“Why wasn’t our wedding ceremony held in the Broddington chapel, then?”
“We designed it to seat two hundred people. There were over six hundred guests at the church today.”
“We?” She latched onto that reference at once, her eyes widening with interest. “Did you assist the architect in designing this house?”
Trenton glanced about him, assessing the room with great pride. He’d forgotten just how magnificent Broddington was. “I am the architect,” he responded simply. “Or, rather, one of them. My father is primarily responsible for the manor’s exquisite detail. Dustin and I merely assisted him.”
“You’re an architect.” She looked both amazed and impressed. “But I thought you were a duke.”
A rumble of laughter exploded from Trenton’s chest. “I am both, misty angel. Believe it or not, a man can be many things.”
“You’re superbly talented.”
“My father was a genius.” The words were out before Trenton realized he’d spoken them.
Ariana reacted to the raw emotion in his voice. “I’m sure he was,” she said carefully. Again, the urge to continue, to ask him all about his father, was nearly overpowering. She knew only that Richard Kingsley had died shortly after Vanessa, presumably from the shock of his son’s reprehensible behavior. And Trenton’s strangled tone and pained expression certainly concurred.
Ariana’s instincts did not.
“Our guests will doubtlessly wonder where we are,” she said, touching his arm.
Instantly, Trenton’s mask was back in place. “Doubtlessly,” he agreed. As if on cue, the strings began to play, calling for the dancing to commence. Trenton offered Ariana his arm. “Come. I believe the first dance customarily belongs to the bride and groom.”
Ariana slid her fingers through his arm.
“Brides are supposedly too nervous to eat.”
Dustin’s teasing voice interrupted Ariana’s last bite of lemon cake.
She laughed. “You’re right. And I’ll certainly pay with a terribly upset stomach. But you see”—she leaned conspiratorially forward—“when I get nervous, I eat huge quantities of sweets.”
Dustin caught her elbow as she weaved a bit on her feet. “I see. And do you also drink huge quantities?”
“What?”
“How much punch have you had?”
She considered the question. “I’m not certain. Perhaps four or five glasses. It’s really quite tasty for fruit juice.”
Dustin looked utterly incredulous. “Fruit juice? Sweetheart, there are countless pints of French brandy and white wine in that ‘fruit juice.’”
“There are?” Ariana frowned. “Does this mean I’m foxed?”
“Hopelessly.”
She laughed. “And you’re the duke’s brother.”
“That I am.” He gave a formal bow. “And you’re the duke’s wife,” he said with a twinkle.
Ariana chewed her lip, glancing around to make certain they were alone. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered at last.
“I think so.”
She leaned closer. “I have no idea how to be a wife.”
Dustin couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing. “Ariana, I think you are going to be a very quick learner.” He took her elbow. “Are you up for a dance?”
She nodded, her face flushed from wine and excitement. “But only if you lead … Dustin. May I call you Dustin?”