He nodded slowly. “You are right, of course. But still… I just can’t believe it.”
Sebastian married? He thought about Lady Jocelyn’s fiery temperament and his brother’s infinite coldness and bitterness toward women. Good God. It was a disaster in the making, if ever there was one.
“The good news is,” he mused, “this development will certainly divert the attention of Society from us…and hopefully from my parentage, as well. Now that I may in due course cease to be Sebastian’s heir.” He suddenly smiled broadly. “Why, the dirty scoundrel!” Anthony murmured gleefully. “He’s gotten her with child. That must be the explanation!”
“What will you do?” Phillipa asked, giving him a curious grin.
He laughed incredulously, put the paper down, and pulled her into his lap. “Do? Not a damned thing, other than send a note of hearty congratulations.” He grimaced anew. “From as great a distance away as possible. Knowing both Jocelyn and Sebastian, the best strategy is to stay far away from the fireworks.”
Phillipa giggled. “Surely, the situation can’t be that explosive.”
“No, perhaps not,” he said wryly. “I’d wager that it is volcanic!”
He laughed at her astonishment. He loved the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. He would never tire of looking at her, of kissing her, of just being near her.
“Now you have me really curious. We must call on them.”
“Just a few weeks before Christmas? Constance and I normally spend the holiday at Sherring Cross. We will see them then.” He exhaled. “But for now, you must return to your parents, and I will speak with your father.”
She arched her brows, amused. “So, after you have compromised me thoroughly, whisked me away and married me. Kept me secluded in this castle fortress for two weeks… Then you’re going to speak with my father?”
The glitter in her eyes slowly dimmed.
He searched her countenance. “Why are you worried? He’s already given us his blessing, my sweet. Both the night of our elopement, and since, in our correspondence.”
She dropped her forehead against his and sighed. “It’s not him. I…I’ve heard nothing from Payton, and I am sure she received all five letters from me. If I have any regrets for my actions that night, it would be how they affected Payton. She truly loves Jensen St. John, and I may have made a muck of things for her.”
Anthony thought about everything he knew about the Jensen boy. Intelligent, eager, a little hotheaded at times, but honorable. “If he loves her, Phillipa, he will stand by her. I will speak with him.”
“Would you? Oh, thank you.”
He kissed her tenderly, wishing he could promise all would be well. But he had learned over the years life was everything but certain or fair.
The only thing of which he was certain was his deep, abiding love for his new wife. He would always do everything in his power to keep her healthy and happy. And knew she would do the same for him.
…
Anthony had been away from Phillipa for a little over two weeks, and it was hell. He’d taken her back to her family and spoken with her father. Mr. Jonas Peppiwell was smart and obviously possessed a grand vision for his family’s future. But he was also a puritanical, social-climbing prig. Anthony had met his sort before and despised their unbending espousal of lofty values with no thought to circumstance.
He had wanted to plant a fist in Mr. Peppiwell’s face when he had stated his daughter was soiled goods, and that he was immensely grateful someone else would now have to deal with her strong will and unorthodox ways.
With most of the haute monde now retiring to the country for hunting, shooting, and the holidays, Anthony hoped he and Phillipa would be somewhat safe from the stultifying gaze of Society. He’d sworn to her aunt to keep his distance from her until they were safely—that is, publically—wed. No carriage rides, no evenings at the theater and absolutely no clandestine meetings. He’d agreed to set their wedding date for Boxing Day—the day after Christmas—at his newly renovated estate in Hampshire.
The wedding was to be an intimate ceremony followed by a small celebratory feast, with only family and close friends in attendance. His lips twisted cynically. Which wasn’t a big problem, since his formerly vast stable of acquaintances had dwindled to a mere handful.
His close friends had already written to him expressing their sympathies, and although he had been blackballed by his clubs, he was unconcerned about being forced to leave them. He expected fewer invitations from the upper crust, but knew his real friends would be supportive.