Chapter Thirty-Two
James
“Let me burn that.”
James stares down at the crumpled letter in his fist. “I’m fine.”
“Still,” Reginald says, gently prying the letter from his hand. “Neither you nor your mother need concern yourself with him.”
James watches Reginald stuff the crinkled paper into his pocket. He’s right. The letter has no bearing on his life any longer,
nor his mother’s.
“Don’t let him get you down. This is a good day,” Reginald says, taking James by the shoulders.
James forces himself to nod. “Right.”
“And tell MissWilson I expect her to be ready tonight at eight.”
“I will,” James promises.
Reginald grins. His plans have something to do with MissWilson, Thomas Parker, and a delicious meal, he thinks. Reginald
squeezes his shoulders and then nudges him toward the door. James blows out a breath and heads out into the square to face
the proverbial music.
What his soon-to-be ex-stepfather thinks truly no longer matters. And yet even as he hurries across the square toward his future, the weight of his past hangs heavy around his neck. His stepfather actually congratulated him. So proud of him for pulling one over on Havenfort —tickled pink that James will receive a Havenfort dowry and continue the Demeroven line with Havenfort’s daughter.
What utter rot. He hardly cares about Gwen’s money. And there won’t be an heir to the Demeroven estate. The line will die
with James. He’ll do the most he can while he has the title, and give as much to charity as he’s able. Make it count, and
then let it go.
Even if he felt a flutter of something primal and natal and desperate at reading the words I am proud from that man, whatever childhood disturbance it reawakened will fade with time. James is heading toward his real family—the
one he’s chosen, the one he’s building—and he will leave his stepfather’s words behind.
Distracted by the damn letter, it’s only when he rings the bell at the Havenfort townhouse that James remembers why he’s here,
and that he should be very anxious.
MissWilson opens the door and immediately yanks him inside, beaming. “They’re all waiting for you,” she says.
James laughs, surprised, and lets her tug him through the ornate foyer and up to the sitting room. “I’m on time.”
“True, you’re better than Gwen. I do wish you luck with her, she’s allergic to punctuality.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” James says, pushing down the loud laugh that wants to escape. “Reginald says he’ll be by at eight,
by the way.”
“Oh, excellent,” MissWilson says. “Now, enjoy.” She opens the door to the sitting room and pushes him inside, whirling around
to head back downstairs before he can even say goodbye.
He’s immediately accosted by Mrs. Stelm, demanding his tea preference while Mrs. Gilpe pulls off his frock coat. He tries to tell Mrs. Stelm it really doesn’t matter, but they’re gone before he can get a word in edgewise.
And then Beth’s at his side, guiding him over to sit down on the settee with her and Gwen. Bobby smiles at James, ensconced
in an armchair with very pink cheeks and baby Frederic in his arms.
“Now, Mother and Lady Harrington are set on us having the reception here, but we did want your opinion, just to make sure
you don’t want to have the reception—”
“At my townhouse? Goodness, no,” James tells Beth, accepting that he’s fully part of a discussion now that was going on long
before he arrived.
“Good, good,” Lady Harrington says. “I’ll be happy to provide linens. We kept Meredith’s,” she tells Lady Havenfort.
“I’m sure we have some, but that would be lovely, thank you,” Lady Havenfort says, smiling over at Beth, Gwen, and James.
“Albert, you’ll take James and Bobby for their suits, yes?”
“Of course,” Albert says from his perch against the mantel, drink in hand. “Uncle has already made an appointment with his
tailor.”
“And I’ll go along to make sure everything fits correctly,” Lord Havenfort puts in.
James blinks, having somehow missed him in the armchair next to Bobby.
It’s just that watching Bobby coo down at baby Frederic is entirely distracting. It’s doing all kinds of things to his chest
and stomach and other parts of him, so he wrenches his eyes away, turning to meet Gwen’s. Who absolutely has caught him mooning
over Bobby. She nudges him and he blushes.
“And the licenses?” Lady Harrington asks.
“All settled,” Albert says quickly. “Expedited, though not alarmingly so,” he adds to Lord Havenfort.
“Just young people in love,” Lord Havenfort agrees.
“Yes, I must say, Lord Demeroven, I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you,” Lady Harrington says.
