Chapter Twenty-Four
Mel chose a moment when she and Allan were alone together, in their private sitting room at Barcliffe Priory.
She was not certain how he would feel about her going behind his back.
She had had the best of intentions, of course, but they had promised to be open and honest with one another and to have no secrets.
Except, said a later amendment to the promise, they could keep a secret regarding a present or other surprise, intended to bring pleasure to the other person. Surely that provision applied here?
“Allan,” she said, “I have a confession to make. I have done something in secret.”
Her darling husband took her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. “Will I like it?” he murmured, between kisses.
“I certainly hope so,” she said.
He stopped his kisses, lifted his head, and examined her face. “You are frowning, darling. I will love whatever you have got me, I am certain.”
“It is a new title,” Mel blurted, rushing her fences.
“Or, at least, it will be, if you apply, and if the king approves. And Dellborough thinks he will, only it will then go to the College of Heralds, and it is unlikely to happen overnight. But probably no more than a year, Allan. Eighteen months at the most.”
After a bewildered blink or two, Allan backed her into her chair and took his own. “Can you start at the beginning, please, my lady? What new title? What do you mean?”
A deep breath allowed Mel to compose herself. “Allan, I wrote to the Duke of Dellborough to ask him how to go about retiring the name the former marquess disgraced so badly, and replacing it with another. I thought you might wish to use your grandfather’s name, Arlesley.”
He was gaping at her, as if she was speaking a language he didn’t understand.
“I wasn’t sure if it was possible, but other peers have applied to change their name. Dellborough agrees that you can, too. His Grace says it might mean new Letters Patent, which is why it might take a while. He has consulted the king, and he will look favorably on a request.”
“Change the name of the title, you mean,” Allan said, in a carefully neutral voice.
“Yes. If you want to, that is.”
“The Marquess of Arlesley,” said Allan, a smile dawning in his eyes and spreading across his face. In the next breath he caught her up in his arms and swung her around, laughing with delight. “Arlesley,” he repeated. “Melody, my love, you are a marvel. Change the title! Brilliant.”
His exultant dance ended in another hug, this one so fierce she could manage only the shallowest of breaths. She hugged him back, thrilled with his response. “I love you, Allan,” she told him.
“I love you, Melody. The day you swaggered into my tower and announced that you were there to uncover my secrets was the day my life began. And every day I live, heart of my heart, I shall live for you.”