Evan’s fork lowered, and he made a face.
The butler appeared at Evan’s elbow. “My lord, there is a person here who says he is your invited guest, but …” Carson’s brows rose. He inclined his head toward the ballroom doors.
Evan’s face lit up, and Diana followed his gaze. In a trice, the earl was out of his chair and headed toward a decidedly ordinary looking fellow who mauled his hat as he stared at every corner of the room.
“He was at the church,” Marcus said. “I believe he’s a former subordinate of Evan’s in the army.”
Eyes followed the earl, and people stopped eating and talking as he shook the man’s hand, slapping him on the shoulder and drawing him into the room, weaving around the seated guests and bringing him to the head table. The man hung back, looking sheepish, but Evan would have none of it, taking his arm.
“Shand, I’d like to present my wife. Diana, this is my former sergeant, David Shand. Shand, this is Lady Diana … er … Lady Whitelock now, I suppose.”
The man was twice Evan’s age at least, his gray hair clipped quite short. He wore a rather shabby suit, but he’d clearly taken pains to have it cleaned and pressed. He bobbed his head. “Madam.”
Diana’s father snorted and pushed his chair back, but Diana rose, coming around the long table and taking Mr. Shand’s hand between hers. “It is so nice to meet one of Evan’s friends. Thank you for coming to the ceremony and for celebrating with us.” She motioned for Carson. “Please find a place near the front table for Mr. Shand, and make sure his plate and glass remain full.”
With a bit of ado, the butler seated the former soldier between the Duchess of Haverly and Lady Carter-Jones, mere feet away from the bridal party. The duchess’s face pinched like she’d just stepped in something unpleasant, and Lady Carter-Jones dipped into her reticule and sniffed at her sal volatile as if she might faint having to be so near such a common fellow.
Evan and Diana resumed their seats, and Evan reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for making him welcome. You were graciousness itself.”
Warmth shot through her arm, and she knew she flushed, unused to being praised. Busying herself with her meal, she nodded, suddenly shy with this man, realizing anew that this was their wedding day and that they had a wedding night to negotiate in a few hours.
Carson and one of the footmen brought the bridal cake into the room, setting it on a round table in the center of the guests. But before he could cut it and serve the rich slices of fruitcake, another commotion drew everyone’s attention.
“His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent,” called a footman at the door.
Evan groaned. “What is he doing here? Hasn’t he caused us enough trouble?”
“That’s what you get for being his new favorite. Though”—Marcus leaned forward to speak across Diana—“this is getting a bit tedious. I’ve never known him to attend an earl’s wedding breakfast before.”
Everyone rose as the Prince Regent strutted into the room, resplendent in yellow like some overstuffed parakeet. Golden braid, lace trim, and winking buckles on his shoes, he drew everyone’s attention. As he passed, men bowed and ladies curtsied. His retinue followed, while the footmen and Carson scrambled to clear a path for him.
“You should greet him,” Marcus reminded Diana.
Taking her hand, Evan rounded the head table once again. “What should I do? What should I say?” he whispered.
Diana pasted a serene smile on her face as the prince approached. “Bow and wait until he speaks.”
She dipped her knees into her deepest, well-practiced curtsy. Evan bowed but kept his arm strong to support her.
“My good man.” The prince’s voice boomed through the room. “I am delighted. Delighted, I tell you. I feel like quite the matchmaker.” He glanced around, as if waiting for someone to burst into applause.
Rising carefully, Diana barely had time to let go of her hem before the prince enveloped her in a hug, squeezing her tighter than her stays. “Congratulations. Such an inspiration on my part it was, having you two marry. Whitelock, you’ve done well.” He finally released her, and she all but gasped. He smelled of pomade and starch and bay rum, an odd combination. Clapping Evan on the shoulder, he scouted the room. “I am in time for the meal, I trust?”
“Of course, Your Highness. You will sit with us?” Diana asked. She shot a look at Marcus, who understood and vacated his spot.
A footman whisked his plate away, and though the meal was over but for the cake, a full plate arrived.
The prince ate heartily, sampling everything, having his charger refilled three times, regaling them with all the latest changes he was making to Carlton House. “You must join me there soon for dinner.”
Diana nodded. Her father sat on the prince’s other side, but the prince kept his attention on Diana and Evan. The duke must be fuming. To have the regent as a guest in his house and not have the opportunity to bend his ear had to gall him. Diana wished His Highness would keep his eyes properly on her face and not on the rest of her person, but in all other aspects he was a genial—if unexpected—guest.
“You’re in for a delightful time, I think, Whitelock. She is a beauty. You can thank me later.”
He winked, and Diana was taken aback at such a vulgar speech. He really could be an awful man.
When he finally pushed back his plate, Diana breathed a sigh. Surely he would not linger, and they could be done with this interminable breakfast. But the prince wasn’t finished. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing with the effort and dabbing at his lips with his serviette. The room stilled.
“I know it is bad form to give oneself the plaudits, but I think I may be forgiven this time.” He smiled, expecting everyone to agree. “As the instigator of this union—and a masterstroke it was, too—I hereby give my blessing to the Earl and Countess of Whitelock. May your nuptials be blissful, your progeny plentiful, and your happiness much.” He raised his glass, and the guests followed suit with the toast.
“Also, Whitelock,” the prince continued. “It might interest you to know that not only have you acquired the most beautiful rose in England …” He sent a sharp glance at Evan before tipping his head toward Diana. “But you’ve also snared quite a fortune in the bargain. The Home Secretary made me aware of this fact just this morning. I had no idea your grandmother had set aside such a sum for you on your wedding day, Diana.”
Diana’s mind stopped working. The room was completely quiet, but she didn’t know if that was the true state of things or if she had lost her ability to hear along with her ability to think. What was he saying? No, stop, you’re ruining everything! The scream echoed through her head.
“Lady Diana has an inheritance in trust, payable on her wedding day, that is now yours, Whitelock.” He named the sum, causing a ripple to go through the ballroom.
The Duke of Seaton shot to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor and jarring Diana out of her stupor. Panic clawed up her chest and wrapped around her windpipe. Evan wasn’t supposed to know about the money. That was the bargain she’d struck with her father. Cian’s life in exchange for the inheritance. What would happen to the baby now? The urge to run from the room, to race to the nursery and gather him up, nearly overwhelmed Diana. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gripped the edge of the table.