The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,115

You must believe me.”

Agatha turned to look at him, her lovely face cool.

“Prove it,” she said. “Give your son his blessing to marry my niece. Prove to me you have learned your lesson and truly regret casting me aside. Do this… or I shall never see you again.”

King heard Livvy gasp beside him, felt her hold on him tighten, but in truth he was too dazed to comprehend… what the bloody hell was going on? To see his father so out of control, so clearly out of his mind for Mrs Dudley, who was apparently the woman he’d loved all his life… it was astonishing. The Marquess of Eynsham had never experienced anything remotely resembling an emotion in his entire life as far as King was concerned, so this was a revelation.

King was utterly speechless.

“Darling, you don’t know what you ask of me. It’s not a question of snobbery, but the girl is Olney’s daughter. It would be the match of the century—”

King watched as his father’s mouth snapped shut, as well it might at the look Mrs Dudley sent him.

“Goodbye, Arthur.” She walked away from him, head held high.

“Wait! Wait, Agatha… oh, damnation. Very well. Anything, love, anything you want only… don’t leave me. Please, my darling. I’ve only just got you back after all these years. I can’t lose you again. I can’t live without you any longer.”

Agatha turned back to him, her expression thoughtful. “You mean it, Arthur? Upon your honour? Your son can marry my niece with your blessing? You’ll return his fortune to him?”

King’s father swallowed hard. Oh, that was a bitter pill indeed, King thought wryly.

“Upon my honour, Aggie. May God strike me dead if I tell a lie.”

“Thank you, darling,” Agatha said, moving to kiss the marquess’ cheek.

Then the wicked creature looked up the stairs, to where she’d obviously been well aware they had an audience.

“Did you hear that, King? Livvy? Arthur says you have his blessing. Isn’t that wonderful?”

King watched as his father’s gaze lifted to his and the man’s colour rose dramatically through several shades until it settled on something that could only be described as puce. It clashed rather wonderfully with his waistcoat. God might not have struck him down, but King suspected it was a close-run thing. He looked on the verge of an apoplexy.

“Oh, Aunt!” Livvy flew down the stairs to embrace the woman, who held her in her arms like a long-lost daughter.

“There, there now, Olivia, dear,” she said with perfect calm. “I told you to trust me, did I not?”

King walked slowly down the stairs, assuming with every step that his father would take it back, deny his permission, and swear he’d see him in the gutter before he allowed him to marry for love, of all things. It never happened.

He moved to Livvy and took her hand in his, facing the Marquess of Eynsham, his father, and looking him in the eye.

“My lord, may I present my fiancée, Miss Olivia Penrose?”

King waited, holding his breath in case his father was rude, gave her the cut direct, or made any number of cruel comments for which he was so famous.

“Miss Penrose,” his father said at length. “You have your aunt’s spirit, I suspect. I can see it in your eyes. In which case… my son has made a very wise choice. A wiser one than I ever made.”

With that, he gave King a curt nod and walked away.

Chapter Twenty Four

12th January 1819.

Sparkling snow, sparkling eyes and the happiest of days.

They were married two weeks later in the ancient church of St Andrew’s in Bude. Everything was a sparkling white after snowfall the night before, and King’s breath clouded on the frosty air as they emerged from the church.

Livvy shivered beside him and he pulled her close.

“Well, Countess, we’d best get you warmed up,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Livvy returned a warning glance. “We have a wedding breakfast, remember. Gelly will have your guts for garters if you don’t do it justice.”

“Ah, well. I’ll do my best on the carriage ride home, then. Can’t have the Countess of Kingston arriving with a red nose, can we?”

Livvy gasped and covered her nose with her hand. “Oh, it isn’t, is it?”

King laughed and pulled her hand away, giving her nose a kiss. “It’s perfect, love. You are perfect as always.”

“’Ing! ’Ing!”

“Come on then, George,” King said, holding his arms out to the little boy.

He’d been thoroughly over-excited throughout the service, and nothing anyone did could