Chapter 11 #2
“You are so beautiful, Sparkles. But never more so than during those moments where I see that vulnerability you show to me alone.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Is there a greater feeling than knowing someone has found you worthy of that much trust?”
“As long as you know you are worthy. But I do not think I am ready to let you paint me in bed.” Her mouth lifted to his in a sweet apology, giving him a sly wink. “Maybe someday for that, too.”
“So, you will agree to a normal portrait sitting instead then?” he chaffed her. “In exchange for the ability to keep stealing my blankets?”
Charity disentangled herself neatly, giving him an arch look before she leaned in with blushing cheeks to whisper, “You will let me steal your blankets anyway, Lord Fitzroy.”
He laughed again, cupping her face in both hands as he gave her a properly searing kiss that had them both gasping for breath when he released her lips.
“You’re right. And I will happily give them up for the rest of my life, you cover hog, just so you will always be the last thing I see when I fall asleep and the first thing I see when I greet the dawn. ”
They missed luncheon while indulging in leisurely pursuits. Peregrine did convince Charity to sit in the conservatory long enough to make several sketches, and she kindly said nothing when he ripped up several. It had been too long since he had done figure sketching.
Finally he had one worthy of a canvas. She had been inhaling the scent of a gardenia plucked from the glass-protected hot house, looking at him over the top of the blossom.
While he had been sketching, Charity flayed him with savage repartee about the expressions on his face.
(To be fair, he had been concentrating when his tongue poked out.)
When they grew peckish from missing lunch, they raided the neglected kitchen gardens.
They found peas and a few strawberries that they fed one another, laughing like children.
Or rather, Perry did most of the finding and feeding.
Charity’s cossetted girlhood meant she had no practical knowledge of any plants at all.
Peregrine’s mother had ensured his knowledge of botany was both prodigious and practical. And he in turn introduced Charity to many plants like rosemary, chamomile, and rosehips. At one point she had opened her mouth to argue with him about his recitation, and he popped a mint leaf onto her tongue.
It was… nice to teach someone else. To turn that mostly ill-used knowledge into an experience of pleasure.
“No matter how it started… today was… unexpectedly perfect,” she said to him as they sat nested together on a stone bench. “Thank you.”
Perfect, yes. Perry let his head rest over her shoulder while she plucked the petals off a daisy. Charity smelled of the orange that he loved—but also there was a wild green scent to her, courtesy of their foraging. “I hope you won’t be disappointed by our guests arriving for dinner.”
Her hands stilled. “What guests?”
“The three people I invited to mark the occasion of our engagement.” He grinned. “Assuming you will not cut the Marchioness of Normanby dead in the privacy of my home.”
“Ravenscroft? And Thorne too?” she asked, and he nodded to each. “You consider them both friends?”
When he had considered who he had wanted to tell, all three had come to mind instantly. Thorne was, perhaps, the most perplexing of the set, but after the night of the fire and rescue, the man was as thoroughly entangled as any of them.
Peregrine didn’t know if they were friends, exactly. But theirs were the only opinions that he cared about.
Jack went out to meet the carriage with a lantern. Peregrine and Charity hastened to greet their guests in the entry hall. Their loud guests. Even before Quinn opened the door, they could hear raucous laughter and conversation approach the steps.
Quinn opened the door to Selina arm-in-arm with both men, and Peregrine coughed a laugh into his fist. “Charity, the parade has arrived.”
“Don’t be catty just because I have two cavaliers for the price of one,” Selina smirked.
Ravenscroft thought this was hilarious, and even Thorne’s teeth appeared briefly in a smile.
She took her hands away from her escorts as Quinn began the process of collecting hats and coats, handing them off to Owens.
Then the marchioness swept over to Charity taking both of her hands with a firm squeeze. She gave Peregrine an affectionate pat on his arm, and then she reached into her reticule, withdrawing a drawstring bag for Charity.
Blinking in surprise, Charity loosened the drawstring, spilling an elegant but empty gold locket into her palm.
Selina split a sly look between them. “Forgive me for gifting you with an empty locket, Your Grace. But I thought perhaps you might like to commission the miniatures inside yourself. Perhaps from someone you know.”
Charity looked up at Perry with a faint grin, letting the soft gold slither from her fingers back into its satchel. “That is a lovely idea, Lady Normanby. Thank you.”
