Chapter Twenty-Six

H ow could she continue arguing with Luke about besmirching his reputation? Damnation, she’d needed that example. First Luke had dismissed her arguments, then Charlotte and Bessie had. She’d expected North to send her packing when she’d arrived on his doorstep. When he’d welcomed her with open arms as his son’s betrothed, Eleanor had been her last hope.

Perhaps hope was the wrong word. A maelstrom of hope and terror swirled in her gut. Overwhelmed by confusion, she declined pudding.

The others did as well, and Eleanor told North to take Luke to the parlor for drinks, while she and Belle enjoyed sherry and some feminine companionship.

North nodded and kissed her cheek as he stood, making a point to ask a footman for another glass of cider to be sent to the parlor.

Luke grimaced at the mention of cider, and Belle snickered, sobering as Eleanor turned to her.

“I sense some tension. Between you and Luke, perhaps? Or is it me?”

“No, not at all.” Belle struggled to string words together, still trying to formulate a plan on how to dissuade Luke from pursuing her when he returned to London.

“So you and Luke are to be married? Are you planning to have the ceremony here or in London?”

“No, no. I mean, he asked, but I—” It was awkward explaining this to someone she’d only just met.

Eleanor leaned against the chairback, tilting her head. After a moment, she nodded.

“You do not feel it is appropriate for someone with your background to marry a future earl.”

Mercy, this woman of North’s was wise. And a more perfect match for North’s open-mindedness and reserve, she could not have conjured in a thousand years.

When Belle remained silent, Eleanor continued. “Do you feel that my association with Giles is inappropriate also?”

“No! Giles—North—should marry whom he pleases, and he seems very taken with you. You stand up to him, too, which I think is always a good balance with a titled lord.”

“Well, then. Forgive me for asking as we just met, but I’d like to understand. What is the difference?”

Belle balked. What was the difference? She trotted out her arguments, but they sounded weaker and weaker each time she said them. “There is the age difference.”

Eleanor lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “By my guess, you are halfway between the men’s ages. So why was one acceptable and the other not?”

Ugh. She, too, sounded like Charlotte.

“And I’m, ah, well-known in London. His reputation would be shredded.”

“Luke’s story about his journey to start this enterprise makes it sound like he’s not vested in invitations to Ton parties. And I do not see North worrying about whether or not his peers like him. We are too far away. Certainly, you won’t miss those gatherings, as you never attended before, if I understand London society correctly. Do I have all that right?”

“Yes.”

“So I don’t understand. Unless you’re planning to continue your... career after marriage?”

Belle narrowed her eyes. She could swear Eleanor was being deliberately obtuse, but she did not know the woman well enough to call out her behavior. So she answered, “No. I retired several months ago. I want to marry and have children. But I don’t want to hurt Luke.”

“It seems as though you’d hurt him more by refusing. Do you not trust him to judge what is more important for his happiness—reputation or you?”

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but no words came.

Was that part of it? Perhaps more than worrying about her own worth, she did not trust his judgment?

No, she did. With the one notable exception of looking for sherry as he was battling his demons, his decision-making had been sound. He’d managed his drinking when he’d gone out with his friends, formed a plan for his future, and invited her to share it.

And rather than celebrate his success with him, she’d declined and withdrawn. She, who’d had members of the Ton happily suck her toes if she’d asked them. Why had she allowed those same men to cow her? She couldn’t recall, and it no longer mattered. She was done feeling less than equal.

I am equal to any man and better than most, and I deserve to be loved.

Eleanor watched her with a small smile.

“Would you excuse me please? It seems I need to talk to Luke,” Belle managed, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and eagerness. But oh, Charlotte was going to be angry that it had taken North and a stranger to get through to her.

“Of course. Perhaps you could send Giles back here to keep me company?” Eleanor asked with a sly look.

Belle barely heard her over the rushing in her ears. Speeding down the hall, she knocked on the almost-closed parlor door. “Eleanor requests your company in the dining room, my lord.”

He nodded to her and Luke and excused himself. Waiting by the door, she shut it behind him.

Luke left his cider on the mantel where he’d been standing talking to his father. His gaze scanned her, noticing her agitation. “What is amiss, Bellissima?”

“I deserve to be loved,” she blurted out, having been reciting it in her head as she traversed the hall.

“Yes. By me. Always.” He pulled her in to wrap his arms around her.

“Ask me again.”

“Ask—Oh. Right, then.” He stepped back, but held her hands, their arms stretched between them. “D’you know, I’m not sure I have asked, per se.”

Surprised, she realized he was right.

“I need to do this right.” He took a minute to compose himself before speaking. Squeezing her hands, he said, “Belle, I am in love with you. All of you—your past, your present, and your future. I cannot imagine where I’d be right now without you, but more, I do not want to envision my future without you by my side. Please, please. I am begging you. Marry me.”

“Yes.” She was crying so hard, the syllable was garbled, but he understood.

He yanked her back into a hug, burying his face in her hair. A sniff sounded in her ear, and his voice was rougher when he whispered, “Wench, you’ve made me the happiest man in England.”

“Clodpate,” she sighed. “Thank you for your patience. I love you—so much I thought I was doing what was best for you even though it hurt beyond words. But now I see. You knew better all along. We are best together.”

Eleanor convinced them to have a double Christmas wedding, and as Luke’s relations with his father had vastly improved, Belle agreed with the idea.

She’d miss having Charlotte there, as he would miss Nate and William, but neither of them wanted the attention of the London set. Luke had even cited a worry that his old crowd from the Lyon’s Den might appear uninvited and drunk.

Charlotte would understand. She’d written a note to her friend, and they’d celebrate when she and Luke returned to the city to continue building his charitable organization.

As Christmas neared, Belle received a surprise note from Charlotte’s late husband’s younger brother. She’d met the Earl and Countess of Peterborough, Edward and Sophia, at a few demi-monde balls. They were extraordinarily open-minded and had attended to support Sophia’s closest friend who had been a courtesan. Come to think of it, Penelope had gone from courtesan to the Countess of Mansfield in quick succession.

Charlotte was sending them in her stead as Belle’s family. Trust Charlotte to have found the perfect representation to reinforce how truly acceptable Belle’s marriage was. Tears pricked her eyes as she read their missive. Frustrated, she shook her head and swiped at her face. She, the strongest and staunchest of independent women, refused to become maudlin. She deserved this and a life of happiness beyond. She did, however, promise herself to invite Lord and Lady Mansfield for a visit when they returned to London. They might have tips on navigating the murky waters of London society.

Thus, on a cold dark Christmas Day, with winds bludgeoning the stone walls outside, Belle followed Eleanor down the short aisle of the castle’s chapel. On one side sat Lord and Lady Peterborough, and on the other sat Eleanor’s sons. Luke and his father towered at the steps to the altar, one lean, one bulkier, but both amazing men who had found equally amazing women to love in unexpected places.

This was her family now. Different from the one she’d grown up with in all the ways she wanted it to be. She was content.

Luke captured her hand as she reached him and leaned in. “You look radiant, love.”

She was very glad she’d packed the forest green velvet dress. She’d packed it for warmth, and for the tiny chance she’d end up needing a Christmas gown, never imagining it would become her wedding dress.

“You cut a fine figure in your suit as well, my lord.” She admired his black suit, dark green waistcoat, and ruby winking in his cravat pin. “You resemble mistletoe.”

“In that case, I’ll have to get you under me as soon as possible,” he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Clodpate!” she hissed. “We’re in a church!”

“And about to make it all legitimate.” He sighed with satisfaction as they turned to the waiting vicar.

She echoed his sigh, unable to stop smiling as she contemplated her future.