And it’s then that James’ brain catches up to him and he realizes he probably ought to be terribly mortified in her presence,
since the last time she saw him, he was—
“I was so glad to hear that you had become engaged, and happily so. Leaving schoolyard friendships behind in favor of marital
bliss I think will truly be a great joy for you.”
James blinks across at her, unsure how to take that sentiment. But Bobby, Gwen, Meredith, Beth, and Albert are all desperately
trying not to laugh, so he thinks perhaps he’s missed something. “Ah, thank you, Lady Harrington, that means very much.”
Lady Harrington smiles at him and then turns to Lady Havenfort to continue planning. James slumps in his seat, catching Bobby’s
eye. He so wants to know what joke he’s missed.
Lord Havenfort stands and claps his hands together. “Well, this seems like the proper moment. Robert, James, please come with
me to the study.”
Now he’s nervous. He and Bobby can’t even look at each other as they follow Lord Havenfort down into the foyer and around
the grand staircase to his study. James’ palms are sweating and it feels like his tie is trying to slowly strangle him.
They hesitantly take their seats in the two brown leather armchairs across from the desk. James fiddles with his collar, feeling
Bobby’s signet ring rasp against his chest where it sits on an unseen chain beneath his cravat. He glances at Bobby, who looks
back, his face a bit pale. They both wince at the sound of the doors closing, and then Lord Havenfort rounds the chairs, coming
to lean back against the middle of the desk.
“Uncle Dashiell,” Bobby begins, his voice high.
Lord Havenfort holds up a hand and looks between them. “Will you keep my girls safe?”
James and Bobby exchange a glance. “Um, yes,” James says. Lord Havenfort raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he repeats, stronger. “With
everything we have.”
“Will you do all you can to make them happy?”
“Of course,” Bobby says quickly.
Lord Havenfort’s mouth tweaks upward. “Will you agree to having my solicitor draw up your marriage contracts so that both
girls are fully accounted for and provided for in the event of either of your deaths?”
“Of course!” James hears himself exclaim. Bobby jumps and Lord Havenfort looks at him in surprise. “I just—” James swallows
against the rush of nerves that courses through him. “I would never—we would never—” he corrects, glancing at Bobby, “put
either Beth or Gwen into a situation like my aunt faced. I’ll be happy to will all of my assets over to Gwen, in fact.”
Lord Havenfort smiles. “That’s good to hear.”
“So would I, to Beth,” Bobby puts in. “Though it’s obviously not... quite the same gesture.”
Lord Havenfort looks at his nephew with soft eyes. “It’s still appreciated just the same. Thank you both,” he adds, meeting
James’ gaze. “I have only one question left.”
James sits on his hands, eager to pass inspection, and eager to make Lord Havenfort proud. His is the only pride James will
chase now, and it actually feels within reach.
“I appreciate what your marriages and plans to have the Demeroven property accommodate the four of you will do for my girls,
and I’ve seen how happy it has made them. But I want to be sure you are both equally happy, and equally prepared for the life
you will lead together,” Lord Havenfort says, his face serious again.
Bobby reaches over and takes James’ hand. James squeezes his fingers and smiles up at Lord Havenfort. This is the easiest answer yet.
“We are,” James says and Bobby nods. “And we are grateful for your acceptance and your help,” he adds.
Lord Havenfort smiles and James watches, surprised as he slumps against the desk, suddenly far less intimidating and far more
rumpled. “Thank God. Then we’re settled. We’ll meet with the solicitor tomorrow, and then, my apologies, but I will release
you to the clutches of my wife, my daughters, and Lady Harrington.”
Bobby laughs and James feels his shoulders come down from about his ears. “What have they planned?”
“Well, we can’t prove all the rumors altogether baseless without throwing the four of you the most extravagant wedding of
the season, can we?” Lord Havenfort asks, looking a little bit smug.
And it’s in that smile that James sees a bit of Gwen. He’s going to enjoy their groomly misery, isn’t he?
“I’m personally looking forward to the shopping,” Bobby says.
Lord Havenfort laughs and James feels himself shrink in his chair. He really hadn’t thought about the wedding. But of course,
with the suit fittings, and flowers, and cards, and everything, there will be so many details to arrange. He blinks as Lord
Havenfort extends a tumbler of scotch his way. He didn’t even notice him pouring, too busy trying to remember what Prince
actually had to do for his wedding.
