Not that he hadn’t kissed her hand, every day, rather than to simply bow over her fingertips, as he’d done before their betrothal. And he’d kissed her cheek, at least twice. And, granted, he hadn’t been constantly in her presence since that marvelous, never-to-be-forgotten moment when he’d told her he loved her and asked her to become his wife, which was what she had wanted to hear from him since the very moment they met.
But then he’d left. There had been his mother to visit, to give her the happy news. He’d said he’d be gone for a week, but it had stretched beyond two. There had been something about overseeing the closing off of a room because of the damp, or a fallen-in roof, or some such thing. As he’d said, “The estate house is ancient, and huge, and falling down around our ears. But you’ll love it, I swear!”
Bailey Armstrong, at the moment the Viscount Netherfield, but heir to the Earl of Whitcomb, had been excruciatingly honest about his fortune, or rather his sad lack of fortune. But that was all right, too, because she was odiously wealthy, or at least that’s what Kate had once told her. “You’re quite odiously wealthy, you know.”
Alana couldn’t wait to see Bailey’s home. Not that she’d be the lady of the manor, not yet, but she could certainly enjoy watching her fortune refurbish the estate Bailey clearly loved so much.
They talked about it, incessantly. Alana didn’t much care for moving about in Society, and neither did Bailey. They would ship his mother and sisters off to London, which was where they wanted to be in any case. His father already resided in their town house, when he was not shooting, fishing or gaming…mostly gaming, always losing. With the family where it wanted to be, and themselves where they wanted to be, the world would be a lovely place. Alana daydreamed about her soon-to-be married life all the time.
Except when she was daydreaming about Bailey’s betrothal kiss, and wondering if there existed some sort of unspoken rule about not kissing her on the mouth again until they were married. She’d ask Kate, but if Kate laughed, or was shocked, well, Alana would simply expire of embarrassment.
“Alana? You don’t care for blue? It doesn’t have to be blue. It probably has been blue for fifty years. It’s just that we’ve always called it the blue room. But we can change that.”
She blinked, realizing her mind had taken her away from the moment, and the conversation. That had probably happened when Bailey, sitting beside her on the stone bench, had taken her hands in his and then…well, and then nothing. He’d gone back to speaking about their plans for the drawing room at Netherfield, and she’d tried to do her best not to grab him by the ears and kiss him square on the mouth. His warm, sweet, lovable mouth.
“Excuse me?” she asked, feeling her cheeks growing hot. “I’m afraid I wasn’t attending.”
He smiled that special smile that melted her knees and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I don’t blame you. It’s boring stuff, most of it, isn’t it?”
Three kisses on the cheek. Alana added it to her tally.
“Oh, no, not really. I suppose I was thinking about…about Sunday.”
He squeezed her hands. “Our wedding day.” And then he frowned. “It isn’t too soon, Alana? Gideon assured me, since it will be only a simple, family affair, there was no need to—well, he said no reason to drag the bloody business out, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.”
Alana smiled. “Yes, he did. Gideon has been my guardian these past three years, and he’s never been comfortable with riding herd on me. After Sunday, I’m your worry, as he explained it to me. Gideon is a wonderful man, Bailey, honest, and caring. He…he just hides it well.”
“Ah, my betrothed is a mistress of understatement,” Bailey said, and then he kissed her cheek again.
Four.
“I love you, Alana.” He let go of her hands and slipped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder. Sighed. This was nice. Very nice.
“I love you, too,” she said quietly.
They probably made quite the lovely picture, sitting there on the stone bench in the sunshine. Even romantical.
She could wait until Sunday. She really could.
She just wished Bailey couldn’t…
* * *
ELSEWHERE AT REDGRAVE MANOR, another young female was not quite so reticent about expressing her feelings.
“You idiot!”
Valentine Redgrave looked up from his frowning inspection of a small smudge he’d somehow collected on his buckskins. “Gone nearly a full year, far from the loving bosom of my family, and yet so little has changed. Including me, I suppose. I’m still an idiot? I’ve only been home a little above an hour, Kate—so how can you tell?”
Lady Katherine Redgrave, who in truth had sorely missed her brother, shot back, “I know, you blockhead, because I happened to walk into the morning room to see that pernicious cat Sylvia Wise perched on Trixie’s favorite chair. And when I got over my shock and asked her how she came to be here, she informed me that you were kind enough to have invited her to come along with you. You idiot.”
Valentine got to his feet and took hold of Kate’s shoulders, which put a stop to her angry pacing. “But she asked very prettily. Something about her new carriage not being delivered on time and not wishing to miss the nuptials of her dear friend Alana. That took me by surprise, let me tell you. You could have told a person, you know.”
Kate pushed him away. “A person could have told a family that he had returned from Paris and was about to descend on his unsuspecting family. An idiot just shows up like some unannounced prodigal son, having invited sure disaster to trip off along home with him.” Kate cocked her head to one side as she glared at him. “You do perceive the difference?”
“Much as I loathe disappointing you, no, I don’t. Is there something havey-cavey about the thing? The nuptials, I mean. Will Gideon be marching the groom to the altar with a pistol stuck to his spine?”
Kate pressed her fingertips to her temples, attempting to keep her brains from exploding. “We did write to you. The letter is in Paris by now, while you’re here, ruining everything. The wedding is to be strictly a family affair. Or at least it was.”