Page 74 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

“There they are,” Patrick said tenderly from where he was standing with a goblet of something hopefully strong and hot. “The Duke and Duchess of Staying-in-Norfolk.”

“A pleasure to see you always, Lord Rosdale,” Evander said, smiling as Patrick bowed unceremoniously for Aurelia.

“You're late,” Patrick noted, eyeing Aurelia up and down. Then he cried through the crowd, “Lydia, they're here.”

Lydia was heard before she was seen, loudly telling the knots of guests to part and make room for her. She appeared in a flash of blue silk and promptly laughed, running toward Aurelia and taking her hands.

“Thank God, finally,” she said, exasperated, and took Aurelia by both arms. “You have no idea how boring it’s been without you. Your brother, Your Grace, has the most tiresome friends. Which is insane, because he himself is always so unpredictable.” She shook her head, mostly ignoring her husband in favour of her best friend. “Anyway, come with me, Aurelia – erm, Duchess. The woman I was telling you about in my letter has just arrived and wants to speak with you about playing at Montagu House.”

Aurelia mouthed something Evander couldn’t quite make out as Lydia dragged her off. They were soon submerged by the crowd. Patrick smiled, looking lovingly after his wife, the socially insatiable new Countess of Rosdale.

“You're well?” Evander said, breaking him from his daze.

“Extraordinarily well.” Patrick drank to hide a smile. “Mhm. Before I forget, she told me to tell you that she wants one of the puppies.”

Evander sighed, looking around for a footman with the drinks. “Everyone wants one of the puppies. There are only so many to go around, you know. And I’m not certain you even know what you’re asking.”

“Bla bla bla, big dogs, spare me. Violet Harrow has apparently been parading hers around Bloomsbury, and now half of London wants a Great Dane-Lurcher cross of their own. You have inadvertently started a trend from all the way in the middle of nowhere… Nike is well, I take it, after the ordeal?”

“It has been months. She is extremely well and I suspect entirely unbothered by her contribution to this new wave of canine fashion.”

“And the others? All twelve of them?”

“Placed, for the most part. Aunt Violet has hers of course…” Evander paused to readjust the lapels of his jacket, avoiding Patrick’s searching gaze. He knew that look – a husband trying to please his wife. “We kept two. Aurelia named the girl.”

Patrick looked at him. “And what's her name?”

“Bia,” Evander said.

“Ugh, another Greek goddess? Entirely fitting. I take it she’s like the mother?”

“Grey and stubborn, and loud. If you want her–”

“We want her.”

“I was going to say, you must wrestle her from Aurelia, or content yourself with the remaining male instead. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

Patrick beamed and took a sip of his drink. “Lydia is going to be…” He shook his head. “She is going to be unbearable about this. Bia or Brian.”

Across the room, Aurelia was telling Lydia something. Her friend’s expression cycled through surprise and delight. Whoever they were supposed to be talking to had disappeared, and Evander wondered whether the story about Montagu House hadn’t just been a ruse all along. He would question Aurelia later in private, and looked forward to the moment when he would be alone with her again.

A few minutes later, there was movement at the tall gilded doors of the ballroom, and Frederick came in.

He had the cane, which he used with matter-of-fact ease. He walked differently than he had before for obvious reasons, but he did seem overall more careful and considered in his manner – older, Evander realised. He looked more like their mother now than he had at twenty-one. Still himself, but different. Evander watched as he greeted a few guests at the door and then came over to him and Patrick. His britches concealed his prosthetic well enough.

“There is my ever-elusive brother,” he said by way of greeting. They shook hands, and then Frederick pulled him into the warm embrace, whispering how thankful he was that he had come in his ear before pulling away.

“How are you doing?” Evander said once Frederick had said hello to Patrick.

“Decently enough. Though I shan’t be dancing tonight – yawn. I’ve come a way at least since those early months, but still no dancing…” He tapped the bottom of his leg for good measure, then looked across at Aurelia, who by that time had come back from her conversation with Lydia. “You look wonderful as always,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“You look well, Lord Canterbury,” she said, and he could hear that she meant it.

“I am well, funnily enough.” He smiled, and the expression went all the way to his eyes. “Actually, speaking of being funny and well… There is someone I want you to meet.” He turned toward the door. “I could have sworn she was just–”

“My Lord,” said a voice.

The voice’s owner slipped in from beside them, slightly breathless. She was waifish and fair, dressed simply in comparison to some of the other guests. She looked around the group a little nervously. Her eyes were a clear grey-green, bright but shy. Evander did not recognise her, but he recognised the spark in his brother’s eyes as he looked at her. It struck him that she looked at Frederick the way Evander looked at Aurelia.