Kieran Kramer - Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

A moment later, the countess had one. She approached the painting carefully and held the looking glass to the small, painted mirror.

“A gift,” the countess read slowly, carefully, “to a devoted mother and wife, Marianna, who honors her husband Archibald with her undying devotion and love … from Revnik.”

Thank God.

Poppy looked at her father. Both of them had tears in their eyes. “It most clearly is our painting, isn’t it?” Derby said to her.

Poppy nodded her head, and this time, Captain Arrow came to her with a handkerchief and wiped her eyes for her.

Where had he come from?

Poppy couldn’t wipe her own tears because she was holding on to the painting again, as well as her father’s hand, and Nicholas was behind her, still squeezing her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Arrow.

“My pleasure.” He smiled, and Nicholas swore half the ladies in the room sighed aloud.

“I have faith, ” Arrow said very deliberately to her and Nicholas, “that I shall see you more often, Lady Poppy.”

“Oh, you will,” said Lord Harry, who was suddenly nearby. He gave Nicholas a meaningful look.

Harry was proud of him, Nicholas could tell.

“I look forward to getting to know you, too, Lady Poppy,” said Lumley, ever cheerful. “As a matter of fact, we showed up a few minutes ago to do just that. You and Nicholas were walking down the stairs with the painting, and I said to Harry, ‘She’s the one. She’s as dangerous as Drummond—but much prettier.’ ”

“Thanks.” Nicholas was ready to pummel his friend. All in fun, of course.

Poppy blushed and gifted Lumley with a lovely smile that made Nicholas’s heart beat faster.

Lord Derby cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at him. “I’m glad we have that settled, Drummond, but why is it, exactly, that you’re accompanying my daughter out the front door of the Lievens’ residence?”

Nicholas stood tall. “Because I love her, sir.”

There were gasps all around.

Lord Derby stared at him as if he were a lunatic. “I’m supposed to believe this, after you abandoned the engagement you entered into with her?”

“I wouldn’t let him marry me, Papa,” Poppy blurted out. “I refused him. I told him I would find a way out, no matter what he did. Even when he threatened to carry me to Gretna.”

There were more gasps.

Poppy moved closer to Nicholas, who put down the painting and squeezed her tight.

The girl was being entirely too brave and honest. Which, come to think of it, was probably why she always seemed to wind up in trouble. But Nicholas wouldn’t have her any other way.

“Why, Poppy,” her father asked her, “have you evaded marriage for three long years?”

She drew in a deep breath and looked at Nicholas. “Because I never met the right man, Papa. I was content— happy —to be a Spinster. I wanted to marry for love and love alone. Or not marry at all.”

Nicholas watched as she looked then at Beatrice, Eleanor, and Lady Charlotte. All of them seemed to share a secret smile.

The crowd shifted almost noiselessly. Two women sat on the floor, plopping grapes in their mouths, as if this were a fabulous Greek play and they were the audience.

Nicholas hugged his true love close. “I’d like to ask Poppy to marry me, Lord Derby. With your permission.”

Lord Derby looked thoughtfully at him.

“ Please, Papa. I love him.”

Nicholas could sense Lord Derby was troubled. After a tentative moment—after the earl had shared a good, long silent moment with his daughter and then with Nicholas—his mouth curved up.

“You have my permission, young man,” he said.

Nicholas grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

Poppy threw her arms about her father’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you—you and Mama both,” she whispered. “I swear it almost feels as if she’s stepped out of the painting and is standing next to me right now.”

And then she went to Nicholas.

Their eyes locked, and he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, all because her expression was more tender and fierce and loving than he’d ever seen it before.

He held tight to both her hands.

“Poppy?” Her father’s voice was thin. “Are you sure marriage to Drummond is what you want?”

“More than anything,” she said, her voice carrying strong and true throughout the room.

“Life will be one great adventure with your daughter, sir,” Nicholas told Lord Derby.

“I know exactly what you mean, son.” Lord Derby chuckled, then looked at his child. “I believe you’ve chosen the right man, my dear, and actually”—he looked back at his Parliament friends—“it’s time for me to retire. I’ll have grandchildren to get to know.”

“But what about Prinny’s next blunder?” cried one of his colleagues.

“And reforming the demmed corn laws,” shouted another.

“Shut up,” Lord Derby replied, his eyes back on Poppy.

She smiled up at him, then looked at Nicholas.

And he saw the whole world in her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’re married,” Poppy said, looking down at Nicholas. She was bursting with love for him. And desire for him. All the time. Which made it terribly hard to remember to put her clothes on.

He laughed up at her. “You’d better be glad we are married. Minx.” He caressed her arms, sending a warm surge of happiness through her. “You’re enjoying the marriage bed, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” She loved the new sensation of having him inside her. And she especially loved making him groan with pleasure. He was a marvel, her man—and she was absolutely addicted to him.

She stretched her hands above her head and felt like a cat with a bowl of cream. “We’ve done this well into the dozens of times.”

“Yes, this, ” he said with an adorably crooked smile. “I love this . And we’ve only been married—”

“Seven days and—”

“Eight hours,” Nicholas finished for her. “It’s even more remarkable when you consider two of those days we spent careening north in a mail coach.”

“And I loved every minute of it,” she assured him.

“Did you?” His eyes lit up like a boy’s.

“Of course.” She smiled and ran a finger along his jaw, remembering how avid he’d been to hold the blunderbuss and how disappointed he’d been when he hadn’t had to fend off any highwaymen.

Now that he wasn’t in the Service, he had to find adventure somewhere, and he’d always wanted to ride on the mail coach.

“But darling”—the word was new and splendiferous to her—“is it possible to stay in bed too long? I mean, could we become ill?”

“The only effect I can think of occurring from loving your wife over and over is—and it’s not an illness—is the lady becoming with child.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “Thank God that’s all.”

She really had been worried. Except for a daily walk to the beach, they’d hardly been out of bed since they’d arrived at Seaward Hall, three days after marrying at St. Paul’s in London. Papa, Aunt Charlotte—and all of Poppy and Nicholas’s friends—had waved them off.

They’d had the castle to themselves. The servants had welcomed Poppy as if she were their duchess, even though she wouldn’t be for years. But she would be mistress of the house in the meantime—Lady Maxwell, wife to Lord Maxwell, who was heir to the Duke of Drummond.

Groop was still Groop. Even though he was also Uncle Tradd, the proper duke. The Service was his life, and he would remain in London, behind the scenes as always.