Judging by the dip of Lady Brunella’s eyebrows, she did not care to be told by this lively Englishwoman that she “simply must try” the champagne, and Leo had made the decision to hasten the woman along when she asked if he would like to taste the champagne.
“Thank you, but I shall wait until the king and queen arrive.”
She’d laughed. “Then you might be in for a long wait, no? They were quite tardy last night, weren’t they?”
“I beg your pardon?” With a nod of his head, he sent the servant scurrying along.
“I’m making a jest,” she’d said. “Except that they were rather behind schedule.” And to the stunned looks of his friends, for who would dare remark on the king and queen’s tardiness, she’d explained, “We’re acquainted,” and had gestured to herself and Leo.
“Not exactly,” Leo had said.
“In England,” she’d clarified with a pert smile.
“Perhaps in passing,” he’d offered politely, still miffed that she insisted on making the ridiculous assertion about a meeting at a house party in Chichester. How could he possibly remember anyone he’d met at that house? Given all that he’d drunk, it was remarkable he recalled Chichester at all. With a small and subtle lift of his finger, he’d summoned the head butler, who smoothly interceded.
“Madam? If I may,” the butler had said, and gestured vaguely in the direction of her seat.
At first, when the wedding celebrations had begun, Leo thought Hawke’s sister merely naive, something like a country bumpkin come to a grand wedding. But the more he saw her over the course of the wedding celebrations, the more he determined that she was a mix of intrepid spirit with a sprinkle of insolence, a dash of presumption and a dollop of cheeriness for whomever she met, whether it was warranted or not, all delivered with a pretty smile and a bit of laughter in her green eyes.
She was exactly the sort of person royal courtiers did not care to find in their midst. Courtiers were typically annoyed with anyone who took attention that they desperately sought for themselves. And when one was foreign and beautiful and annoying, beautifully annoying, they tended to revile that person on general principle.
At last, the cortege of wedding carriages arrived at the royal palace to more trumpets and crowds, disgorging all the people dressed in cumbersome military regalia and medals. The royal family and their dozens of friends were ushered into a private reception room, where Bas and Eliza would welcome foreign dignitaries.
When presented to the king and queen in the salon, Eliza dipped into a much-improved curtsy beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. When she’d first come to Alucia, she had a tendency to lean to one side to such a degree that Leo feared she was in danger of toppling over if she dipped any lower.
Bas was beaming. Leo had never seen his stoic brother as happy as he was in this moment. He was always so reserved, and so proper. Courtiers used to remark that it was the difference in training for the brother who would be king and the one who would not. While Bas had been off learning how to comport himself, Leo had been learning how to enjoy himself.
Bas grabbed Leo’s elbow and squeezed it hard, grinning. “I’m a married man now, Leo.”
“Je, Bas, I stood beside you as it happened.”
Bas laughed as if Leo had said something hilarious. The expression on his face reminded Leo of an occasion many years ago when they were boys, living under the watchful eyes of governesses and tutors, but rarely their parents. They’d stumbled upon a litter of wiggling, floppy-eared black-and-brown puppies in a sack that someone had clearly meant to dispose of. When they’d released the puppies, they were besieged by a tangle of big paws and fiercely wagging tails. Sebastian had been delighted with the find, and to this day, Leo could recall Bas’s utter joy as he’d lain on his back and let the puppies wiggle and squirm around him, fighting one another to lick his face.
The puppies were returned to the palace with them and homes found for them at Bas’s insistence. One of the puppies became a constant companion to Bas until the dog’s death fourteen years later. Bas was as devoted to Eliza as he had been to Pontu.
“Look at her,” Bas said, nodding to a point behind Leo. Leo turned around, his gaze landing on a small group of women that included his new sister-in-law, Mrs. Honeycutt; an Alucian heiress he’d met once or twice; and, of course, Hawke’s sister. That one waved at him, as if they’d been separated at a country fair.
“She’s beautiful,” Bas said. “I can’t believe I found her. Much less married her.”
Neither could Leo, frankly. Eliza Tricklebank and her coterie were as far removed from the sort of woman he and Bas had been raised to expect to marry as she could possibly be. Leo would never forget the first time he’d met her. In a modest townhome with yapping dogs, an insolent cat and the many, many clocks.
“I always thought it would be someone from Alucia,” Bas mused. He suddenly grinned. “I suppose the Alucian bride will be yours.”
“Don’t even say it,” Leo muttered, looking around them. “I’m quite content with my bachelor lifestyle, thank you. In fact, I can scarcely wait to return to it.”
“I won’t say it, but you may trust our father will soon enough. When are you setting sail?”
“Two days’ time.”
Bas was still smiling when he did something completely uncharacteristic and put his arm around Leo’s shoulder and squeezed him into an affectionate hug. “Not a moment too soon, I’d wager. Good luck to you, Leo. We are to Tannymeade, where I intend to honeymoon like a beast in the wild for several days.” And then, remarkably, his very proper brother laughed and elbowed him in the side.
That was not unlike something Leo might have said himself, and before Eliza, Bas would have chastised him for it. “Is this what marriage does to a man? Turn him so bloody randy?” Leo asked.
Bas laughed loudly, and people turned to look, their expressions as surprised as Leo felt.
No one was happier for Bas than Leo, but he’d be much happier when the ceremonies finally ended and Bas and Eliza turned their attention to the important task of creating heirs. He’d be wild with joy when he could divest himself of this bothersome neckcloth and the bloody weight of these medals, and perhaps take a headache powder. But until that last congratulatory remark had been made, the last gift received, the last cake cut and the last dance danced, he had to endure the attentions of parents and unmarried women, all of them eager to make an advantageous match. All of them eager to do for their daughters what Eliza Tricklebank had done all on her own.
Speaking of Eliza, she had made her way through the throng of guests with her companions in tow. “You must try the champagne!” she said, holding a flute aloft to Bas. “It’s very fine.”