Page 38 of An Earl Like You
Edith laughed. “Reggie will want whatever is sooner! Oh, if only you’d told me earlier, Hugh—thank you!”
“What choice did I have?” he exclaimed in mock indignation. “All I’ve seen are sour looks and sad faces around here. It’s enough to make a man flee the house...”
“Silly!” She resumed her seat, still beaming. “All you had to do was see Reggie so that we might set a date. You have only yourself to blame, for being so slow about it.”
“Yes, yes, I understand we men are slow about everything.” He picked up his coffee. “Perhaps when I am married, my wife will keep me on time.”
“The poor girl,” teased Henrietta. “Who would accept that challenge?” Edith laughed, obviously thinking they spoke in jest. The countess gave Hugh a speaking look and reached for her teacup.
“It may come as a shock to you, but I believe I’ve found someone willing to take it on.” He raised his brows as Henrietta’s and Edith’s mouths dropped open in identical shock. “Try not to faint in amazement.”
“Who?” demanded Henrietta. “Is it Catherine Thayne?”
“Fanny Martin,” guessed Edith.
“Mrs. MacMurray? Tell us, Hugh!” demanded Henrietta eagerly.
“Elizabeth Cross.”
The room fell silent. Edith gaped at him in horror. Confusion flashed across Henrietta’s face before recognition made her sit back, wide-eyed and mute.
His mother bestirred herself. “Has she accepted you?”
“She has.” He spoke heartily, trying to convey pleasure with the news. No one moved. He held out his hands. “Come, has no one a word of congratulations?”
“Congratulations, Hugh,” murmured Henrietta, with a hesitant look at her sister.
“No,” said Edith suddenly. “I shan’t say a word in praise of such madness. How could you do this?”
“I went down on one knee, and she said yes.” He hardened his heart to the mutiny in her face.
She turned to their mother in appeal. “Surely you can’t approve?”
The countess didn’t look at Hugh. “It is your brother’s choice to make, Edith. We must be gracious and kind to his wife.”
Hugh’s mouth firmed. He knew “gracious and kind” was not what Eliza wanted. She hoped to gain a mother and sisters, as well. But he left any reproof unspoken; there would be time for his family to accept Eliza. Once they saw how warm and genuine she was, he was sure they would.
Not that it mattered. In ten days’ time, Eliza—and her dowry—would be his, before God and the law.
The next two weeks passed in a blaze of joy for Eliza.
It wasn’t entirely on her own behalf. As Eliza had hoped, Sophie had confessed all to her duke, and in return the duke had persuaded her to marry him. Their wedding was small but lovely, and not even Georgiana’s avid whispers of some last-minute scandal at the Vega Club could make Eliza stop smiling. She hoped she would be as radiantly happy as Sophie on her own wedding day, even if she could not be as beautiful.
And then it washerwedding day. She had wanted it to be small and intimate, and it was. The sun shone in a flawless blue sky, and Willy wore a yellow bow around his neck. Mary curled her hair into the most fashionable cluster of ringlets and set a wreath of barely opened yellow rosebuds on top of it. Eliza hardly recognized the girl in the mirror; today she was pretty.
Her father was waiting to walk her down the stairs. She saw him wipe away a tear when she stepped out of her room, and he kissed her cheek with unusual gentleness. “More beautiful than your mother,” he said gruffly. “May you be as happy with Hastings as I was with her.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Mr. Reeve married them in the drawing room, with Belinda standing happily beside him, and Cassandra and Jane holding matching bouquets at her side. Papa had finally made the donation he wanted, and the vicar was beaming ear to ear as he said the words that made her Hugh’s wife. Eliza could hardly look away from her bridegroom. His hair had been slicked back and he wore a green jacket that reminded her of her garden, mossy and vibrant. He repeated his vows in a clear, firm voice, while Eliza could barely whisper hers, but then he put a gold ring on her finger and they were wed.
“Eliza!” Georgiana enveloped her in a hug when it was over. “I wish you every joy in the world.”
“As do I,” said Sophie, now the Duchess of Ware. “I’ve never seen you look happier.”
“I’ve never been happier,” she said honestly. “Not just for me”—Georgiana raised her brows, her eyes sparkling—“but for all of us.” She clasped her friends’ hands. “Never did I imagine...”
Georgiana laughed. “I did! I told you years ago you would find someone who adored you.”