“You’ll survive, I promise,” Lord Havenfort says, winking at him just as the doors to the study burst open.
“Bobby, we’re going,” Gwen says, marching into the room holding what looks like lace swatches.
“Right,” Bobby says, smiling at his uncle before he hops up and buttons his vest. He leans down to press a kiss to James’ cheek. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” he says.
“Where are you going?” James wonders, nearly yelping as Beth appears at his side with baby Frederic.
“Dress shopping,” she says, unceremoniously taking his glass before handing him the baby. She knocks back his dram and smiles
at Lord Havenfort before whisking Bobby out of the room.
James sits there blinking, a squirming baby in his arms. “Um,” he says, looking down at Frederic’s scrunched little face.
“You’ll get used to them over time,” Lord Havenfort promises.
“Right,” James says, smiling down at the baby. “Right, they’re loud and chaotic, but we love them, don’t we?” he asks.
Lord Havenfort laughs, and James looks up, blushing. Babies do something to the brain, he’s decided.
“I want you to know, I would never leave Gwen in the position my uncle and stepfather left Lady Havenfort,” he reiterates,
meeting Lord Havenfort’s eyes. “I haven’t gotten a chance to tell my aunt, but it was deplorable what was done to them, and
I want to apologize to her, and to you, on behalf of my family. I promise to do much better by the title, and by Beth as well.”
Lord Havenfort opens his mouth—
“That is lovely to hear, and truly unnecessary,” Lady Havenfort says, approaching the desk on shockingly quiet feet. Maybe
that’s where Beth gets her stealth.
Albert, on the other hand, plops into Bobby’s vacated seat with a satisfied sigh, making James nearly fumble the baby in surprise.
“Though I appreciate the apology, it isn’t yours to give, nor is it yours to atone for,” Lady Havenfort says, sliding along
the desk to stand next to Lord Havenfort.
“That’s what Beth said,” James admits. “But I still wanted to say it.”
“Well, my daughter is a bright young woman,” Lady Havenfort says with a smile. “All I ask is that you be a good husband to
Gwen, a good friend to Beth, and be the partner Bobby deserves, and we’ll never have a problem.”
“I will,” James promises, that gooey, warm feeling back in his chest, accompanied by something soft and needy from his childhood,
like squeezing a teddy bear so tightly its head might pop off.
“I’ll drink to that,” Lord Havenfort says.
Albert raises his glass as well. “Hear—”
“We’re leaving!” Gwen calls out.
Lord Havenfort snorts, Albert laughs, and Lady Havenfort looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “Well, that’s my cue.”
She leans up and kisses Lord Havenfort, patting his cheek before smiling at James and Albert. She presses her lips to her
fingers and brushes them over baby Frederic’s forehead before striding out of the room, her call of “I’m coming!” ringing
around them.
They listen to the commotion of the girls, and Bobby, preparing to leave, and James looks down at baby Frederic, who has slept
through it all. Clearly, he’ll do well in this family. Maybe they can be the quiet ones within the chaos together over the
years. Though now that he thinks about it, James doesn’t find himself missing the quiet of Epworth anymore. He’s happy to
be surrounded by laughter and chatter and... love.
Albert and Lord Havenfort begin discussing next year’s parliamentary agenda, but James doesn’t listen, too caught up in every
little movement baby Frederic makes as he sleeps. That wistfulness creeps over him again.
“Cunningham thinks there could be an amendment made, maybe to follow the Medical Act, about standards for childcare in orphanages,” he hears Albert say.
It’s absurd that it’s taken him this long to think of it. “How many children at the Foundling Hospital need a home?” he blurts
out.
Lord Havenfort smiles, something knowing in his eyes. “I think you should speak with your fiancée about that. She may have
some ideas.”
***
He might pace a trench into the floor of the small vestibule. Even the marble cannot possibly withstand his nerves. Of course
he’s excited to see Beth and Gwen in their gowns, and Bobby in his new suit. But he wishes they could just get the ceremony
over with, and the reception afterward, and head to Dover, now.
Beth and Gwen would probably kill him, given they’ve spent the last three weeks in a tizzy, excited and frantic in equal measure,
planning with Aunt Cordelia, his mother, and Lady Harrington. He’s mainly been shunted from one meeting to the next. Parker’s
community has come together, and their cooperation has presented numerous business opportunities none of them had previously
considered. He’s been having discussions with Parker, Cunningham, and new business associates just as often as he’s sat with
Albert and Uncle Dashiell discussing matters of parliament.
