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Trooping along behind them were at least eighty men carrying mattresses and chairs and tables and goodness only knew what else she had chosen in the last month for their comfort. She was far from a sensitive soul like Ursula, but even Aimee felt more than a twinge of embarrassment at these proceedings.

It felt rather as though she was flaunting her father’s wealth with all the fine new items being paraded through the capital for all and sundry to see. She felt her cheeks start to turn hotter and hotter at the shouts and calls of the people who stopped to stare at their progress as the minstrels piped them on their way.

Originally, of course, her wedding procession was not intended to be this long, for half of the followers would have been for Ursula. Her sister’s indisposition meant that Renlow and his bride would now spend the night under her father’s roof and so avoid the clamor and fuss that Ursula found so abhorrent.

This meant that all the acrobats and musicians had now accompanied Aimee and Kentigern from her father’s house and out into the streets. It was now late afternoon, and the sun was blazing down from the blue sky. Amy’s heavy veil did not so much as shield her from the sun as smother her. She clung to Lord Kentigern’s arm and wondered if the house would be much further. She was surprised that her father had not picked a house nearer to his own, but they seemed to be heading away from the busy town center toward quieter quarters.

The second time her slippered feet stumbled on a cobble, Lord Kentigern’s arm wrapped around her back and she found herself hoisted up into his muscular arms. A cheer went up, and Aimee blinked up at him, her heart hammering in her breast. Finally, she knew what it felt like to be embraced in Lord Kentigern’s arms!

Though she knew herself to be substantially built, the way he had swung her up had made her feel as light and dainty as any princess. For once, her ready tongue failed her, and she gazed at him feeling quite tongue-tied and shy.

“It will be quicker if I just carry you,” he told her coolly, somewhat dampening her enjoyment of the experience.

“Oh, I quite agree,” she answered rather breathlessly, as she tried to get her rioting senses under control. Her new husband seemed to have tidied his beard a good deal for the occasion which distracted her at closer quarters. His one eye, she noticed, was a sort of green which turned amber near the center. Hazel, she believed the phenomenon was called.

“What is it?” he asked abruptly, and she thought he tensed under her gaze.

“Who trimmed your beard?” she asked impulsively.

He looked surprised by the question. “Jakeman,” he responded.

“Jakeman?”

“My manservant.”

“Oh. Well, he made a very nice job of it. It was a good deal bushier when you came to dine with us before. I can actually see your jawline today. You look a good deal younger.”

He frowned at her and grunted. Realizing her scrutiny at such close quarters was making him uneasy, Aimee turned her gaze to look back over his shoulder instead. Her new vantage point meant she could see her sister-in-law’s haughty expression of disdain as she picked along the route.

“I think your sister must be quite fatigued,” she commented anxiously. “It has been rather a long day, has it not? And the sun is rather fierce to go traipsing now through the streets.” He made no comment, and Aimee’s gaze wandered over to his cousin Freda who had an absent smile on her face as she hummed along with the musician playing at her elbow.

“Your cousin seems a most amiable woman.” He made a rumbling noise which she decided to take for assent. “It will be nice to have female relatives about the house in any event.” His expression turned decidedly skeptical at this. “Why do you look like that?” she asked. “I am used to the company of my sister, you recollect.”

“You and your sister do not seem much alike,” he commented after a heavy pause.

“In looks, do you mean? Or temperament?”

“Both,” he answered abruptly.

“Well, I look like my mother,” she explained. “But apparently, her nature and ways were more akin to Ursula’s.”

“Hmm.”

When he made no rejoinder, she felt a stab of disappointment which was blunted when she realized the men in front of them had come to a halt.

“Have we arrived?” Aimee asked, turning her head to face forward and take in the large gabled townhouse before them.

Her new husband pushed forward with her still in his arms until he had reached the front of the group. “Is this the house?” he asked the pole-bearer.

“It is, my lord,” he responded promptly.

Lord Kentigern grunted and reached for the key which was about his neck on a string. Unlocking the door, he threw it wide open and stepped through. Aimee wasn’t entirely sure if he was complying with tradition of crossing the threshold with her in his arms, or if this was just a happy circumstance. Either way, she rejoiced at her good fortune and gazed about at the well-appointed entryway.

“It has handsome proportions,” she commented.

Again, Lord Kentigern merely grunted and then threw open another door to peer inside. After glancing about at the empty reception rooms, he made for the staircase and set Aimee down on the bottom step.

Reaching into his tunic, he extracted a purse of coins and handed it to her. “Get rid of them,” he said succinctly. “Do not let any of them above stairs.” He then turned about and went striding back out of the door. Aimee stared after him a moment before rousing herself to untie the strings of the purse. Luckily, she had one her father had given her, for there were surely not enough pennies in this one alone. Not when there were at least eighty bodies crowding their front door!