“Precisely.” Chillingworth rose and waved him to his feet. “I could wish Antonia wasn’t involved, but now she is…” He met Sebastian’s gaze as Sebastian straightened to his full height. “I’ll have to place my trust in your abilities to keep your marchioness-to-be safe.”
Sebastian formally inclined his head. “You may be sure I’ll accomplish that—come what may.”
Chillingworth grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Come. Let’s find the ladies.”
Together, they left the study. Chillingworth led the way to the back parlor.
When Sebastian and Antonia, with Beccy in attendance, had arrived nearly an hour ago as if they’d just returned from Kent, the earl and the countess had heard their voices in the front hall and had come to greet them. On learning that Sebastian wished to speak with the earl in private, the countess had blinked, then smiled delightedly. She’d linked her arm with Antonia’s and had borne her daughter off to the back parlor, leaving the earl and Sebastian to confer in the study.
Sebastian followed the earl through the parlor door and saw Antonia seated on the sofa facing the long windows that gave onto the rear garden. The countess, Francesca, was perched on the window seat, her emerald eyes candidly and very shrewdly observing her daughter, her husband, and Sebastian.
Antonia swiveled to look at her father; she swiftly read the earl’s expression, and her features eased, then she transferred her gaze to Sebastian.
He nodded to assure her all had gone well.
That short of the official announcement, they were now formally betrothed.
Francesca read that message in their faces. Her features lit with exuberant delight. She sprang to her feet and clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Champagne, Gyles—don’t you think?”
“I do.” Chillingworth walked to the bellpull. “Not every day one gets to set a ball and chain on a Cynster’s leg.”
“Papa!”
“Gyles, you will not say such things—especially not in front of Honoria!”
Having tugged the bellpull, the earl turned a bland gaze on his countess. “I do have some sense of self-preservation left to me.”
The butler, Withers, appeared, and orders were given; while that worthy hurried to fulfill the request, Francesca congratulated her daughter and Sebastian warmly. As he’d known the countess from his earliest years, he wasn’t taken aback by her ebullience; when she grew excited, her Italian upbringing tended to overwhelm her Englishness. Not that a proper English reserve had ever been a true part of Francesca’s makeup; haughtiness was a façade she adopted only when it suited her.
Looking from mother to daughter, Sebastian accepted that the reserve expected of an earl’s daughter that Antonia effortlessly maintained when in public was only a veneer, one barely thicker than her mother’s.
He wasn’t about to complain.
The champagne arrived, carried in by a beaming Withers; glasses were poured, and several toasts—some serious, others less so—were duly drunk.
Then Francesca called them to order. She resumed her position on the window seat. Sebastian joined Antonia on the sofa and stretched one arm along the sofa’s back behind her shoulders, while the earl tugged an armchair to a spot between the end of the sofa and the window seat and sank into it.
“Now”—Francesca fixed her gaze on Sebastian—“I take it you have yet to inform your parents.”
He nodded. “They’re at Somersham, but I assume they’ll be returning to town shortly.” He glanced inquiringly at the earl.
Chillingworth stated, “Your father intended to be back for the next sitting of the Lords, so I’d expect them in a week or so.”
Francesca waved dismissively. “They’ll be back before that. Once Honoria hears your news, she’ll be packing within the hour.”
No one disagreed with that prediction.
“So,” Francesca continued, “we should consider the where and when of your wedding. It will be a major affair, and with you both being who you are, I warn you there will be no way of avoiding that.” She fixed a challenging look on Antonia and Sebastian. When they returned her regard meekly, Francesca humphed softly and continued, “As I have already mentioned to Antonia, a wedding at Lambourn Castle would be most appropriate. The castle is large and grand enough to do full justice to the event, the chapel there is lovely, and it is where Gyles and I married as well.”
Sebastian glanced at Antonia, caught her gaze when she looked inquiringly at him, and deduced the plan met with her approval. He looked at Francesca and nodded. “That sounds…perfect.” He was immensely relieved to be spared a full court wedding held in the bosom of the ton at St. George’s in Hanover Square.