“Oh, I am.” Eliza captured her sister in a tight hug. “I am happy for you, most of all.”
Georgie beamed. “Look at us. Margaret is settled, Philippa will have a child. I’ll marry William at the earliest opportunity. We’re all so grown now, aren’t we? I can’t wait to see what life holds in store for you. Something very interesting, I expect.”
Interesting?
Eliza shook her head. She was done with interesting men. “Whatever you wish on me, don’t wish that.”
Please join us for the christening of
Alice Maria Everhart
St. George Hanover Church, March the Twelfth, 1813.
Breakfast will follow at Cade House.
ELIZA STOOD IN THE aisle of the church, blinking. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Today was meant to be a joyous family celebration—the first time all four Cade sisters had been in one place since Margaret married Sir Roland.
And now…
Oh, good heavens. The devil himself had appeared for Alice’s christening. Mr. J. Harrison Wright was standing in the vestibule, holding her infant niece.
The scoundrel.
This could not be allowed. Eliza crossed to him in hasty strides.
He looked up and saw her. And had the temerity to smile. “Why, Miss Eli—”
“Who let you in here?” she demanded in a low voice.
“I was invited. Just as you were.”
“What are you doing to her? Give me that baby this instant.”
“But she likes me. And I like her. See?”
Indeed, little Alice had her fist tightly clenched about the rogue’s index finger. He tugged gently against her grip, and she flexed her chubby arm and tugged right back.
A little smile curved Mr. Wright’s lips, and Eliza fancied there was nothing of irony in it. Merely delight. Perhaps even joy.
“I must say,” he murmured, swaying the white-gowned infant to-and-fro, “I didn’t expect to like you quite so much, little Alice. It’s a happy surprise.”
And it was a very unhappy surprise, how much the man’s nearness still affected Eliza. How soft and buttery she went inside at this particular sight. Devilish men should not be allowed to hold kittens, babies, or bouquets of wildflowers. There ought to be an Act of Parliament.
It had been nearly two years since that night in the Alderfield gardens. Eliza had believed herself to be done with him. She thought she’d banished any yearnings for his handsome face and his leather-bergamot scent.
She’d thought wrong. She could tear her gaze from his face—barely—but that familiar, stirring scent did her in. The smell reminded her of unlatching a well-seasoned traveling case. It brought to mind past adventures. It made her long to leave her home behind and explore new, dangerous locales.
Oh, heavens. That night in the garden. That magical kiss.
“Little Alice doesn’t like you,” she said. “She’s an infant. Impressionable, drooling. Too young to see you for the scoundrel you are.”
“Well. Why don’t we let her grow up a bit, and she can make her own decisions about Uncle Harry?”
Uncle Harry?
He couldn’t be serious. Did he honestly think he could somehow wedge his way into the Cade family and torment her forever? Hadn’t he already done enough?
He pursed his lips and made a cooing face at the babe. “You’ll grow up to be a lovely, clever woman, just like your Auntie Eliza. Won’t you, darling?”
Eliza took the baby from his arms, settling Alice’s sweet, flax-tufted head in the crook of her elbow. “Auntie Eliza will make certain this baby never learns your true nature. After today I’ll ensure she never, ever sees you again.”
He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “That will make things difficult, come Christmases and birthdays. I’d just been telling little Alice here that I’ll be England’s most generous godfather. I might have promised a pony.”
Eliza gasped. “They’ve asked you to be godfather? That’s unconscionable.”
She caught sight of Philippa in the corner and crossed to her at once, not even bothering to curtsey or otherwise take her leave of Mr. Wright. This was an urgent matter, and it concerned a baby’s innocent soul.
“Philippa, what can you be thinking? Mr. Wright is to be Alice’s godfather? What nearsighted, fever-induced delusion would cause you to make such a choice?”
“It’s not a delusion. It’s a friendship. After all, he’s the one who reacquainted me with Peter in Brighton.” Philippa took the babe from Eliza’s arms. “We wouldn’t be happily married today were it not for Mr. Wright.”
Eliza shook her head, trying to clear it. Was her sister truly meaning to say that Harry Wright had not only separated her from Brentley, but introduced her to a man who played fast and loose with her virtue, necessitating a rushed marriage—and for all this, she considered him a friend?
“But it wasn’t only Brighton,” Philippa went on. “You’ll remember how we were all very close in Norfolk.”