Chapter Eleven

No one was happier than Augusta when the vicar presented the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Prendergast at 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning to her family. Given rumors of impropriety at the Claremont's ball, decency necessitated a small affair, though nuptials often happened at home in ordinary circumstances.

Mama and Papa, Lottie and her father, Uncle Bertie, and Mrs. Pigeon attended. The small gathering of the people she loved most enriched her hopes for the future, though the reality hardly celebrated dreams she'd harbored in her heart during her first Season. Despite everything, however, the rising and falling pattern of a talented quartet filled the house, and hot-house flowers and garlands ornamented the parlor, releasing pleasant scents that calmed her frazzled nerves.

Smiling and playing her part, she attributed that skill to long evenings spent with Delphi and Thenie and Lottie, reenacting Shakespearean plays.

‘Then if he says he loves you, it fits your wisdom so far to believe it as he in his particular act and place may give his saying deed.'

Time had not brought her any closer to Ophelia. She had no brother to mislead her. No one warned her not to give up her virginity. She felt no shame in going to her marriage bed and succumbing to seduction, in fact, she welcomed more and more of her husband's kisses.

Mr. Prendergast, for his part, did not own castles or have a league of knights at his disposal, but Augusta accepted the right of things as she stood beside him wearing the same floral headdress her mother had worn on her wedding day. The wispy gossamer flowed across her shoulders like fountain water to the high-waisted silver gown their modiste, Madame Moreau, had created to match.

She straightened, threading her fingers around an intricate bouquet her mother had chosen: lilies for purpose; lavender for good luck; and three white roses symbolizing innocence and purity and—

But this wasn't the perfect day she'd imagined when she'd danced her first waltz at Almack's, images of romance and being wooed by dashing suitors during lengthy courtships flitting through her head.

A stab of guilt pierced her chest. Scandal and immediacy trumped her dreams. And Delphi traveled to Lyme with Grey, perhaps having already arrived if the roads and the weather cooperated. Her throat closed up. What if Delphi and Grey had run afoul of highwaymen or the carriage lost a wheel, pitching them into danger?

Tears welled in her eyes, her stomach churning with anxiety and dread.

"Are you unwell?"

She dabbed away an errant tear, then looked up at Mr. Prendergast, determined not to reveal the enormity of her apprehension. "Tears of joy, nothing more." The lie, a foul-tasting sin, seared her lips, so she added, "I wish... I only wish Delphi could be here."

"I am sorry for your disappointed hopes," he said. "I know how much her absence must pain you. If there was anything I could do—"

"You have already done so much. Indeed, Delphi is where she needs to be if it helps her health improve."

"Grey is accompanying her." His hand slowly embraced hers with a tenderness she'd never known possible. "A gentleman would die before allowing anything to happen to a lady, especially his own wife's cousin." His admission warmed the inner recesses of her heart. A faint light twinkled in his dark eyes as he said, "Sending your sister to the sea was the right choice. The fresh air will yield brilliant results."

"I pray you are right." Buoyed by his touch, she managed a small smile. "And yet, a trip to Bath once taught me how insignificant a person feels while standing next to the ocean with its vast ebbing and flowing tide."

"Miss Delphi will not be alone. She will have your letters to console her, our prayers, and your aunt's love and affection, all of which will buttress her spirits, sustaining her during her convalescence. However, if time is what you need to process all of this, we can leave now."

"No." Their early departure would surely disappoint her parents. The day itself was particularly pleasing. She swallowed hard and tossed her head, before boldly meeting Mr. Prendergast's gaze. "This day is ours. We shall not see its like again."

"Then I shall endeavor to make every day better than the last."

Voices drifted in the air, the interaction between everyone except Uncle Bertie and Mrs. Pigeon enhancing the joyous atmosphere. She wasn't sure why those two avoided each other like the plague. When Mrs. Pigeon had first arrived, Papa purposefully rearranged the seating, positioning her uncle closest to him and the furthest away from their guest. Today was no different. Tactical measures were in place as Papa diverted Uncle Bertie whilst the widow enjoyed intimate conversation with Lottie and Grey. If she didn't know better, she had a sneaking suspicion the threesome knew each other very well.

Mr. Prendergast accepted a glass of wine from a passing footman bearing a tray and handed it to her. "Refreshment?"

"How very kind of you, Mr. Prendergast, but—"

"Quin." He replaced the nosegay in her hand with the wineglass. "My name is Quin. And from this moment forward, I shall call you Augusta."

"Quin." A warm shiver of delight flooded her as her name danced off his lips. "I quite like hearing you say my name."