He’s barely seen Bobby. And now that he’s waiting to enter a church to marry Gwen, he’s more than a little miffed that Bobby
is late. The narrow, stained-glass window above him throws beautiful patterns of colored light across the stone floor and
he kicks at them, antsy.
He’s about to storm into the nave, and maybe mingle, just for something to do, when the doors to the vestibule burst open and Bobby tumbles inside.
James gapes as Bobby rights himself and closes the doors. He spins around and all of James’ ire melts away in the face of
Bobby, resplendent in his custom black suit, the single-breasted white waistcoat beneath his tailcoat hugging every inch of
his chest. His bow tie is just a smidge crooked, and his hair in disarray from what James imagines have been a few passes
through with nervous fingers. He looks absolutely perfect, and every single ounce of James is melting, fast.
“Here,” Bobby says, hurrying up to him and thrusting his hand out at James.
“What?” James asks, blinking down to find a single gold band in the center of Bobby’s palm. “Shouldn’t those be with Cunningham’s
nephew?”
“I thought maybe we could do it ourselves, for real, the first time,” Bobby says.
James looks up and meets his eyes. “Ourselves?”
Bobby nudges his hand into James’ chest and James takes the ring, his hand shaking now. Bobby grins and takes James’ left
hand, gently sliding his band over the first knuckle of James’ ring finger, where it promptly can’t move any further.
James can’t help but laugh, a slightly wet sound. Oh, he’s misting up.
“Well, that’s far less romantic than I meant it to be,” Bobby says, sighing. “You don’t have to—”
But James is already sliding the ring just over the tip of Bobby’s left ring finger, where it gets stuck. Little surprise,
Bobby’s hands are massive compared to Gwen’s. “Well,” he says, meeting Bobby’s eyes.
They both laugh and Bobby hauls him forward into a kiss. James reaches up to cup Bobby’s jaw, holding him close. Bobby’s arms wrap around James’ waist, and they stay there, kissing in the multicolored light, alone in a peaceful silence, a promise made with ill-fitting rings.
A knock at the door splits them apart, and James regretfully tugs off his ring, watching Bobby struggle to yank off his own
with a grimace.
“It was a lovely thought,” James says. Bobby stares down at the ring.
“And it’s the thought that counts?” Bobby asks, looking up to meet his eyes.
“I’ll know that you wore that ring before Gwen did.”
“And you wore mine before Beth,” Bobby agrees.
Another knock, louder and far more insistent.
Bobby chuckles and hauls James back for one last kiss just before the doors open. They step back, not looking at each other,
and Albert leans into the room.
“Cunningham says the rings have been absconded with,” Albert announces.
Bobby blushes and slinks across to the door to hand the rings to his brother.
“What— You know, I don’t want to know. Two minutes,” Albert says, winking at James before he shuts the door.
Bobby turns to face James, shrugging. “I guess we’re up,” he says.
James smiles, taking the few steps to Bobby so he can reach up and adjust his bow tie. “I guess so.”
“You ready?” Bobby asks, looking down at him, soft and handsome and perfect.
“I’m already in our room in Dover, taking this suit off you with my teeth,” he says, delighting in the way Bobby’s jaw drops.
“You—”
A knock reverberates through the door.
“Come on, let’s get married,” James says, leaning up to kiss Bobby’s cheek once before stepping back.
He straightens his jacket and steps up to Bobby’s side. Bobby reaches out and squeezes his hand. James looks over at him and
smiles.
“I love you,” Bobby says.
James’ smile turns into a grin he can’t control. “I love you too.”
***
When they emerge onto the steps of the church after the whirlwind of the ceremony, James squeezes Gwen’s hand, excited to
make a future with her—one that they have chosen, and architected, and built for themselves. A life that lets all four of
them be who they are, and love who they love.
Uncle Dashiell and Aunt Cordelia direct them to huddle together on the steps, Gwen and James on one side, Beth and Bobby on
the other.
As the photographer disappears under the cloth, Bobby’s pinky brushes James’ and James beams for the camera. This is his life,
and he plans to take every moment of joy from it he can.