Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Eleanor’s hands fluttered. “I’ve told everyone you’re to be married in October. In West Aubry. ”


Her stomach folded in on itself. She glanced at her brother, hoping to see in his face confirmation that he supported her in this change. Magnus did not meet Portia’s eyes.

Eleanor smiled radiantly. “You see? It’s not convenient at all. I assure you, I am happy to be of assistance in bringing your wedding about in a suitable manner. At a suitable and convenient time.”

“Jeremy and I are settled on this.”

“I excel at managing such matters.”

“I’m sure you do.”

She leaned close and gave Portia’s arm a squeeze. “Your parents would have wanted you to have a lovely wedding, attended by the people you love. You’ve not had a mother’s firm guidance nor been able to see your father’s pleasure at seeing you properly married. The way I saw how happy mine were when Magnus and I were married.”

Resentment bubbled up even as she told herself that Eleanor only wished for her wedding to be perfect. But she wanted nothing more than to be gone from Doyle’s Grange. She did not want to continue an intruder on her brother’s new life. She wanted to be away from a world where the Viscount Northword could destroy her peace of mind. “I appreciate that. Truly, I do.” Lord, she could feel Crispin’s gaze. “But Jeremy and I are in accord that this change in date is for the best.”

“You have a sister now, my dear. Wiser and more experienced in such matters. I’ll take care of everything. You ought to be married in the church at West Aubry, with your brother presiding. You can’t have seen my guest list, the people I’ve invited for October. Or Mr. Stewart’s guests for that matter. I have the list from his mother, you know.”

“Have you?”

“With your brother so newly established in his living, you would be very selfish to insist on being married anywhere but in West Aubry. Will you deny his parishioners the sight of their spiritual leader living by example what he preaches to them every Sunday? No, my darling Portia, they deserve to see his sister married in their church, by the man who guides them spiritually.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “I think I can as well see my sister married here as at West Aubry.”

“But, my dear.” She blinked several times.

Portia cast about for anything to stop the tears that threatened. “Magnus is so new to his living, and you have so many expenses just now. The Grange, the work at the vicarage. I don’t wish for there to be any fuss. It’s not as if I’m a young bride. No, no, Eleanor, I must decline all that, despite your generous offer of assistance. We shall have a small ceremony attended by family only.”

Crispin leaned forward, and Portia’s stomach hollowed out. His hands had touched her, stroked her, and she wanted to hold the remembered sensations close. “The last Sunday in May, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.” Portia wanted to kick him for reminding Eleanor of that. “I know you’re to be back in London by then, but it’s all settled.” She held out a hand and smiled. “I will gladly accept your good wishes.”

He did not take her hand or return her smile. “You cannot think for a moment that I would miss your wedding.” Just now he reminded her so strongly of his father that she felt an echo of the dread she’d felt when in the presence of the late Lord Northword. “I wouldn’t. Not for the world.”

She allowed him to see her opinion of that. Magnus got up and put more coal on the fire, a welcome distraction, actually.

Crispin wasn’t having any of it. “If I must rearrange a meeting or two, then I shall, and there’s an end to it. I will be here. The last Sunday in May.”

This, then, was her way out. He’d given her the rope that would save her. “Thank you, my lord. How kind. It will mean a great deal to have you there.”

Eleanor gave her a panicked look. “But Portia, the house is so very small. If you’re to be married here, where will everyone stay? There’s no place suitable for Mr. Stewart and his family to stay in Up Aubry, and Aubry Sock is too far away. As is West Aubry from the Grange. No, the wedding must take place where we can accommodate the people who will insist on being here.” Her voice trembled. “Doyle’s Grange is lovely. I adore it, but there is so little room for guests—and when it is in this condition… In West Aubry, there’s the vicarage and several inns where guests might be made quite comfortable.”

Once again, Crispin settled everything. “Your guests are welcome to stay at Wordless. There’s plenty of time to open up the house, Mrs. Temple. I am happy to do so.”