Chapter Thirty-Two
Seth swore he would never see anything more beautiful than Cassandra walking down the aisle. Her curls flowed like water over a white lace and cream silk dress, tied at the waist by a blue satin sash. Love shone in her eyes, and a sureness had sung in her voice when she vowed herself to him. And then, he thought nothing would ever compare to her beauty in her wedding gown withhisring on her left hand, an oval-cut sapphire on a gold band. Compliments rolled off his tongue before they finished forming in his mind, and his chest tightened whenever she smiled.
Seth’s idea of a ‘small wedding brunch’ differed from Lady Dorchester’s by two hundred people. In a strategic move, Lord Bolderwood invited the upper echelons of military leadership and influential society members to their wedding. Attendees were brave enough to not fear scandal, curiously anticipated it, or were too afraid of Lady Dorchester to decline her invitation. Preening through the ballroom, Seth exchanged pleasantries with each of them and thanked them for their attendance. All the while, he kept Cassandra on his arm and introduced her as Mrs. Cassandra Reeves.
His wife.
Diplomatic and proud, born for this world, she expertly navigated small talk. Trained for society and politics, but unaccustomed to its strain, her smile took more effort as the afternoon waned. The wedding had transpired without incident. Adrian favored deterrence over discretion and stationed the entire police force outside of the cathedral.For once, Seth found himself grateful for the Hollingsworth iron-fist and the umbrella of safety it now held over Cassandra.
Even knowing that all was well, Seth maintained vigilance. Hyper-focused on those around him, he scanned the room, searching stranger’s eyes for any hint of a threat. Through the French doors that led from the ballroom, he caught sight of Mr. Nott in the backyard, smoking a cigar.
“I’ll be right back,” Seth whispered into his wife’s ear. “I need to speak to someone.”
“Right now?” She gave a pout of protest as he transferred her to Lady Dorchester’s arm and into a circle with Lady Penrose, Mrs. Davenport, Lady Samantha, and Miss Georgiana. Cassandra glared at him for his betrayal, and he gave her a sheepish grin. She would forgive him when he found the owner of the pistol that shot him.
Seth politely nodded to guests as he weaved through them, exiting to the backyard at the same time Mr. Nott finished his cigar. The cloying smell of burnt tobacco lingered in the air.
“Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Reeves,” Mr. Nott greeted him.
“Congratulations to you as well, for winning the contest.”
“It came as a complete surprise,” Mr. Nott said. “During that last competition I could have sworn that I hit one less target than Colonel Bishop. He had been sure of it too.” He gave a hearty chuckle. “Once the points were tallied each judge voted in my favor by one point. Though I regret that I couldn’t compete fairly against you, I am pleased that my craftsmen are eating well. The prize was split evenly amongst the contributors, a nice Christmas bonus for all.”
“May I ask, how many gunsmiths do you employ?”
“Fifty-two, but I’m always on the hunt for more.” Mr. Nott smiled. “I understand that you have an arrangement with Lord Bolderwood, but should you ever find your way out of it, I would be pleased to offeryou employment.”
“As flattered as I am, I’ll have to decline. The reason that I ask, is because I’m looking for the manufacturer of this pistol.” Seth pulled a piece of folded parchment from his coat pocket. “I’m sure it’s a far-fetched request, but could you show this to your associates? I need the name on the commission.”
“It will be a challenge.” Mr. Nott took the sketch and glanced over it. Careful not to smudge the graphite, he pointed at a design on the barrel. “Hm… this might be Robert Perkin’s work. Another newlywed, he’s currently on holiday. I’ll ask around and see what I can find. May I take this?”
“By all means. I’ll draft another.”
“Such detail, and all from memory.” Mr. Nott whistled. “I’ll get back to you on the sketch.”
Mr. Nott excused himself and walked into the house.
Alone for the first time in hours, Seth breathed in the fresh air and felt the sun on his face in this square of nature fenced in by brick walls. He closed his eyes and took in a moment of peace before returning to the party.
Cooper stood in the doorway, matching him in a black tailcoat and white cravat. He held a crystal snifter filled with an amber liquid. He raised the glass to him in a toast, then took a sip. Spicy undertones of brandy spiked the air with his exhale, mixing with the fading scent of cigar smoke.
“I’d offer you some spirits, but the last time I did that it cost me ten thousand pounds, so you’ll understand if I imbibe on your behalf.”
“I’m thinking of swearing it off altogether,” Seth said.
“Not me. All of my best ideas come to me after a glass or two.”
“Or four,” Seth murmured.
“The thought‘you know what we haven’t tried? Galileoing a rifle’would never have come to me whilst sober.”
“Because sober men don’t use ‘Galileo’ as an action.” Seth raised a brow and gestured to the brandy. “How many of those have you had?”
“One or two.” Cooper grinned. “I take some joy that you’re stuck in society now, knowing how much you’ll hate it. Consider this your penance. Making your bed and lying in it, and such. Had you done things the proper way you could have avoided this, had a nice country wedding instead.”
“I can’t say that I regret anything.” Seth smiled as he watched Cassandra through the open door. “Results over means, right?”
“From here on out, we aren’t going to talk about themeansthat you got yourresultfrom, when my sister was both.”