“Acta est fabula, plaudite,” his father corrected impatiently.
As Flora laughed at her brother’s humiliation, Lady Abercrombie tsked disapprovingly and insisted she would not applaud, for the play was just beginning. Uncle Horace rushed to explain that he was merely correcting his son’s Latin, not declaring the actual end of something, certainly not Bea and Kesgrave’s happiness, and Russell made another attempt at demonstrating his skill, this time misquoting Seneca’s maxim about great fortunes.
Bea, taking advantage of the countess’s momentary distraction, extricated herself from her ladyship’s firm grip and looked at Kesgrave. “Do you see what you have wrought with your wrangling, your grace? If you had not attempted to rewrite the text of the marriage ceremony in service of your own selfish ends, we would have been wed by now and far from this madness. Indeed, we would have been back in your carriage and en route to Kesgrave House.”
Although Bea expected him to protest this flippant characterization of his concern for her safety, he merely laughed and noted that she was overlooking one very obvious fact. “As much as I want to be all things to you, especially a pincushion when you need a target for your surliness—how did you put it to me yesterday in the carriage: you may stick me with as many needles as you require to restore your good humor—I cannot be both bridegroom and clergyman. In fact, even if I were not the bridegroom, I could still not administer the vows, for I have not taken holy orders.”
Since Bea could not argue the validity of the point, she hastily asserted the difference between waiting patiently for the minister to appear in the calm of his grandmother’s elegant drawing room and Bedlam.
As if to underscore the disparity, Lady Abercrombie addressed herself to the duke for the first time, noting that his attire seemed a trifle underwhelming for the occasion. “I say, Kesgrave, has love made you so addled you did not notice your tailcoat is a full decade out of style? That straight cutaway and broad lapels make you look like a bailiff collecting the village rents. Could this be your valet’s way of expressing displeasure of the match? If so, you must give him his notice at once—although not before securing an ensemble appropriate for the occasion. Do dash back to Berkeley Square to change. Give no thought to us, for we are happy to wait.”
Aunt Vera, whose keenly discerning eye extended only to the imperfections of her family, expressed surprise at this observation and then immediately lent her support to the plan. “We can wait for his grace to change, can we not? That is to say, there is no reason why we should rush the process. Perhaps he would like the opportunity to select the new tailcoat himself, which might take a while. We would not want him to feel rushed, certainly not on our behalf, and could return to Portman Square to indicate our patience. Furthermore, we do not wish to take advantage of the dowager’s hospitality. Yes, it is probably best if we leave this matter now and reconvene at a later date. I’m sure that’s more convenient for everyone involved.”
The hopeful note in Aunt Vera’s voice, as if this propitious plan was the one that would make the couple fall in line, was more than Bea would withstand, and a peal of laughter escaped her. Truly, she could not fathom the cause of her relative’s irrational persistence. The marriage would take place either now or in three days from now, and as her cousin Flora had pointed out recently, a ceremony performed in indecent haste would do little to overshadow her more outrageous behavior of goading a murderer to confess in the middle of Lord Stirling’s ballroom.
The new Duchess of Kesgrave would be notorious regardless of her wedding date—and even more so when word of their newest escapade, at the Particular, began to spread, as surely it must. An august member of the peerage could not spend two days pretending to be a theater owner from Bath without causing a few dozen tongues to wag. If the actors themselves did not endlessly marvel over the dramatic revelation of a secret duke, then the Bow Street Runner who’d arrived to take custody of the villain, a confused young man who could not quite grasp the duke’s interest in the matter, would discuss it at length with his associates.
It was because of their investigation that Kesgrave’s tailcoat was several years behind the current mode, and while he ordinarily endeavored to turn himself out as a proper Corinthian, he did not believe his garments necessitated a postponement. Nevertheless, he thanked Mrs. Hyde-Clare for her consideration.
Naturally, the insistence that his wedding of all things did not require the first stare of fashion confounded Bea’s aunt, but her uncle appreciated the practicality and assured him his coat was nothing to frown at. Lady Abercrombie, taking exception to this statement, began to specify in earnest the many details that were not au courant. Flora, who knew why the duke was dressed in an old tailcoat but was determined not to reveal the secret, hinted wildly at his being preoccupied with concerns of much greater importance than conforming to the latest rage, and Russell, in a bid to redeem himself, announced with fastidious articulation, “Non omnia possumus omnes.”
Bedlam, Bea thought with regret tempered by amusement, was no doubt a placid sea in comparison.
“Ah, there he is,” Kesgrave murmured softly as he tilted his head, and Bea, assuming he meant the
