Page 94 of Miss Determined
“I did not miss the squabbling,” Gavin said, “though Dabney and Pevinger make a good study in the postures of ire.”
“The postures of ridiculousness.”
An argument ensued, about whether cows carrying bull calves took longer to freshen than cows carrying heifer calves.
“And there goes Lissa,” Gavin murmured as the lady herself abandoned the soap seller’s stall and made straight for the vicarage. “I suppose we ought to practice referring to her asher ladyship.”
“She’ll sort you out if you do. I have it on best authority that if I call Tavistock by his title when we are private, I’ll make the acquaintance of the fraternal left hook.”
“I doubt Tavistock has much of a left hook. Schoolyard scrapping can’t figure prominently in the education of a marquess.”
“Actually, it can. Tavistock apparently had a rough time of it first term at public school, where the higher the title, the worse the bullying. He gave better than he got, and the Dornings tell me he’s damned fast on his feet.”
“Slow with a courtship, though. Spent the whole Season escorting Lissa about Town, saving his supper waltzes for her and galloping about Hyde Park at her side.”
“He was making a point to all the idiots and gossips who’d slighted his beloved, rubbing their faces in their small-minded meanness.”
“Or was he hesitant to finally come home?” Gavin murmured as the marquess excused himself from the Crosspatch Committee for the Betterment of Brewed Beer and joined the melee on the vicarage steps.
When Amaryllis would have interposed herself between Dabney and Pevinger, Tavistock instead led her up the steps.
“That will do, gentlemen,” he said in tones that carried across the green. “Cease bickering about bovines, if you please. I hope I have an announcement to make.”
“About time!” Tansy Pevinger shouted.
“You’re one to talk, Tan!” Lawrence Miller hollered back.
“Let the lad have his say,” Granny Jones called.
Pevinger and Dabney stood at the foot of the steps, looking curious and disgruntled. “Say on, lad,” Dabney said, “if you must so rudely interrupt your elders.”
“He’s milord to you,” Pevinger retorted.
“I am not milord to Miss DeWitt. I have been a devoted suitor, and these past weeks have been the happiest of my life, but I have yet to put to the love of my life the only question that matters.”
“Oh, the Quality,” Gavin muttered.
“A man in love answers to a different rule book,” Phillip replied. “I do believe we are witnessing the first recorded instance of Amaryllis DeWitt at a loss for words.” The sight was sweet, though not without a twinge of heartache.
She and Trevor would be happy. Loud, busy, besotted… and happy. Phillip was losing them both, though he’d never really had either one.
“If you go down on bended knee,” Amaryllis said, “I will wish I had a parasol handy, sir.”
Trevor took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “Miss Amaryllis DeWitt, delight of my heart, light of my soul, harbinger of my every joy—”
“Lord, listen to him,” Mrs. Pevinger muttered.
“You listen to him too, George Dabney,” Mrs. Dabney said, touching a handkerchief to her eyes. “Man knows how to propose.”
Amaryllis glowered at the ladies, who grinned in response.
“Miss DeWitt,” Trevor said, stepping closer, “will you make me the most blessed among brewers and the merriest of marquesses, the happiest of husbands, the—”
“Enough with the alliteration,” Gavin called.
Trevor bowed in the direction of the Arms, then took both of Amaryllis’s hands in his. “Amaryllis, will you marry me?”
The green fell silent, save for the distant tinkling of a cowbell on the breeze.
