Ashborough, laughed. Paris’s eyes sought and found Rosamund, who was laughing too. Her usual prickliness had, at least for the moment, disappeared. He watched her amused gaze dart from one member of his family to another, stopping at last on Elf, who was trying to hide beneath a too-small chair while Eileen stalked across the room with her tail in the air.

He crossed to Rosamund’s side and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “This is family, love. Being surrounded by utter chaos most of the time. You’re sure it’s what you want?”

She turned, took his chin between the fingers of one hand, and brushed his hair back with the other so he could not hide from her devastating blue eyes. The governess had come back in full force, thank God.

But she could not disguise the quirk of pleasure on her lips as she at last said, “Yes.”

Chapter 24

As she stepped out into the sunshine of a lovely morning in mid-May, ghosts were the last thing on Rosamund’s mind, despite the nearby churchyard.

She was, at that moment, wondering whether the large basket of flowers Daphne and Bell had been persuaded to carry up the aisle of the church would also contain a kitten; whether Elf had already chewed through the stout rope with which Mr. Whitt, the village blacksmith, had tied her to an anvil; and whether Mrs. Riggs, Tavisham Manor’s cook, had kept her promise to stay on through the wedding breakfast, despite the discovery that the affair was to be attended by a “real live duke.” “Really, Mrs. Riggs,” she’d overheard the vicar’s wife saying, “I hear tell the marquess is the one you have to watch out for”—which of course, hadn’t helped matters a bit.

Beneath a charming wrought-iron trellis hanging with ivy, Mr. Burke stood waiting to walk her down the aisle. While Paris had been busy in Dublin, and Mrs. Burke occupied with her new granddaughters, he had come to Tavisham to help Rosamund order affairs there. He’d sat beside her as she listened to her tenants and made note of their needs. He’d read through leases and explained their terms with patience. He’d helped her figure out how to make it all run smoothly—for, as it turned out, Tavisham was not quite as small a property as her brother had claimed, and when better managed would provide the young couple with a comfortable income without continuing to drain the farmers who worked its lands.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” Mr. Burke asked, holding out an arm to guide her down the rough path to the church door.

She’d stayed with the vicar and his wife last night, for every room at Tavisham Manor was taken: by the Duke and Duchess of Raynham, Lord and Lady Ashborough and Phoebe and Chloe, and Mr. and Mrs. Burke and Daphne and Bell. Paris and Galen, who’d been scheduled to arrive from Oxford last evening, had been forced to put up at the inn in the next village.

“I did,” she told him, though she was almost embarrassed to admit it. Should a bride be nervous on the night before her wedding? Or maybe it was tonight she was supposed to be nervous. But she wasn’t nervous about that, either. Not after the agony of spending six long weeks apart.

And almost before she realized it, they were entering the little stone church, filled to overflowing with the good people of Tavisham and her family-to-be. Her eyes went immediately to the chancel. To Paris, standing there, handsome as ever, in a green coat and a dull gold waistcoat. His sharp profile was turned toward Galen, whose auburn hair curled over his collar and gave him the air of a poet. They were laughing quietly together, some private joke between brothers.

Before silence fell over the company, before anyone had even realized she was there, Paris looked up and found her. How had she ever imagined she could hide anything of herself from those dark, knowing eyes? But he couldn’t hide from her, either. A look of awe spread over his face, and then he smiled. Just the open, genuine smile she had always longed to see.

She wanted to run to him. Thank God for Mr. Burke, who kept her steady. She drew a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked slowly and deliberately into her future.

Afterward, she could remember only snatches. The way Paris’s fingers trembled as he lifted the delicate veil of Irish lace she’d pinned to the bonnet he’d given her. The breathless moment when the vicar asked if there were any objections—and was met with silence. Nothing from Charles, who’d gone skulking back to Suffolk. Not even the cry of a hungry baby. And the swell of love when the vicar had pronounced them man and wife, and she and Paris had turned to face their cheering, smiling, sobbing family, and Eileen had shot like a bolt of lightning down the aisle. Thankfully, Elf had not been at liberty to give chase.

Rosamund couldn’t have told a soul what was served at the wedding breakfast, but the Duke of Raynham praised the lightness of the sponge cake and she made a mental note to give Mrs. Riggs a raise. Phoebe and Chloe, dark-haired and easy-going, were passed from hand to hand and lap to lap. Rosamund thought her heart might stop when she caught a glimpse of Paris at the far end of the table, a baby in each arm, debating with the Marquess of Ashborough over the merits of some piece of legislation soon to come before the House of Lords.

When the meal was finished, Galen got stiffly to his feet and raised his glass.

“To the union of two souls. To the joining of two kingdoms. To the Burkes.”

A rousing chorus of “Hear, hear!” went up from the company. From out of nowhere, her husband was at her side asking for a kiss. And whether it was the toast or the kiss that had been the signal for a general remove, she couldn’t say, but afterward, the party began quickly to scatter.

Lord and Lady Ashborough and the babies were the first to go, heading a parade of three coaches that included Mr. and Mrs. Burke and their youngest daughters, who would stay a while at Stoke Abbey, Lord Ashborough’s ancestral estate in Shropshire, before going on to Wales and then home. It had been essential, confided the Duchess of Raynham, for her to see her mother off and not the other way around. For Erica and the duke were now on their way to Bristol, where they would meet Mr. Remington and board the naval vessel that would take them to the West Indies, a voyage over which the family had already shed its share of anxious tears. “We’ll be back in a year,” she insisted to her brother as she waved from their coach.

Borrowing a bit of the duke’s calm certainty that the trip would be a success, Rosamund squeezed Erica’s hand and said, “Bring me something lovely for my garden.”

Galen was the last to go, “but not without a kiss for my new sister,” he cried before climbing into his gig. She had been told a bit about what had come between the brothers, but she saw no evidence of it now as they exchanged a few low, laughing words.

“Don’t forget this,” she said, handing up his walking stick.

“Ah, yes. He wouldn’t want to be without that,” said Paris with a wink. “I hear the ladies find it dashing.”

When Galen’s gig was out of sight, Paris took her hand in his, and they walked in silence along the gravel drive. She tried to think of something to say, but his frequent letters from Dublin had already answered every question that came to mind. Tommy Fagan had been released from prison and returned to his mother, on whom Lord Dashfort had settled a sizable sum and a pleasant cottage on the edge of the village. The earl had also hired bricklayers to close up the secret passage into Kilready’s dungeon, and hired Mr. Graves’s younger brother to tutor his children. She sincerely hoped that, over time, Alexander and Eugenia would recover from the trauma of losing their mother and come to love the country that was now theirs.

Too soon, they stood before Tavisham Manor. She’d hardly grown accustomed to thinking of it as her house, and now it was his, according to the law. She glanced up at him, her husband, whose eyes were taking in the squat stone building as if he were seeing it for the first time. Stillness had settled over everything. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, and she thought of the enormous adjustments this match would also require of him. He looked down at her and smiled. “Will you show me around our home?”

Our.