Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
The viscountess grinned. “Perhaps if you did not insist upon interrupting my reading.”
“But you know I cannot resist when you look like a cat, curled up in a chair by the fire,” Lord Beckett rejoined before turning to the marquess. “Some husbandly advice—never interrupt your wife’s reading.”
“I shall endeavor never to do so,” Wheaton said with a chuckle. “She will have carte blanche to fill my library as she wishes, and if I should find her with a book in hand, I shall keep my distance.”
I hadn’t read a book in years. They were yet another luxury I wasn’t afforded. But even if my father had permitted me to take a book from his depleted library, I wouldn’t have had time to read it.
“Wise man,” Beckett said, then turned to me. “Tell me, Miss Smythe, do you prefer poetry or prose?”
“I don’t think I can choose between the two,” I told him carefully for, in truth, I hadn’t had occasion to compare, having been kept from reading for so long. “They are equally lovely in their own ways.”
“A politic response,” the viscount said. “My wife prefers poetry, particularly when I read the verses aloud to her. Do you not, my dear?”
“Of course I do,” Constance drawled, her countenance suggesting the opposite. “Pray don’t allow my husband to fool you,” she added to me in an aside, “he hasn’t read me poetry since we were courting.”
“An egregious error I would be more than happy to rectify,” Lord Beckett said with a roguish grin. “Only tell me which poem you would like to hear.”
“I’m so pleased you asked. I would dearly love to hear ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ spoken aloud,” the viscountess countered.
“Whatever my dear wife commands of me,” her husband returned with a grimace that made it apparent he had no wish to recite the poem in question.
At my side, Wheaton chuckled. “Perhaps you ought to read it to us all now, Beckett. I’m certain I must have a volume of Lyrical Ballads about somewhere. I shall go and fetch it.”
Beckett shook his head. “Ha! Do not, I beg, go looking for it on my account.”
I watched the lively interactions between the three in the room with great interest. They were clearly at ease with one another, and the friendship between Wheaton and Beckett was an old and solid one. I felt at once quite fortunate to be included in this charmed little circle. To feel, for the first time, as if there were truly a place where I belonged.
“What do you say, Miss Smythe?” Wheaton asked, his keen, intelligent eyes upon me once more. “Shall I go on a quest to find the Coleridge and Wordsworth book? Do you also harbor a yearning to hear Lord Beckett regale us with verse?”
His regard sent a new wave of heat over me. I liked the way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me, with reverence and respect.
I smiled. “Perhaps his lordship might be spared this evening.”
“My dear Miss Smythe, I am forever indebted to you,” Beckett said with a dramatic flourish. “Only see how quick these two were to make a minstrel of me.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter. The other three joined in, and we spent the rest of the evening in pleasant banter until we at last retired. As I made my way to my bedchamber, my spirits were lighter than they had been in as long as I could recall.
I had begun to feel as if I had truly escaped my father.
Forever.
CHAPTER 12
MADELEINE
“How does it feel to be the Marchioness of Wheaton?” Lydia asked me as she pulled the pins from my hair, preparing me for my wedding night.
“Exhausting,” I answered honestly.
The last two days had been a whirlwind. This morning, Lord and Lady Beckett, along with Mr. Warwick, had been witnesses in the parish church as the marquess and I married. Afterward, we had returned to Wheaton for an extravagant wedding breakfast I had scarcely been able to consume.
“I expect it was a rather long day for you,” Lydia commented, unwinding a plait with gentle, efficient motions. “First your wedding, then the wedding breakfast, and of course, seeing Lord and Lady Beckett off this afternoon.”
The viscount and his wife had taken their leave, having had plans to visit friends several hours north. I had enjoyed their company thoroughly, and I was especially grateful for the new friendship I had forged with Lady Beckett. I would miss them, but they had been insistent upon the need to allow Lord Wheaton and me to have some time to grow accustomed to married life.
As Constance had said when she embraced me, “We shall leave the two of you to enjoy your wedded bliss.”
I hadn’t been sure what she meant, though I had flushed as red as an apple, I was sure of it. I still wasn’t entirely certain, although I had a suspicion.