She sipped her wine, smiling to herself as her attention shifted to Mrs. Pigeon again. Something about the woman's attire and mannerisms teased the recesses of her mind. Her name was strange. In no way did she resemble a fledgling squab, but there was another infamous lady bearing the surname of a fowl, a widow who operated the Lyon's Den.

Mrs. Pigeon. Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Widow's weeds. An unwavering desire for solitude, the reluctance to uncover her face even for meals...

No. No. No. Preposterous!Then why did Papa work so hard to keep them apart? What was going on between them? Bruised hearts and regret? There were rumors that scholarly Uncle Bertie had a fondness for a specific courtesan in his youth. Had he and Mrs. Dove-Lyon ever been romantically linked? Was Mrs. Pigeon the Black Widow of Whitehall?

Good God, she had drunk too much wine. What did any of her suspicions matter now? She was a married woman.

She regarded Quin's profile. To anyone who looked, he presented a long-suffering, handsome groom dressed formally in blue coat and trousers, and a cream-colored linen shirt and cravat. The fit complimented him, giving her a far different picture than the preoccupied man she'd first met in the park. She had married down in all but his sharp wit, kindness, and financial prowess, and the feast he posed for her eyes. And it gave her peace of mind knowing that she would stare at his visage from across the dinner table for years to come.

Greaves announced all was in readiness for the wedding breakfast.

Gallantly, Quin escorted her to the sumptuous spread of mouth-watering treats and pleasant aromas. Buttered toast and rolls, tongue and ham and eggs were artfully arranged on the table before them. Fruitcake and chocolate were stationed at the end of the table, per Delphi's instructions, to match the grandeur.

Augusta lost her appetite.

Delphi wasn't here.

They'd dreamed of this day, celebrating each other's happiness together. And now—

Breakfast signaled the conclusion of the ceremony, which meant soon she and Quin would walk out of the townhouse and leave London behind for Kent. She shivered, anticipation flowing through her as Quin helped her into a chair, then abandoned her for the opposite side of the table, as was customary.

"Stop where you are, Prendergast," Papa snapped, drawing everyone's attention, especially the mercurial stare beneath the widow's veil. A foreboding expectancy enveloped the room before her father spoke again. "You may sit with your wife."

Quin obeyed with a nod and a quick step of prideful duty, the tightening of his jaw signaling something amiss.

Oh dear!She'd not considered what Quin might be going through. How did a normal man feel about marrying into the aristocracy with all its rules and requirements? Had she taken too much for granted? Perhaps Quin had never wanted to marry her in the first place. What if he believed that she had trapped him, and was too much of a gentleman to say so?

She clasped her shaking hands and hid them under the table, wondering if her husband would ever hold the kiss in the Claremont's library against her.

Papa lifted his wineglass for a toast. "To my daughter and her husband. Let their union be a blessed one."

"Hear! Hear!"

Being the center of attention sent a heated flush to her cheeks.

"To Delphi," Mama added, wiping away a tear. "May she and Grey arrive safely to Lyme."

"Hear! Hear!" Mrs. Pigeon said.

Kent was a long way from Lyme. Would she ever see her sister again?

Joy and happiness will prevail. It must.

She had to believe with all her heart and soul that Delphi would regain her health. Meanwhile, challenges lay before her, and she must learn how to face them, and how to love a man she barely knew.

Was it possible to love when all hope for love was gone? If only my heart could be sure.

"Describe Sevenoaks for us, Mr. Prendergast," Mama said. "I am eager to know what my daughter can expect to find in the village."

A faint thread of hysteria shot through Augusta at the idea of living so far away from everything she had ever known, and all the people she had loved. What kind of life waited for her in Kent?

"Sevenoaks," Quin began, "sits on acres of glorious scenery. Tudor farmsteads border the village, providing late-medieval charm. The land boasts well-drained sandy soil, woodland, and uneven pastures for grazing." He regarded Augusta with a smile. "It is also close enough to make frequent trips to London, weather providing."

"Oh!" Mama exclaimed. "Then you will not be very far. What a joy that brings to my heart! With Thenie in Athens and Delphi in Lyme, it is very comforting to know you will be near."

"Indeed," she said, her heart swelling with gratitude. "It will."

Quin covered her hands with his under the table. "Knole Park lies on the southernmost edge of town. I believe you will fall in love with it as much as I have."

If only the love growing in my heart could have such a hold on your thoughts.

"Fallow deer wander abundantly," he went on, "and an ample supply of spring water is an abundant source of pride."

"Knole Park is the home of ardent collectors, if I recall, brother," Papa said, distracting Uncle Bertie from a conversation with the widow.

