“Smitten,” Hawthorne muttered.
“Besotted,” Valerian added.
“Top over tail,” Oak said, and thus the roll call went.
“Of course I love my wife,” Sycamore said. “I love even saying that: I love my wife. She loves me too, and I love saying that as well.”
“We meant,” Hawthorne said, taking a tray of glasses from a waiter and passing the drinks out, “she is smitten with you.”
Casriel held his glass up. “Papa always said when it came to his children, practice made perfect, and the best was saved for last. Jeanette is apparently of the same opinion. To the best, truest gentleman, and to many years of happiness with your lady.”
Sycamore took a sip of champagne before his brothers thumping him on the back could cause him to spill his drink. “Papa said that?”
“I wanted to hit him for it,” Casriel replied. “He was doubtless only saying it to goad me, but his ploy worked. I became the best gentleman I could be, and thus Beatitude holds the same opinion about me that Jeanette holds about you. Dornings aren’t wealthy by the world’s standards, we can’t command a great deal of consequence, and we will never be a motivating force in government, but we are a happy family and I defy you to name me a greater blessing.”
Being Jeanette’s husband qualified, though that was probably the sine qua non of a happy family.
“Uncle Sycamore.” Daisy’s youngest, little Chloe, tugged on Sycamore’s hand. “You have to come. Auntie Jeanette says you must.”
This provoked much hooting and laughter from Sycamore’s brothers, also many understanding smiles.
“Then I must away to my lady’s side,” Sycamore said, passing Casriel his glass. He let Chloe lead him by the hand to Jeanette, plucked the baby from her grasp, and passed the child back to her mother. “My lady, you summoned me?”
Jeanette took his hand. “I did. Oak is asking when we will sit for our portrait, and her ladyship suggested we make a wedding journey to Dorsetshire by way of Hampshire.”
“A royal progress?” Sycamore replied.
Casriel’s wife tucked the baby against her shoulder. “We can’t get to know your bride if she doesn’t spend time with us, Sycamore. Ash can look after the Coventry for a few weeks—he owes you that—and you and Jeanette can make your calls on family. Susannah would love to have some company too.”
Beatitude went on speaking, extolling the virtues of touring the English countryside in spring, while Sycamore looked to Jeanette.
He still had to pinch himself every time he realized that he beheld not simply the magnificent, passionate female who had stolen his heart, but his wife. His to love and cosset and build a future with, his to strut and stumble through life with.
Jeanette squeezed his hand, all the while appearing to attend to the countess’s diatribe. Across the room, the brothers were watching, silent for once, and smiling at him as if they’d always known he would do them proud. They raised their glasses again to Sycamore, and while he did not feel as if he were the last true gentleman to bear the Dorning name, he certainly knew himself to be the happiest.
Then Jeanette kissed him, in front of his whole, whooping, cheering, laughing family, and he was happier still.
To my dear readers
Oh, lordy, I’m tempted to find a few more Dorning siblings lurking in the bushes, because I do enjoy this family tremendously. Instead, our next tale will start a new series, Mischief in Mayfair, which begins with Miss Delectable (May/June 2021).
Orion Goddard has left us all guessing about his unfortunate past. Ably assisted by Miss Ann Pearson, he (and we) will get to the bottom of that mystery. Excerpt below!
I also need to tattle on myself for a Yank-ism. I am fortunate to have many readers in the United Kingdom, and some of those good folk will notice that I referred to the fashionable bachelors’ abode as the Albany. The correct reference is simply Albany, as we refer to Chatsworth, Wentworth Woodhouse, or Luton Hoo—all with no definite article.
Americans, however, know Albany as the capital of the state of New York, and reading that somebody had taken lodgings at or in Albany would conjure inaccurate associations for those readers. I tossed in the definite article, and ask the indulgence of my non-US readers.
If you’d like to stay up to date on pre-orders, new releases, and special discounts, please follow me on Bookbub. I also have a Deals page on my website where I highlight both web store and retail sales. If you want some behind-the-scenes details (I keep threatening kitten pictures…), you can sign up for my newsletter. I will never spam you or share your addy, and unsubscribing is easy.
Happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
Read on for an excerpt from Miss Delectable, book one in the Mischief in Mayfair series!
Miss Delectable — Excerpt
Chapter One
“Benny’s piked off again.” Otter’s tone suggested complete indifference to this state of affairs, but Colonel Sir Orion Goddard heard the worry the boy attempted to hide.
“How long ago?” Orion asked, with equally studied casualness.
“Nobody’s seen ’im since last night. Missed supper.”
Hence, Otter ’s worry, for no child in Orion Goddard’s household willingly missed a meal or passed the night anywhere but in the safety of the dormitory.
“You’ve looked in the usual places?”
A terse nod. Otter—Theodoric William Goddard—was constitutionally incapable of fashioning an actual request for aid, but he was asking for help nonetheless. In all likelihood, Otter and the other boys had been searching for Benny for most of the day. Sunset approached, and with it the unavoidable necessity of enlisting adult assistance.
A child alone on the London streets at night, even a lad as canny as Orion’s lot of cast-offs, was a child in danger. “Any idea why he’d wander away now?”
Otter’s gaze slid around the room, which managed a credible impersonation of a gentleman’s study. The ceiling bore a fresco of scantily clad goddesses, muscular gods, and snorting horses, and more
