Page 122 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Desmond, dearest, I’ll always feel well enough for you.” Thisbe moved in to kiss him, bearing him back down on the bed.

THEY RETURNED TO London the following day. Unsurprisingly, when they related their story to the family, the dowager duchess rose from her chair like a vengeful goddess. “You destroyed Anne Ballew’s Eye? Really, Thisbe, I sent you to find the thing, not ruin it.” Her gaze swiveled to Desmond. “No doubt that was your idea.”

“No, Grandmother, I am the one who made that decision. I smashed it to bits.” Thisbe ignored her grandmother’s gasp and plowed ahead. “All Desmond did was save my life.”

“Of course, that is the most important thing,” the duchess said, though her tone left some doubt as to her words. “But it does seem to me that one could have achieved both things. It’s an heirloom—our ancestor entrusted it to us. Anne Ballew gave us our gift.”

Thisbe’s eyes flashed. “Anne Ballew wasn’t—”

Seeing the expression on Thisbe’s face, Desmond interrupted, stepping forward. “Anne Ballew wasn’t in favor of saving the Eye. As you know, she appeared to Thisbe in her dreams and specifically told her to destroy it.”

“I’m not at all sure you heard her correctly, Thisbe,” Cornelia said.

Desmond went on in an admiring tone, “You have the ability, ma’am, even without the Eye. You don’t need it. Look at how accurate your prediction was. Thisbe did die because of our love.”

“Of course I was right...despite what all the disbelievers said.” The duchess looked pointedly around the room at the other members of the family.

“You were completely vindicated,” Desmond agreed.

Cornelia preened. “Not that I needed any vindication. I have always known my gift was powerful.”

“The Eye was too powerful for people who don’t share your gift to use. And, as we’ve seen, it can easily fall into the wrong hands. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s better that they not have the opportunity.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Thisbe’s grandmother admitted, looking somewhat mollified. She followed the statement with a piercing look. “And now, I suppose, you’ll want to marry my granddaughter.”

“Yes, ma’am, I intend to ask her father for her hand.”

Cornelia heaved a sigh. “You are hardly the suitor I would have picked for my granddaughter, but Thisbe seems peculiarly set on you. And one cannot but be grateful that you kept her from drowning. I grant you my permission,” she said with a regal nod. “Provided, of course, you wait to have the banns read, like decent people, instead of rushing off with a special license.” She sent a withering look at her son and his wife.

Desmond’s interview with Thisbe’s father was a far easier matter. When Desmond asked for his daughter’s hand, the duke said, “I don’t suppose I have any say in the matter. But it was kind of you to ask.” He leaned forward, his usually vague gaze intent. “The only question I have for you is...do you love her?”

“That’s an easy requirement, sir. I love Thisbe with all my heart. I’ve loved her from the moment I saw her.”

The duke smiled and sat back. “That’s something I’m familiar with.”

THISBE AND DESMOND were married three weeks later. Surprising everyone, Cornelia went to call on Zachary Wallace. Surprising no one but Desmond, after her visit Mr. Wallace was inspired to bestow an unconditional research grant on Desmond.

When Desmond went to thank Cornelia, the duchess fixed him with her steely gaze, and said, “My daughter-in-law assures me that you object to the notion that Thisbe’s fortune becomes yours the moment you marry her—possibly the only subject on which Emmeline and I agree. But we cannot have you penniless. You must have the wherewithal to buy Thisbe presents and purchase your books or whatnot. This seemed the obvious solution. You can scarcely maintain that you haven’t earned whatever that man pays you. Mr. Wallace, of course, realized the advantages of my not bringing charges against him, and he was happy to agree to that arrangement.” Cornelia’s lips curved up at the memory of another battle won. “And now, one hopes, you will buy yourself some proper attire for the wedding and a ring appropriate to Thisbe’s station.”

Desmond bought the clothes, but the wedding ring he gave Thisbe—and the one she preferred—was the simple gold band his mother had worn.

The wedding took place at Broughton House with scarcely a hitch. The duke was only a few minutes late, and though Desmond forgot his tiepin, that was easily solved by borrowing one from Reed. The twins performed admirably, carrying the rings on their small square pillows without a single jump or skip and not once tossing the pillows or hitting one another with them until after the ceremony. Kyria and Olivia kept Thisbe’s nerves at bay all morning. And the dowager duchess and Great-Aunt Hermione, who had traveled up from Bath for the occasion, had only one small tiff.

Thisbe and Desmond said their vows. He kissed the bride. Emmeline dabbed away tears, and Kyria and Olivia cried even as they declared the wedding perfect. Reed shook Desmond’s hand and said with a grin, “Welcome to the family. I hope you have steady nerves.”

The celebration was small and typically Moreland, with a great deal of talking and laughter and spontaneous outbursts of song from Aunt Penelope, who had arrived from Paris with champagne and a wedding dress made by Worth. The twins dodged in and out in a game of chase with Lady Rochester’s barking spaniel. On the other side of the room, there was dancing, with a string quartet providing the music.

Thisbe danced with Reed and her father and Uncle Bellard, who, despite his shy nature, was a nimble dancer. Most of all, she danced with Desmond. He hadn’t the skill of her great-uncle or Reed, but she fit his arms perfectly, and Thisbe could look into his deep brown eyes and dream of all the lovely things the future held.

Later, Thisbe took Desmond’s hand and pulled him from the party. He raised his eyebrows in question as he followed her out the door. “Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.”

“That sounds tantalizing.”

His slow smile sent a dart of desire through her. It was amazing, really, how she seemed to want him more each day. “It’s not what you think,” she told him in a prim voice and followed her words with a teasing sideways glance. “But perhaps something else might follow.”

She took him through the long gallery and up a set of stairs. At one end of the short hallway stood a closed door, and a corridor intersected the other.