Hugh caught her answer and crossed to stand beside her and rest his hand on her shoulder. His touch steadied her, lent a tinge of warmth to her blood. She’d need to get used to people asking questions—and most of the curiosity wouldn’t be as benevolent as Fenella’s.
“Jane, that’s not true. I never thought you were a pest.”
Her laugh was mocking. “What about that time I stole your favorite fishing pole and broke it? Or when you had to climb the biggest oak at Cavell Court to save me from falling?”
The affection in his smile reminded her that while they mightn’t be in love, they were genuinely fond of one another. That meant a lot. “Well, perhaps you were occasionally a pest. But you improved as you got older.”
“You didn’t,” she retorted.
He looked startled. “I say! That’s a bit rough.”
Her smile widened. “You were always an extremely nice boy, much kinder to a little girl with a bad case of hero worship than she deserved. And you’ve grown up to be an extremely nice man. See? No improvement needed.”
His face softened, and he kissed her briefly. “You little tease.”
The kiss was over in a second, but it left her lips tingling. Her blush flared hotter when she noticed all eyes on them. She caught flickers of astonishment and pleasure and relief, and the atmosphere in the room eased noticeably.
“That’s just lovely,” Caro said, breaking the surprised silence. “I can imagine Hugh was a nice boy. You’ll have to tell us more.”
“Let’s bring in some champagne and toast the happy couple, Hunter.” Silas nodded to the butler circling the room with the decanter. “This sherry is filthy stuff.”
*
By the time the ladies rose from the dining table to leave the gentlemen to their port, Garson was elated with how well the evening progressed. Jane had arrived so unsure—he couldn’t blame her, everyone at the dinner was intimately connected with the old scandal of his broken engagement. She knew she was on trial as Morwenna’s substitute. Even worse, she’d let that witch Susan talk her into buying that ghastly yellow dress. Being awake to Susan’s penchant for the limelight, while her sister faded into the background, Hugh suspected the lapse in taste had been deliberate.
Marriage had transformed Jane from a downtrodden drudge to the vibrant woman she’d always been at heart. With the right clothes, she’d sparkle like the jewel she was. If Hugh saw that change, Susan certainly would, and she wouldn’t like it.
But even in that expensive, unbecoming rag, Jane’s natural charm shone through. At first, his friends welcomed her for his sake. But by the time dessert was served, they liked her for her funny, quirky self.
He was dashed glad. His friends’ interest would be nothing, compared to the full glare of society’s scrutiny. Jane would now have Caro, Fen and Helena to defend her against the cats.
As if he read Garson’s thoughts—he probably had—Silas set down his port and regarded him searchingly across the shining width of the mahogany table. “That’s a fine girl you nabbed for yourself there, Garson.”
“Yes, she is,” Garson said, and found himself smiling. He was so damned proud of how she’d held her head up tonight. “Better than I deserve.”
He waited for his friends to make some joking rejoinder about his general unworthiness, but none of the three did. Instead West settled serious black eyes upon him. “Nice to see you getting on w
ith your life at last.”
“Hear, hear,” Silas said, refilling Garson’s glass.
“Grand that you’ve rejoined the human race,” Anthony chimed in.
The reminder of his public humiliation and hardly less public sorrow over losing Morwenna stung. Although of course, everyone here knew how wretched these last years had been for him. “It was time to marry,” he said, as the simplest explanation for a complex series of decisions and events.
“Time to stop looking like a bilious piglet,” West muttered loudly enough for Garson to hear.
Garson scowled at his friend, although much as he disliked the description, he had a queasy feeling it held an element of truth.
“A bilious piglet’s a bit strong,” Silas protested, but before Garson could feel too grateful, he went on. “Society’s ladies found Garson’s pining very romantic. Not a one of them didn’t want to take his weary head to her bosom and anoint him with her tears.”
Garson shuddered. That was definitely true. It was one of the reasons he’d asked Jane to marry him, instead of some London belle. The picture Silas and West conjured up struck him as worse than looking like a bilious piglet. “You’re getting bloody poetic in your old age, chum.”
Derisive amusement twisted Silas’s lips. “Every time I heard one of them sigh after you, it made me feel dashed poetic, too. I thought Byron had to be back from the dead, until I looked around and saw it was just you.”
“Byron without the unsavory bits, so even better,” Anthony added in his bass rumble.
“Ugh,” Garson said, too pleased with how the night had turned out to take real offense at the jibes.