17. A Ball Provides a Cover

Meanwhile

"I want to kiss you so badly, I fear I shall do so in front of all these people," Philip claimed, his eyes directed on the dancers rather than on the young lady who stood to his right.

Amelia tittered. "I rather doubt my mother will notice I'm missing if you wish to take me to the gardens. She seems to only have eyes for your father," she remarked.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," he said. His mouth dropped open upon hearing their host's proclamation that there was a winner. "Did you hear that?" he asked in disbelief. "I think my father won the treasure," he said.

"Which means my mother will end up with a new bauble," she said happily. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I wanted to win the treasure," Philip countered. "So I could have something made for you."

Amelia regarded him with a look of surprise. "Someday you will," she said in a quiet voice. She was about to say more, but the five-piece orchestra began playing the dancing music, and the sound of the instruments made conversation more difficult.

"Come out to the gardens with me?" Philip asked, his manner making his nervousness apparent. "You haven't promised this dance to anyone, have you?"

She shook her head. "No, of course not. In fact, no one has had a chance to claim any of my dances except you," she reminded him.

"Good." He took her hand in his and led them to the French doors at the back of the ballroom. Once outside, the night air was cool but not brisk.

Following the pavers that led to a path through the garden, Philip slowed his pace. "I was going to do this later," he said, pausing his steps when they reached a clearing surrounded by hedgerows. "But... I cannot wait any longer." He turned to face her. "Amelia, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" He held a sapphire-studded ring in her direction.

Amelia's eyes rounded. "Philip!" She swallowed. "It's gorgeous," she said, pulling her glove from her left hand. She held out her bare hand and watched as he slid the ring onto her fourth finger.

Before she could pull it away, Philip had his lips covering it, kissing the base of her knuckles. "Will you marry me?"

She nodded. "Of course. Yes, I'll marry you," she replied with a giggle. When he straightened, she stepped into his arms and kissed him.

"Even if we have to go to Scotland?" he whispered.

Tittering, Amelia said, "Even if," she agreed.

"Will you be telling your mother?" he asked in a whisper.

Amelia inhaled to answer. "Should I?"

He took her glove from her and held it open. "Maybe not just yet," he murmured, watching as she reluctantly slid her hand into it. With the glove on, it wasn't immediately apparent she wore a ring. "Give me a chance to gain Weston's permission."

"Even if Mother could help talk Alfred into it?" she reasoned.

Philip chuckled softly. "Something tells me your mother might have her own announcement to make."

"Oh?" Her eyes rounded. "So soon? They were only just reunited this morning."

"That was my thought, but he joined me on my trip to Ewen and Ewen today," he said, giving her hand a slight shake. "I received a note saying your ring was ready—I was actually reading it when you arrived this morning—and, uh, he asked if he could come along."

"To shop for a ring?" she guessed.

He nodded. "As well as some other baubles."

Amelia inhaled softly. "Do you suppose he's going to propose tonight?"

"He's wanted to marry your mother for thirty years. I rather doubt he's going to wait a minute longer than necessary to make her his marchioness," he claimed.

"Which can only help our cause," Amelia reasoned. "When they marry, he'll be my..." She stopped speaking, one brow furrowed.

"Stepfather," Philip finished for her.

"And you'll be my... my brother."

"Stepbrother," he corrected her, rolling his eyes. "It won't be like that if we beat them to the altar," he reasoned.

Amelia placed her head against his chest and groaned. "I despise my brother," she whispered.

"Amelia," he gently scolded. "As it happens, your brother may have been right."

She pulled away from him so quickly, he almost didn't catch her in time to prevent her from falling backwards. "Right about what?"

"My father and your mother," he said. "At university..." He paused and swallowed. "Our fight was because Alfred claimed my father was once betrothed to your mother, but that she chose Weston over him because Weston was a duke, and she wished to be a duchess. I took exception and goaded him into hitting me. So that I would have reason to punch him in the nose."

Amelia inhaled softly. "My mother had no say in who she married," she argued. "Her betrothal was arranged when she was a young girl," she insisted, "so my brother was in the wrong. He deserved a broken nose."

"Father said as much when he explained it to me," Philip replied. "So I suppose it's a bit of a relief to hear she didn't choose Weston willingly. Because she wanted to be a duchess."

"Back then, I suppose the promise of a coronet was enough of an incentive for a young lady to marry, but had she the choice, my mother would not have married Weston," Amelia murmured.

"I'm glad she did," Philip whispered. At seeing Amelia's eyes widen with shock, he added, "You wouldn't exist otherwise, and then who would I marry?"

She tittered. "You wouldn't exist, either," she reminded him.

He grinned and pulled her into an embrace, kissing her thoroughly before the sound of a clearing throat had them quickly stepping apart.

"Lord Everly," Philip acknowledged, dipping his head in Harold Tennison's direction.

"Lady Everly," Amelia said, dropping into a curtsy.

"Evening, you two," Harold said. "A bit early to be out in the gardens this evening, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord. I was showing Lady Amelia a particularly beautiful flower?—"

"A blue one. A sapphire, in fact," Amelia said, wiggling her left hand despite the glove that hid her ring from view.

"We were... we were just about to head back into the ballroom," Philip stammered. "If you could?—"

"Keep our secret, it would be most appreciated," Amelia finished for him.

Stella, Countess of Everly, tittered in delight. "My lips are sealed, but once word is out, I am going to claim I was the first to know."

"What about me?" Harold countered.

Giving him a wave, Stella said, "Oh, all right, second," she amended.

"Do have a good evening," Harold said, leading his countess past them and into another part of the gardens.

Amelia glanced up at Philip. "I couldn't help it," she said. "I had to tell someone."

Philip guffawed and offered his arm. "They probably already knew, my sweeting."

She gasped. "How?"

"Alexander made your ring," he replied, referring to the heir to the Everly earldom.

"So?"

"Well, Everly might have been in the shop when I picked it up this afternoon."

"Oh," she replied and then inhaled sharply. "So... he knows about your father and my mother."

"No," Philip insisted. "Father never said who his purchases were for."

She gave him a quelling glance. "All they had to do was take one look at your father tonight and they would know," she reasoned.

They were on the last few pavers before reaching the French doors when Philip suddenly changed their direction, moving them across the lawn until they were behind a yew.

"What's going on?" she asked in a whisper.

"Your brother was heading for the doors," Philip said, holding a finger in front of his lips at the sound of footsteps on the pavers. When they retreated until only the music from inside the ballroom could be heard, he led them back to the French doors, and they slipped inside just as another dance was beginning.

"I can't imagine my brother going into the gardens during a ball," Amelia said, "unless it was to leave the premises entirely."

Philip glanced down at her, his brows furrowed. "I don't think he planned to leave," he murmured. He was about to say more, but one of Amelia's friends approached, and she left his side with an apologetic glance.

Thinking he should follow the duke, Philip was prevented from doing so when several of his friends approached, one holding out a glass of champagne in his direction. "Join us in the card parlor? We're about to play a hand or two."

Directing one last glance at the French doors, Philip nodded. "Sure, but only until the first waltz," he warned.

He headed off with the young bucks.