Page 93 of To Hunt the Hunter

“We have our compensations,” he assured Lucian. “I have the ring and brandy, what more could you ask for?”

Happily, Lucian did not have time to think up an appropriate retort to that. Phoebe, as ever, saved him from a rapid plunge into gloom by hitching up her skirts and running down the aisle, yelling “she’s here!” at the top of her lungs.

Lucian let out a breath and beamed at her, ignoring the gasps and mutters of all the old dowagers who exclaimed at her dreadful behaviour.

“Thank you, Bee,” he said, shooing her back to her position as Matilda’s bridesmaid.

The organ began to play, the sound resonating in his ears as the congregation stood for the bride. Lucian’s breath snagged in his throat. Matilda glimmered as she walked down the aisle, shafts of sunlight catching the silver thread in her gown and making it sparkle, making her sparkle. There were diamonds at her throat, her ears and wrists, and a heavy tiara to match: jewels that had been in their family for generations and worn by every Marchioness of Montagu on their wedding day. Lucian knew, without a doubt, that not one of those women had been loved by their marquess as he loved her. They would break the mould, the two of them together, and make their family great and powerful, though not through wealth or politics or brilliant marriages, but by living life to the full. Their success would come by finding happiness and love and joy, and all the things he realised now could not be bought or taken, but had to be given, selflessly and with your whole heart.

Suddenly, she was standing beside him and, as always when she was near, the rest of the world fell away.

“My love,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

She smiled at him, her eyes alight with happiness, and held on tight.

***

“Bee, if you eat another slice of cake, you’ll be sick,” Lucian warned, though he was smiling at her.

Phoebe shrugged and popped another piece in her mouth.

“I don’t care,” she said around the cake.

Matilda hid a smile as Lucian sighed. “It’s hopeless,” he lamented. “No one will ever marry such a hoyden. I’ll have to send her to a nunnery.”

“They wouldn’t have me either,” Phoebe said cheerfully. “Besides, I’d escape. Flash Jack taught me how to pick a lock.”

Lucian groaned. “That’s it. No one will ever take her off my hands.”

Phoebe snickered and climbed into his lap, heedless of her sticky fingers on his immaculate wedding clothes. “You said you couldn’t part with me unless it was someone I liked very much, enough that I couldn’t bear the thought of not being married to him.”

“I’m sure I said no such thing,” he remarked. “You’re a diabolical child and you know it.”

She stared up at him, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. “I love you, Papa.”

Matilda’s eyes burned, her heart squeezing in her chest. From the fierce glitter in Lucian’s eyes, he was similarly afflicted.

“Phoebe, sweetheart,” he began, but Phoebe cut in over him.

“I know you’re not really my papa,” she said softly. “I know it was Thomas and I shall never forget that, but I never really knew him, nor my mother either, and… and I should like so much to have a mother and father. Couldn’t we pretend again, like we did before?”

Matilda reached for Lucian’s hand and squeezed, and he looked to her, his beautiful eyes no longer cold, but filled with warmth and love. She nodded at him and he smiled, a full, wide smile that showed the dimples she adored all the more for how elusive they were. Though she thought perhaps they would be more familiar from now on.

“Well, Bee,” he said, his voice a little thick. “Perhaps we can see about making it official, not just pretend. If… If you are certain it is what you would like?”

Phoebe stared at him, eyes wide with wonder, and then threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes, please!”

Lucian hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek before she scrambled off his lap.

“I must tell Pippin!” she shrieked, running full tilt across the room to the door.

“You don’t mind?” he asked Matilda, holding her hand tightly.

“Of course not,” she said, torn between laughter and tears as how perfect the day had been. “It’s a wonderful idea, and it will make her so happy.”

He let out a soft huff of laughter and spoke quietly, his voice low and dark, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Speaking of making people happy,” he said, “I think I have endured quite enough. I want to be alone with my wife.”