Page 73 of The Viscount's Code
Hope stood. “I think you might as well speak to all of us.” After all, he had already asked her in private.
Her mother clapped her hands together just once before she lowered them into her lap, appearing contrite.
“Hope,” Anthony said, crossing the room and taking her hands between his. “You know what you mean to me, and I promise to be the best man that I can be if you agree to be by my side. I will cherish you and put all of your needs first, if you will do me the honor of being my wife. Will you marry me?”
“Of course,” she said, her smile matching his, as they held one another’s gaze for a beat. She longed to lean in and kiss him, but she could hardly do so with her entire family watching. She would save that for later.
“Well,” Faith said from across the room, as matter-of-fact as ever. “When is the wedding?”
“As soon as possible,” Hope said, before noting the weariness in Anthony’s eyes and leading him over to the sofa. He leaned on his cane as his ankle was still sore, but he had recovered a great deal in the past few days.
“Can we now finally return to Newfield Manor?” her father asked, and they nodded.
“I shall speak with my mother, but perhaps we should return with you until the wedding?” Anthony asked. “Then Hope can return home with me.”
Hope squeezed his hand excitedly before she caught Faith’s expression. She was looking toward the floor now, masking the brief glimpse of pain there, and Hope knew what had caused it.
“We will not be far, Faith,” she said, reaching out her other hand and clasping Faith’s with it. “We shall visit so often.”
“Of course,” Anthony said. “You are welcome to stay with us anytime as well.”
“And we shall likely be in London for the season, will we not?” Hope asked, turning to Anthony, who nodded.
“I do intend to continue to take my seat in Parliament.”
“You see?” Hope said. “It will be like we are still together.”
“Of course, Hope,” Faith said with a smile that only Hope knew was forced. “I am ever so happy for you.”
“We will have one more dinner tonight before we depart,” their mother said. “And then we will finally return home.”
* * *
Anthony’s headstill pounded now and again, but he thought he was doing a decent job of hiding it. The physician had told him that the only remedy to heal him was time, and it seemed he had progressed a great deal since the injury already. He was not, however, always a patient man. But Hope was now his, and that was all that mattered – well, nearly all.
He had just sat down at Castleton’s dinner table, ready to suffer through another meal here, when Ashford entered with an envelope in his hand and a smile on his face.
“What has you so amused?” Anthony asked as the rest of the party joined them around the dining table. In addition to Hope’s family and his mother, only Lord and Lady Covington also remained. Ashford’s parents, the duke and duchess, were also present, taking their places near the head of the table.
“I have something I think you will be pleased about,” Ashford said, taking his seat. “I know the dinner table is not the place for it, but I couldn’t wait, and we will all want to hear this news.”
Anthony lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“Ferrington sent the information he promised,” he said. “The letters proving that Johnson was the traitor, including the fact that he set up your father.”
“Are you certain?” Anthony asked, holding his breath, almost not wanting to believe it for fear that it might not be true.
“From what I can see, yes,” he said. “We will have to take them to the army, but—”
“I can do it,” Lord Embury said, surprising them. “I know who I can trust and can send it in confidence.”
Anthony turned to him and met his eye. His future father-in-law nodded, telling him that he believed in him, that he was willing to put his name on the line for him.
Which meant more than he would likely ever realize.
“Thank you, Father.” Hope beamed, her smile to be more valuable to Anthony than anything else in the world.
“I am glad that is resolved,” Lord Ashford said as the footmen brought in the first course. “I know how much that weighed on you, Whitehall.”
