38. In the Grip of Love #2
Johan, horrified to find himself perilously close to actual emotion, swiped briskly at the corner of his eye. “Curse the summer dust,” he muttered, smiling at Alexander. There was unmistakable affection in his voice when he said, “You’ll do, Sinclair. You’ll do.”
As if the moment had never occurred, he seized Lucinda’s hands once more.
“But you must call me Johan!” he insisted, and before she could reply, whisked her into a spontaneous twirl.
Her hair streamed behind her like a banner, laughter catching in the breeze.
“I’m only ‘Count’ when someone’s cross with me. ”
Lucinda’s laughter, bright and unconstrained, spilled into the hall.
It awakened Miles from his languid repose by the fire, drew the dowager from her needlework, and even roused Periwinkle, ears pricked in curiosity.
The admiral, who had remained at Sinclair Mansion rather than return to Harrington, heard his daughter’s joy and rose, fully expecting the imminent announcement.
By the time Alex reclaimed Lucinda, breathless and laughing, the household had gathered. He wasted no time. “Lucinda has agreed to be my wife,” he announced, pulling her closer.
The Dowager Lady Sinclair clapped her hands together in transports of delight.
“My dears!” she exclaimed, buoyed by the thrill of the announcement.
“At last! I could not be more delighted.” She approached the couple with remarkable swiftness for a woman of her years, a victorious gleam in her eyes.
“I do not wish to say ‘I told you so,’ but really, I always knew it would come to this. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.” She enveloped Lucinda in a warm embrace, murmuring how splendidly everything had turned out in the end.
The admiral, with a gentle warmth, embraced Lucinda tenderly, murmuring about how pleased he was that her white knight had appeared. Then, with a sincere smile, he extended his hand to Alex, offering a handshake that was firm and filled with pride.
Having shaken his brother’s hand and bestowed an affectionate tweak upon Lucinda’s chin, Miles flung himself back upon the settee with careless ease, declaring, “Ah, the sweet relief! Now all of Lucinda’s future whirlwinds of madness will be Alex’s to endure, not mine! Brother, I pray you weather them all.”
Alex turned to Lucinda, ignoring him. “We shall be leaving for an extended wedding trip,” he declared, “to give society time to forget their nonsense, and gossip about something else.”
Miles sat up with renewed interest. “Where to? Paris? Rome?”
“Not Paris,” Johan interrupted with a scowl. “Overrated. Full of peacocks and posturing.”
“Oh, but it must be Vienna?” Lady Sinclair suggested.
“Too many composers, my lady, no.” Johan waved a dismissive hand.
“Rome?” Miles threw in.
Johan shook his head. “Too much grandeur. You can hardly move without falling over a ruin.”
“Venice, then?” the admiral suggested, “history, grandeur, one of the best ports—”
“Ah, that is a worthy suggestion, but too far, sir.” He turned to Alex. “You’ll be traveling for months to get there.”
“What of Berlin?” Miles offered.
Johan winced and gave a dismissive wave, as if the suggestion did not warrant comment.
“Amsterdam?” Lucinda teased.
Johan sighed. “If you wish to spend your wedding trip under an umbrella—go to Amsterdam.”
“Could be charming,” said Alex, lifting Lucinda’s hand to his lips. “We do well in rain storms.”
“No, no, no. You will come to Brussels!” Johan declared decisively.
Alex blinked, half amused. “Brussels?”
“Of course!” Johan gestured expansively. “It has everything—art, music, food, a certain je ne sais quoi for lovers. And my cousin’s townhouse is at your disposal!”
“Just what every newlywed dreams of—being descended upon by half of Europe the moment we arrive.”
Johan looked aggrieved. “Only the pleasant half. The other half we avoid.”
Lucinda laughed. “I rather think he means to chaperon our honeymoon, Alex.”
Johan gave an unapologetic shrug. “I offer culture, not chaperonage. Not to mention a modern society that will embrace rather than censure the bravery of a couple who took down the Bitter Grip—you will be lauded! Add to that, it has fewer idiots than Paris—it is perfection.”
Lucinda laughed. “Yes, but does it have a Friends of Animals Society?”
“It is precisely why you must come, my dear, to start the movement in earnest. My sisters will no doubt support you all the way.”
Miles leaned forward. “You cannot say Brussels is superior to Paris.”
“I can and I do.” Johan sniffed. “Paris is too fond of its reflection.”
Lucinda, half-laughing, looked up at Alex. “Brussels, then.”
As the gentlemen erupted into a cheerful debate over the merits of various European cities, Lady Sinclair looked with adoring eyes at the couple. No one noticed a handkerchief raised to dab at the corner of her eye and the happy sigh she released.
Alex, gathering Lucinda’s hands into his, said: “Now, don’t be persuaded to think that I’ll allow you to spend our wedding trip establishing activist riots and animal shelters. I want your attention.”
Lucinda, cheeks flushed, did not appear to object. “Wherever you are, Alex is where I will be happy.”
“And I, you,” he whispered back. “Forever and always.”
Laughter rippled through the room, warm and bright. And as Alex pulled her ever closer, Lucinda knew: whatever lay ahead, scandal or whispers, Brussels or beyond—her happiness was found.
THE END