"Yes," her uncle replied. "Patrons of the old masters collected on Tour."

"Tell us more about Sevenoaks, Mr. Prendergast."

"I would be happy to, Lady Grey. Unfortunately," Quin said, "the fourth duke died hunting in February of this year. He was only twenty-one and newly betrothed to the daughter of the 2nd Marquess of Bath."

"I recall reading about this." They were the same age. Her thoughts flit to Delphi, and the threat of losing her sister stirred another faint thread of trembling hysteria.

"Unfortunate and heartbreaking. Mrs. Pigeon,"—Lottie quickly changed the subject—"told me you own a very large estate, Mr. Prendergast. Including a set of unrivaled stables."

The mention of stables duly snatched Augusta's attention. She leaned toward him, tilting her face to his, eager to hear more. "You have horses?"

"Yes." Their eyes met and locked. "Do you ride?"

Mama's laughter filled the room. "Does she ride?"

Lottie adjusted her spectacles. "Augusta is an accomplished horsewoman."

"She takes too many chances with horseflesh, if you ask me," Papa complained.

"Nonsense, Papa. Riding gives me pleasure."

Mrs. Pigeon raised her glass. "To invigorating diversions."

Chaos ensued.

Quin cleared his throat. Wine spewed from Papa's mouth. Footmen darted to his aid, thumping his back as he struggled to breathe. Mama bolted to her feet. Lottie followed, moving swiftly to soothe her. Finally, Uncle Bertie winked at Mrs. Pigeon, his full-hearted laughter rising above the calamity.

Truly, it was as if Uncle Bertie and Mrs. Pigeon knew each other very well. Were they lovers? But, of course, that was a ridiculous notion. That would mean—

She shook her head, clearing away her suspicions.

What did it matter now? She was leaving Mayfair for Kent. Abandoning everything and everyone she had ever known and loved. In fact, it was anyone's guess how she would react to a place called Sevenoaks, its people and living.

How did one pass their time there? Quin mentioned he'd invested in steam. Did business often call him away to Cornwall? How was she supposed to manage his large estate without him? Mama had barely had the time to explain the workings of their country home in Hertfordshire.

Her confidence withered.

I married a complete stranger.

Nevertheless, she'd married a handsome one, his fine looks and dashing charm undermining her good sense. His intelligent eyes looked at her with tenderness and passion, to her pleasure and dismay. But she knew little else of his thoughts. Did he blame her or Delphi for their current circumstances? After all, Delphi had goaded Augusta into thanking him with a kiss.

A tapping sound jarred her ruminations.

She looked up to see Papa rapping his glass with a spoon. "Join me in a toast to celebrate Mr. and Mrs. Prendergast's union." His compassionate eyes met hers. "May your marriage be a shield to the outside world. May it keep you satisfied on the coldest nights. And may the richest gifts a man will ever receive—love, prosperity, and children—be bestowed upon you."

"Hear! Hear!" a collection of voices sang out.

Tension coiled inside Augusta as she sipped her wine.

"I have a toast of my own." Mama extended her glass. "May the laughter and joy of your little ones echo throughout the house."

"Aunt," Lottie exclaimed. "The ink is barely dry."

Mama grinned mischievously. "I merely seek a reason to visit Sevenoaks."

"There will never be a time you will need a reason to visit Sevenoaks, Lady Steere. You will always be welcome." Quin regarded the room jovially. "The offer extends to everyone present."

He looked at Augusta, and his smile found its way through her mask of uncertainty. Every time his eyes met hers, the pull between them grew stronger. She drank in his nearness, deliberately shutting out the world, her parents, her uncle, her cousins, and their guest, wrapped in an invisible warmth and enthusiasm that had nothing to do with reason. It was a purely sensual, hypnotic, and persuasive experience, this spell he'd woven over her.

Zounds, she was going to fly her colors.

Dropping her gaze, she stared at her uneaten plate of food, her heart fluttering like a butterfly eager to escape the rain. If Quin's effect on her was a preview of how easily her senses could be aroused, how would she respond to their marriage bed? Would she conceive right away? Would she survive to term? Lottie's mother passed away during childbirth. Was that the legacy she would leave?

Life offered no guarantees. Who knew that Thenie would end up in Athens? And Delphi's location was unknown. Had she reached Lyme Regis by way of Salisbury, Blandford, or Dorchester?

Would they ever see each other again?

Oof!Questions mounded in her mind. How long would it take to reach Sevenoaks?

"Time will reveal everything you need to know,"Mama had said before the ceremony, when Augusta had needed comfort in Delphi's absence.

Time. How much did Delphi have left?