The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,113

breaking propriety was a momentous thing.

He laughed, a deep belly laugh that made Isobel feel light. “Come now, it’s not as though I suggested mounting a siege to rescue Napoleon.”

“Close, though,” the Duke of Westmore muttered, and even Oliver nodded.

“Brandy for everyone,” Kendrick said. “Or sherry if the ladies are so inclined.”

“Cigars, too, Your Grace?” Clarissa piped up from where she sat. She and Isobel had once filched some of the duke’s finest to do research for Lady Darcy, and had nearly suffocated themselves in the process.

“If you wish it, Clarissa,” the duke agreed benignly.

Winter shot Isobel a bemused look as though he couldn’t quite recognize this relaxed version of Kendrick with the father he’d known. It was true—the man was different, even more so ever since he and his son had reconciled. This breach in decorum, clearly, was a consequence of his new philosophy…sometimes, some rules needed to be thrown out the window.

Glasses were delivered, brandy and sherry poured, and cigars distributed. Isobel refused both, given her delicate condition, though she grinned to see that Violet was game enough to try. Molly, however, shook her head at her with no small amount of disgust. Oliver gave Clarissa a defeated look, knowing that nothing he could say would deter her. The two of them as a couple still made Isobel giggle, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Oliver so happy. Clarissa, either. However, when they fought, the world knew it.

“A toast,” the duke said, lifting his glass of brandy. “To my daughter, Prudence, who should have been here with us. She is dearly missed.”

“To Prudence,” most everyone chorused, with the exception of Westmore, Isobel noted. After a moment, he lifted his glass, his mouth shaping something that looked like Prue, and then he drank. Within moments, however, his face relaxed back to its casual mien.

“I have an announcement,” Oliver said, shoving his seat back. His hairline was dampened and his face had gone the color of thinned milk. “Well, perhaps more of a question. A request, rather, that is if the lady is amenable and if she isn’t then, well, there won’t be an announcement. Oh, sod it, you twat,” he muttered to himself, and then dropped to one knee. “Miss Clarissa Bell, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? If you’ll have me?”

There was dead silence before the table erupted in cheers, Winter banging his fist on the tabletop so hard that all the glasses shook. “Well done, mate!”

“She hasn’t answered yet!” Violet said.

Spluttering, Clarissa had gone as red as a tomato as she gaped in surprise at Oliver. “Couldn’t you have waited until I didn’t have a mouthful of smoke?”

“It’s a filthy habit,” he said. “You deserve what you get.”

She glared daggers at him. “Don’t judge me.”

“You judge me for lots of things.”

“That’s different.”

Winter groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake, say yes, Clarissa. No one else can put up with either of you. Yours is a match made in purgatory.” Two lethal stares pinned him, but he only grinned and lifted his glass. “To the happy couple? Misery loves company?”

“You’re an arse, brother,” Oliver muttered.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Yes, my lord, I will marry you.”

“Hear, hear!” Kendrick said.

They all cheered and drank, Isobel sipping from her water goblet and nearly choking herself when Winter tapped on his glass with a spoon and stood. “I have an announcement as well.”

Isobel felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She hoped her husband meant the fact that they were expecting a baby, not the tidbit that she and Clarissa were Lady Darcy, which was no one’s business at all and still a secret. Kendrick had been in an agreeable mood of late, but that didn’t mean he would take lightly to his daughter-in-law being the author of such a scandalous periodical.

Catching Clarissa’s suddenly horrified gaze, she shook her head. “Winter—”

“Isobel and I are expecting, and I couldn’t be happier,” he said and glanced at the duke. “You’re going to be a grandfather, Your Grace.”

Relief mingled with love as she stared at her father-in-law’s incredulous expression. Then his blue eyes softened and he smiled with so much joy that it made her chest tighten. “Goodness,” he said in a choked voice and swiped at the corner of his eye before lifting his glass. “Wonderful news, my dears.”

Westmore rose, his affable smirk firmly in place, making Isobel wonder whether she’d imagined his solemnity earlier with Prudence’s toast. “Well, congratulations everyone. Sadly, I’m off. Things to see, people to