One group she was especially keen to meet were the other members of the Bastion Club. Having met Jack and Gervase, both of whom were present, she wasn’t surprised to find that the others were of similar ilk. She shook hands and had to laugh at the numerous comments they made about Charles, the warnings, the sotto voce confidences, all of which he deflected with his usual glib charm.
She was especially pleased to meet Leonora, Countess of Trentham, and Alicia, Viscountess Torrington, the wives of the other two club members thus far married. The instant the introductions were complete and they’d touched fingers, their gazes met, switched one to the other, then the three of them laughed. Their husbands, naturally, inquired over what had struck them. They met each other’s eyes again, then each said they’d explain later.
None of the club members were impressed by that, but had to, in this company, accept it.
“Have you met Dalziel?” Leonora asked.
The inquiry seemed innocent, but it immediately diverted the men’s attention.
“We invited him, of course,” Charles told the others, “but as usual he hasn’t appeared.”
“He never appears anywhere in public,” Alicia told Penny. “At least, not that any of us have discovered.”
“While we were staying with Amberly, along with Dalziel, I got the impression as we were leaving that Amberly knew who Dalziel really was. I asked him this afternoon.”
“And?” Jack prompted.
“Amberly lapsed into vagueness as if he had absolutely no idea who I was referring to.” Charles sighed. “Amberly’s memory’s like a vise—he was clearly told to conveniently forget.”
“Dalziel’s true identity can’t be scandalous,” Gervase pointed out.
“No.” Christian Allardyce raised his brows. “But it could be highly sensitive in certain quarters.”
“One day,” Charles vowed, “we are going to learn the truth.”
The others all echoed the sentiment.
Later, while ambling through the guests, they stopped to talk with Amberly and Nicholas. As her nearest male relative, Amberly had given her away; he’d been thrilled and so patently pleased she’d asked, Penny had felt touched.
“We’ll be at Wallingham for a few days—ride over if you get the chance.” Nicholas shook hands with Charles. “I’ve decided to spend more time down here—now you’ve taken Penny away, someone will need to keep watch on the place.”
“Good for you to get away from those damn dispatch boxes,” Charles returned.
Nicholas grinned. “You’re probably right.”
They parted, Nicholas helping his father toward the forecourt, where their carriage was waiting. Other guests sought them out to make their farewells; gradually, the day wound to a close.
Night was falling when they finally slipped away from the family parlor where the females of their combined families, slumped in exhaustion, were indulging in the customary postmortem.
The earl’s suite was separated from all others, distant and very private. Passing through the door Charles held open, Penny glanced around. Until then, she’d only seen the room from the doorway, yet with her brushes on the dressing table, her robe on a chair, it already seemed familiar. As if she belonged.
Crossing to the dressing table, she lifted the tiara from her hair, then removed the jeweled pins and let the long tresses hang free. She shook her head to untangle them, in the mirror met Charles’s midnight eyes.
She turned, faced him, saw in his eyes the same awareness she felt. They’d been lovers for weeks, yet this, now, was different—a declarative step acknowledging a deeper commitment.
The end of one road, the first step on another.
A moment passed in which they searched each other’s eyes, then he stepped toward her and held out his hands.
She met him, put her hands in his, felt him clasp them and gripped in return.
His lips lifted, his eyes held hers. “I love you.”
She returned his smile and walked into his arms. “I love you, too.”