I stand alone at the table for a while, watching the soft shadows cast by the party waft between the sunset and the candlelight, edged in golden sprays of pollen kicked up from the wildflowers. The height difference between Monty and Percy is even more comical when they dance together. Monty still has the remains of the flower crown in his hair, though most of the stems have fallen away, leaving only petals. That unruly spot in the back I cut for him on the porch of Felicity’s house in the Azores has gotten too long again.
When the song ends, Monty spots me and comes over. He still limps when he walks—I do sometimes as well. It took a few months to grow accustomed to balancing without my missing toes, but my own stride has evened out. It’s only noticeable when someone comments on my fingers and Louisa says with great pride, “He’s missing toes as well!”
Monty retrieves his cane from where it’s leaning against the end of the table. He slings his arm around my neck, seems to realize how much it requires him to stretch upward, and immediately reconsiders. “Glad you came down. Where’s Felicity?”
“With Lou, I think.”
“Good Lord, Percy’s got George and Felicity’s got Louisa. We are both at risk of losing our beloveds to someone younger and fitter than we are.” He isn’t entirely wrong—I think Felicity sees more of Louisa than I do lately, and Lou has started taking her recommendations for books over mine, which, I told her, was grounds for ending our engagement. Lou has even started wearing the same style of heavy locket as Felicity does, packed with blue powder, should I ever need it unexpectedly.
“Louisa’s older than I am,” I tell him. “And Percy’s your husband now.”
“Husband.” He scratches his chin. “I think I prefer consort.”
“I’m sure he’ll love that.”
“Come on.” He plucks the champagne glass out of my hand and sets it on the table. “Let’s go steal Felicity away.”
Louisa and Felicity are sitting on the picnic blanket with their heads together. A plate of food Lou put aside for me rests between them, notable pinches missing from the bread. I suspect they will be talking, as they almost always are, about books or politics or the opera, but as we draw close, I hear Felicity say, “I think you have more to work with than I do. God, your breasts really do look fabulous.”
Monty pulls up short, his neck coloring. “Are we interrupting something?”
“Just talking about breasts.” Louisa puffs out her chest proudly and gives a little shimmy. Felicity laughs. “Monty, this champagne is terrible.”
“Yes, well.” He picks a wilted head of clover from his hair and wipes it on my shoulder. “I’m not wasting a good vintage on you lot.”
“Might I remind you,” Felicity says, “that we lot are all here in celebration of your love.”
“I know,” Monty says. “A love that makes you all believe in love—you’re welcome, by the by.”
“Have you come to sit with me finally?” Lou asks, holding out a hand to me. “I thought I’d never get you back from Mr. Westfall. He was asking about you before you came down—did he have you inscribe his arm? He was furious he didn’t have a pamphlet for you to sign.”
“I’m afraid I’m next on Adrian’s dance card,” Monty says, clapping a hand to my chest before I can reply. “And Felicity as well. Come on, this is my favorite song.”
“What is it?” she asks as he offers his hand and pulls her to her feet.
“Not a clue. Apologies, Miss Davies,” he says, “but the Montagues must dance.”
“Are you drunk?” Felicity asks as Monty leads us out into the meadow, each of us holding on to some part of the other so it’s more of a collective stagger.
“Absolutely not,” Monty replies. “I have been sober for three whole months.”
“Well done,” Felicity says.
Monty dips his chin. “Wish it was longer but I had a bit of a rough go when we first got here. All this country stillness can really jangle a man’s nerves—”
“I mean it,” Felicity interrupts. “Really, Monty. Well done.”
Monty nods, then takes a wobbly breath. “I have something to tell you both.”
“You’re having a baby,” I say with as much seriousness as I can muster.
“That explains why he finally agreed to be married,” Felicity says. “What’s the word for that again?”
“Coercion?”
Monty flaps a hand at us. “Stop it, both of you. I actually have something to say.” We both give him our full attention, and he immediately blushes and looks at the ground. “So. There is a publisher in London that has agreed to pay me a tiny bit of money in advance to write a serialized adventure story for their magazine.”
“Monty!” I cry at the same time Felicity screams in delight. Several people look our way, particularly when I nearly lift him off the ground with my embrace.
“All right, stop it. I’ve not discovered a cure for cholera.”
“You didn’t tell me you had submitted it!” I say.
“Yes, well, I didn’t want to have to say anything if they rejected it. And now I’ve got to write the bloody thing so this could still all go to hell rather quickly.”
“How much are they paying you?” Felicity asks.
Monty’s mouth turns up, both dimples appearing suddenly. “Enough that we’re buying the house.”
“For God’s sake, how long have you kept this from us?” Felicity looks as though she can’t decide whether she’s furious or delighted.
“Only about a week,” he says. “I’d like it to be known, I agreed to this wedding nonsense before, so rest assured Percy isn’t marrying me for my money.” He catches my eye. “Thank you for the help. And I’ll have to tell Louisa the same.”
“You’re going to have to learn how to spell,” I say with a laugh.
“Sod spelling; I’m worried about finishing the goddamn thing.”
“It’s a serial; you never have to finish.” I butt my head against his. A gently insistent ram. “Well done, Monty.”
“Seconded,” Felicity adds, and I feel her squeeze my shoulder. “Well done.”
Monty smiles for a moment, then plants his face in my shoulder. “Stop it, I’m going to cry again. Let’s dance.”
It’s not much of a dance, as there are three of us, and none are very good at it. Instead, we just put our arms around each other and sway to the music.
“I want to tell you both,” Monty says, his face still against my shoulder. On my other side, Felicity raises our linked hands and twirls under them. “Only because I’m feeling sentimental and silly and I’ve cried a lot today. And this may be the one and only time you hear these words from my lips, so listen carefully.”
“Oh God, steel yourself,” Felicity mutters.
“I love you both very much. And I’m glad you’re here with me.” He looks straight at me when he says it. One of the petals from his flower crown tumbles free and lands on my jacket. “I’m glad we’re all here.”