“His edges?” Hazel giggled. “He’s not a table, silly.”
“No, he’s not a table,” said June. “He’s a gentleman, he’s your husband, and he’s looking at you right now. Smile at him,” she said, squeezing Jane’s hand beneath the table. “Don’t behave as if he’s a stranger.”
He is a stranger, she thought to herself. The wedding had come upon them so quickly, they’d only had time for a couple of outings together, one of which had been cut short by rain. In their limited time together, he’d told her more about Somerton, the manor they’d call home. She’d sent over the plans for her beloved pets’ kennels, a sturdy cage for Bouncer, and a cozy den for Mr. Cuddles, who needed plenty of bedding to curl up in. Townsend had told her she could have all the space she wanted for her pets in Somerton’s stables.
He was all that was kind, and yet…he maintained a distance from her, an indefinable space that felt too wide to bridge just yet. When she summoned the smile she ought to give him—considering it was their wedding day—his answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Well, they only needed time to settle, as June so wisely put it. Jane intended to start today, this very afternoon, trying to get to know Lord Townsend better. They couldn’t stay strangers forever, especially with the wedding behind them. She held his gaze as long as she could, until she blushed self-consciously and turned back to her friends.
*
“Have you lost your bride already?” August joined Townsend beside a beribboned pillar, staring with him into the ball room.
“Lost her? He doesn’t even know how he found her in the first place,” teased Marlow, taking up a place on his other side.
“You’re both tiresome.” Townsend was nearly drained of patience by this point in the proceedings. “And I know exactly where she is.”
His friends knew, too. They were only making idle conversation, knowing he needed some mindless banter to shore up his defenses. He’d survived the wedding, and this reception too, speaking politely to the guests and pretending to be the most satisfied of bridegrooms.
Now, he watched as Jane conversed with her sister. It was startling to see them together, especially when June was the one he’d imagined as his wife.
“How sweet your bride is,” said August, smiling at Townsend. “Just sweet as a new bride can be.”
“She is sweet,” he said, shrugging. “She seems pleased to marry me. There were no tears at the altar, no protestations.”
“Only the ones ringing in your head,” said Marlow in a low voice.
“What am I to do about it now, but make the best of it? I don’t think she’ll be a difficult wife, and if she is, I’ll know how to handle it.”
“Spend more time at Pearl’s?” August suggested, alluding to their favorite brothel.
“Not now that I’m married. I don’t wish to run around on her unless it’s necessary.” When she stood and moved across the room, he found himself focusing on her curvacious figure, and what he imagined to be a shapely bum. “I’ll try to have my needs met at home.”
“If you’re speaking of your need to discipline naughty ladies,” said August under his breath, “then I hope she’s a handful and a half, and ever deserving of spankings.”
“Spankings upon spankings,” added Marlow in an amused whisper. “A good birch rod is sure to bring your headstrong naturalist into line.”
“I won’t menace the poor girl. Well, not unless she deserves it. From what I’ve observed, she’s a very even-tempered young woman.” Even if she’s not the person I intended to marry when I came home from France. “Perhaps her infamous days are behind her.”
“Er, speaking of infamous,” said August, clearing his throat. “I stopped in to see Wescott and Oph—” He didn’t say her name when Townsend turned blazing eyes on him. “And his wife. They regret they could not attend and send their sincerest wishes for a happy marriage.”
“They ‘regret’ they couldn’t attend?” Townsend scoffed. “More like the man didn’t dare show his face, not with June here. That’s one good thing about marrying a Mayhew daughter, even if I proposed to the wrong one—those families will never mend fences, so Wescott needn’t be part of my life.”
“Aw, Towns.” Marlow’s pale blue eyes flickered in disappointment. “You won’t relent? Not yet?”
“Not ever.”
“You have to let it go at some point,” said August. “You don’t always get to marry the person you want.”
Townsend frowned at his dark-haired friend. Who was August, to lecture him about letting go? The man had been mooning over Felicity for almost two decades now. Never mind that she was long married to someone else—a prince, no less.
Still, his friends were here to support him, unlike Wescott, who was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in his life. “Will you go to Pearl’s tonight,” he asked the two of them, “now that you’re back in London?”