Chapter Sixteen #2
Montague attempted to show her in just a look just how he was going to punish her for such a remark. The answering flush, the one he had caused just three nights ago when he’d brought her to climax with his fingers once again, told him she quite understood.
‘Ahem.’
Goodness, she was beautiful. And that artistic talent, he was going to have to do something about that.
Oh, first he would ensure he could have Glenarms all over his townhouse and the estate in the country.
He would be the world’s greatest collector of Glenarms and no one would tell where he was getting them—
‘Ahem, my lord.’
Montague blinked.
Calliope was trying to stifle giggles, John had nudged him hard in the side and the Reverend—
Was looking upset.
‘I do apologise,’ Montague said in a carrying whisper. ‘I did not hear you.’
The vicar raised himself up imperiously. ‘Why on earth did you not—’
‘I was praying,’ Montague said solemnly, trying to ignore the snort of laughter that momentarily escaped from Calliope’s pursed lips.
The vicar stared in growing confusion. ‘Good God, man, why?’
Calliope’s snort was louder this time.
‘I mean,’ the Reverend added hastily, his own cheeks going purple, ‘why during the vows?’
Montague inclined his head and tried to look penitent. The trouble was, he did not have much practice with it. ‘I know, it is most inopportune. Please, ask me again. Miss Oliver, would you like a handkerchief?’
‘No, no, I’m quite well,’ managed Calliope, her smile broad but her lips pressed together as though preventing another snort escaping.
The vicar looked between the two of them suspiciously, but evidently could not conceive of a reasonable excuse to halt the wedding, for he repeated, ‘And do you, Montague Reginald Ebeneezer Donovan, take this woman, Calliope Maria Oliver…’
Beaming with delight at his bride, Montague waited for the vicar to finish before securing his woman for ever.
‘…as long as ye both shall live?’
‘I do,’ Montague said firmly.
The rest of the wedding was a haze. It had certainly happened. Montague looked down at the hand now resting happily in the crook of his arm, as they stood saying goodbye to guests at Laidley House, to see a gold band on Calliope’s fourth finger of her left hand.
Precisely how it had got there, well, that was another matter entirely.
He thought he probably put it on there. There were some other vows.
Calliope had spoken clearly and brightly, her voice ringing out in the church, and he had looked at her and realised he would lie on the ground to keep her feet dry. Then they were here.
Most extraordinary.
‘A truly excellent wedding,’ Mr Haversham was saying as he wrung Montague’s hand tightly. ‘I cannot wait to see what the two of you create.’
Calliope’s eyes widened.
‘The art we create,’ Montague said hastily. ‘Thank you, Mr Haversham. Very kind. Ah, Your Graces, so wonderful of you two to come…’
It had been a rather busy wedding, he had to admit.
The guestlist had to include a great number of people for it was a Society wedding and Montague had spotted a few people who had come all the way from London.
After another twenty minutes of goodbyes it was only himself, his beautiful bride, the woman who had given her away… and his best man.
‘I tell you, I’m not tired,’ yawned John, rubbing his eyes as he stared defiantly up at Montague.
‘I did not say you were,’ Montague said, swiftly realising that childhood logic was not logic at all, but merely a battering ram with which to hit the nearest adult. ‘I said it was your bedtime.’
‘But I’m not—’
‘Perhaps Master John would be so generous as to do me a great favour,’ said Mrs Gower, sweeping over to them in the pelisse Draveham had just helped her into.
Montague blinked. ‘He could? He really should be going to bed, it’s past his—’
‘As you know, Master John, my niece will be living here now,’ Mrs Gower said without a single glance at Montague. Instead she knelt down and looked into the serious boy’s eyes. ‘I will be all alone in my house and I would appreciate a protector to stay in my guest bedchamber.’
Montague glanced at Calliope with a questioning expression. But surely her sister, Thalia, who had arrived in Brighton only yesterday—
John’s chest puffed out. ‘I can look after you, Aunt Louise.’
‘Excellent. I will be going to bed as soon as we get home, though,’ Mrs Gower said artfully as she helped the boy into his coat. ‘I am very tired. Would you mind awfully if we all retired at the same time?’
Dear God, she was a genius.
John nodded sagely, as though he were doing the woman a great act of kindness. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Excellent. Good evening my lord, my lady.’ Mrs Gower kissed Calliope on the cheek then took the boy’s hand. ‘Now, John, tell me in the carriage. How would you have painted the wedding scene today?’
‘Ooooh with persplective!’
The door shut behind them and Montague let out a long, deep sigh. ‘That child is going to be the death of me.’
‘He’ll be the death of us all, beg pardon my lord, if he continues raiding Cook’s pantry,’ intoned the suddenly appearing Draveham with a bow. ‘If you do not mind, my lord, my lady, I shall retire for the evening. It has been rather a long day.’
It had, too. Just for a moment, Montague was struck by a hint of guilt.
It had been a challenge indeed for Mr and Mrs Draveham to organise not only a wedding, but a wedding reception and the introduction of a lady into the house at such short notice.
Their efforts had been monumental and they were not getting any younger.
Perhaps there was a lodge house somewhere on the country estate. Some place they could care for but have their own time, too. He would have to think of that. He would have to think of a school for John. He should also—
‘Well then,’ said Calliope brightly as Draveham closed the servants’ door behind him and they stood alone in the silent hallway, festooned with flowers. ‘We are alone.’
Montague brightened. They were alone. ‘Yes indeed.’
‘And my aunt has very carefully and very cleverly removed John from your—from our—home for the evening,’ Calliope said quietly, stepping into his arms and splaying her palms against his chest.
Montague swallowed. Dear God, this woman could have him on his knees begging for her favours in an instant—did she have any idea just how much power she wielded?
‘I suppose this means it is your turn to irritate me,’ said his new bride. ‘After all, we do loathe each other.’