Phoebe kissed Aunt Aurelia on the cheek and stepped up to stand next to the man who was to become her husband. She looked up at him, leaned in close, and whispered for his ears alone, “I love you.”
* * *
While the churchhad been filled, the wedding breakfast was, thank goodness, simply for their families and closest friends. Jeffrey’s London home had been outrageously decorated, the doing of his mothers and sisters.
“Was all this really necessary?” he asked them as they arrived home, and a piece of long pink fabric nearly fell on him from where it was draped above them over the balcony.
“Of course it is, Jeffrey,” Penny said indignantly from where she awaited them, practically bouncing on the toes of her pink kid slippers. Jeffrey’s sisters certainly had a taste for pink, Phoebe thought as she looked around her at the floral arrangements covering the entryway and the staircase. She could hardly imagine what the interior rooms must look like.
Though secretly, she thought, as they rounded the corner of the stairwell and entered the drawing room, she would guess that they simply did it to irk Jeffrey. His sisters loved annoying him, and Phoebe found it particularly entertaining, though she would never tell him so.
Jeffrey’s mother, who had entered but moments before them, sailed over to greet them. She took Phoebe’s hands in hers and kissed her cheeks. “Welcome home,” she said, a tear sliding down her face, and Phoebe squeezed her hands in response.
She leaned in and whispered in Lady Berkley’s ear, “I will ensure he is happy — I promise.”
Which only, of course, led to more tears, and Jeffrey looked at Phoebe with something akin to horror. “Perhaps we best get on with this breakfast,” he said, attempting to steer her away from his mother and toward the table, but Clarissa stilled him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Oh, Jeffrey, you were never one for tears,” she said, taking Jeffrey’s offered handkerchief. “You would think you would be used to it by now.”
The moment was broken, however, when loud barking flowed into the room from the corridor outside, and Jeffrey looked around at all of the perfectly placed decorations, at the flower arrangements in their crystal vases. “No, no, no,” he called out. “Maxwell! Stay—”
But Maxwell’s keeper — none other than Annie, who ran in behind the dog — had lost all control, and Maxwell happily bounded into the room, nearly knocking Jeffrey over with uninhibited exuberance.
“How long has it been since you have seen him?” Phoebe asked as Maxwell turned his attention toward her, covering her face with a lick of his huge, wet tongue.
“Since before I left for the wedding,” he said, shaking his head as he handed her what must have been a second handkerchief. Apparently he had anticipated a need for them today.
She laughed then, following her husband — goodness, it felt odd to say such a thing — into the dining room, where the table was piled high with every type of confection that one could possibly dream of, and where her new family and closest friends awaited.
It was not, of course, the type of wedding breakfast one might expect at the home of the marquess. In fact, Jeffrey told her, it was reminiscent of most of the breakfasts held at this house.
“This will likely be a change for you,” he mused, and she nodded.
“That would be an understatement,” she agreed. “Typically my company every morning is a stack of papers.”
“Mine as well,” he said, turning to her with a bit of surprise. “Though my reading is continually interrupted by never-ending questions and comments meant to drive me mad.”
“Ah, so you are aware they do it on purpose.”
“Of course they do,” he grunted. “But I keep up the pretense, for I do not want to spoil their fun.”
When she laughed, Jeffrey ruefully smiled before turning his warm eyes to his family around the table, though his gaze slightly hardened when it alighted on Ambrose.
“Did we have to invite him?” he asked Phoebe, and she nodded. She had, in fact, told Jeffrey in no uncertain terms that he absolutely must invite his brother to his wedding or he would never forgive himself in the future.
“I know he has acted absolutely appallingly, and I understand your reluctance,” she had said, “But he is your brother, and one day you would look back and be upset that this would have only increased the divide between you.”
“Fine,” he had finally relented. “But after this, he is off to his country estate. The man must learn some responsibility, some decency.”
To that, Phoebe agreed. After the scene at White’s a few short weeks ago, Jeffrey had continued onto Phoebe’s townhouse, where he related the entire incident, including the fact that Ambrose didn’t return to White’s, nor did Totnes. Torrington, however, was enough of a man to report back to all of them, somewhat sheepishly, that it was, in fact, as Jeffrey had said. The building was empty, with hardly a thing left in it to prove that anyone had even occupied it in the past month.
“I know you are still concerned that some may come after you,” Jeffrey had told her, to which she nodded. She supposed part of her always would be. “But maintain your anonymity, and all will be well. And Phoebe,” he had continued. “I am not asking you to keep your name from others because I am ashamed of you. I want you to know that. I would simply like you to be able to maintain your way of life as well do what you are driven to do.”
Phoebe had nodded, understanding. Part of her longed to be able to show her face, to be proud of what she was doing, to attach her name to the publication that was a part of her now. But she understood Jeffrey’s reluctance, and he had done so much for her, made so many compromises, that the very least she could do was to keep the name of Berkley from any disrepute. So she would continue in her current capacity, doing what made her happy, with the full support of the man she loved beside her.