“He’s got flair, I’ll give him that,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “And according to you, he’s tolerable.”
“More than tolerable,” Wilhelmina said, adjusting her napkin. “He listens. He reads. He dares to disagree with my mother. Really, what more could a girl ask for?”
“Love?” Dominic offered.
“Companionship?” Marianne added.
“Free pigs?” Daniel suggested.
Wilhelmina shot her brother a withering look. “He’s clever. He’s kind. He asks questions and actually waits for the answers. And yes, he’s got a ridiculous streak, but frankly, so do I.”
Elizabeth leaned forward slightly. “Do you like him?”
Wilhelmina considered it. “I like that he doesn’t flinch. Not from me, not from our mother, not from the absurdity of the ton. He’s the first man I’ve met who sees the performance for what it is, and mocks it better than I ever could.”
“Oh dear,” Daniel muttered. “That sounds suspiciously like fondness.”
“Say nothing more,” Marianne said dramatically. “She’s doomed.”
Wilhelmina chuckled. “I haven’t chosen anyone. But I’m not dreading next Season for once.”
“Lady Grishamdoestolerate him,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Almost approves of him, even.”
“Which terrifies me,” Wilhelmina said, sipping her wine. “I’m not sure if she’s plotting his demise or his promotion.”
“Both,” Daniel said. “Simultaneously.”
The twins, who had been unusually quiet until then, perked up at the mention of Lady Grisham and began whispering amongst themselves with wicked grins.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, leaning slightly toward her sister. “I’m sure your mother will find a way to claim full credit for your happiness, if it comes to that.”
“Let’s not jinx it,” Wilhelmina said quickly. “I’m not handing her that victory just yet.”
Daniel leaned across the table, stage-whispering with a mock-serious tone, “I give you a month before you’re writing insipid poems about the color of his eyes.”
“Perhaps not a poem, but a detailed essay, certainly,” Dominic added.
Wilhelmina rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine. “All of you are insufferable.”
“Which is why you missed us,” Elizabeth said sweetly.
Wilhelmina gave a long-suffering sigh. “Perhaps. Just a little.”
But her smile lingered.
And Alasdair could see it plainly: she was happy.
Not swept away by romance, not lost in foolish daydreams, but glad. Perhaps even hopeful. For Wilhelmina, that was its own quiet rebellion.
And he hoped, for her sake, that Lord Slyham was up to the task.
The fire in the hearth crackled. Dishes were passed. Food was placed in heaps. Glasses clinked in toasts for just about everything, mostly love and prosperity.
What Alasdair liked the most was Elizabeth’s hand so close to his under the table. They were always touching, brushing against each other. It wasn’t all about lust, either. Most of the time, it was because of comfort.
“I am astonished and glad, Redmoor,” Dominic said, making an informal toast, “that you were able to redeem your father’s name. Others might have just given up on it. It took you almost half of your life, but you managed to, and the perseverance and courage that it took is commendable. A toast to you.”
Alasdair beamed. He had lost his family and gained a much bigger one here in London. He knew that now.