Ravenscroft bowed gallantly over Charity’s hand, planting a kiss upon her knuckles.
“Only you could have made an honest man out of the canary, Duchess.” He clapped Peregrine hard on the shoulder, proffering the bottle of wine that had been tucked beneath his arm.
“An 1811 Bordeaux to appreciate in good health—from my own cellar. Do make certain you appreciate it, you English heathen.”
“A comet vintage?” And of a French wine, which would have likely had to have been acquired by illicit means during the blockades. Peregrine’s eyebrows lifted. “A much better gift than my birthday present, Maggie.”
“If you have some idea of what you got out of my collection, then be sure to thank Antoine. The grief I took from him over your birthday gift—that man has no appreciation for a joke, I swear.”
Peregrine grinned at the magpie. He was willing to bet that the fussy French valet had his lord wrapped firmly around his little finger. “I do know—and I appreciate it. It is good to know who has the real taste in your household.”
The old rake’s eyes twinkled, and he cleared the hallway so that Sir Nathaniel no longer had an excuse to hang back.
Thorne took Charity’s hand respectfully, and when he turned to Peregrine, on a whim, Perry offered the man his arm.
His blue eyes flared briefly with surprise and gratitude, and he clasped Peregrine’s forearm in return.
“Your Grace, Lord Fitzroy. I am sorry I have little to offer of my own and not my brother’s generosity—”
“Thorne,” Charity told him gently. “You offered yourself when we needed your help.”
Peregrine nodded. “That was more generous than anyone could wish.”
The tall man ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable with praise. “Nevertheless. A… small token of a gift.”
He placed a lumpy handkerchief into Charity’s palms. She carefully unwrapped the two objects within, revealing two small whittled birds, about the length of his finger.
A swan, reared up with wings half extended as if it was about to burst into flight.
And a small, sleek peregrine falcon with its hooked beak and sharp eyes peering over its wing.
Charity found her voice first. “These are lovely. You’re an artist.”
“The duchess is right,” Perry agreed, awestruck as he turned the little figures over to admire the detail on the birds’ faces and feathers. “This is no simple token—especially in the short time you had. Well done.”
“Ah. Well,” Thorne said, brushing back his forelock, embarrassed. But then he gave them a roguish grin. “It gave me a reason to hide in Ravenscroft’s gardens. Where I wouldn’t make a mess.”
Perry snickered. “Is that how you have been surviving in his household?”
“Aye.” Thorne’s voice was dry. “The way those two fight and flirt could drive a saint to the bottle.”
With a laugh, Perry clapped Thorne on the shoulder and they joined the other two.
Dinner was a warm and relaxed affair. Eschewing tradition, they all retired immediately to the parlour to enjoy drinks and each other’s companionship.
Charity abandoned Perry to take Thorne’s arm when they left the dining room, and amused, Peregrine watched Selina take Ravenscroft’s. He brought up the rear.
“Aha!” Ravenscroft rubbed his hands together as they entered the room and he spied the pianoforte in the corner. “A chance to get Galahad on the dance floor for some practice.”
Thorne immediately shot an appeal for help to Peregrine—something he hadn’t expected. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that the magpie grant the man mercy and choose something simple and familiar like a Scottish reel. But the Marchioness of Normanby beat him to it.
“Play us something suitable for a country dance, Lord Ravenscroft,” she said, releasing him and pulling Charity by her free arm towards the centre of the room. Charity let out a short laugh, holding onto Thorne’s sleeve as she was tugged along, and Perry joined them in a square.
Thorne acquitted himself competently, if not with the flourish of an aristocrat. Selina murmured suggestions and encouragement, and Charity began to do the same. Soon all three were having a grand time, and by the third dance, Selina broached more complicated dances.
“The four of us cannot do a quadrille, but this is a good time to teach you the steps for some of the figures. Let’s start with the ladies’ chain.
” Selina’s voice took on a commanding bark, pulling Thorne into formation like a soldier being ordered by his sergeant, and she directed all of them about as if they were all learning for the first time.
Charity had been right. This closeness was what a family was supposed to be. But a small ache of regret weighed heavily in his chest. He was finding a new family… but Lark was still alone with his mother.
Trapped in a situation, with no idea just how precarious it might be.