dark hair and boyishly handsome features. Although he had the lean build of an athlete, his wire-rimmed spectacles gave him a scholarly air, which made sense since he was apparently a scientist and in charge of technological development at GLNR.
“It’s Your Grace now,” his wife reminded him.
According to Bea, Tessa Kent was a force to be reckoned with in the London underworld. Just as Knight was known as the Duke of Silk for the power he wielded in Spitalfields, Tessa was the Duchess of Covent Garden for the territory she oversaw. Although one wouldn’t think it looking at the elfin lady with wide jade eyes, her waifish figure clad in a blush muslin dress trimmed with pink ribbon, she purportedly kept the peace with an iron fist. She had a special dislike of brutes who tried to abuse the prostitutes and children under her protection.
“Right, sprite. Almost forgot about the new title,” her husband said good-naturedly. “Welcome, Your Graces.”
“Knighton will suffice,” Knight muttered.
“Bea has told us ever so much about you, Your Grace.” Gabriella Garrity, who was sitting next to Mrs. Kent, addressed Fancy. Framed by fiery upswept curls, Mrs. Garrity’s face was sweetly rounded, and her guileless eyes, which matched her sky-blue taffeta gown, emanated genuine niceness. “Your gown is ravishing. The color reminds me of sunshine.”
Using silk of a pale golden color, Madame Rousseau had created a masterpiece with a corsage à la grecque, an elongated, nipped-in bodice, and full, flowy skirts. When Fancy had first tried it on, she’d felt like a princess.
“I like your gown as well,” she said truthfully. “Please call me Fancy.”
“And I’m Gabby,” Mrs. Garrity said warmly. “Since our husbands are colleagues of a sort, I feel as if we know one another already.”
Bea had mentioned that Adam Garrity was, like Knight, a powerful man with underclass roots. Mr. Garrity had made his fortune as a moneylender before taking the helm of GLNR. Sitting beside his wife, he was ice to Gabby’s fire, a ruthless quality to his pale, sharp features, slicked-back inky hair, and pitch-black eyes. Bea had described him as a cold and cunning man, except when it came to his lady.
“Colleagues.” He sent his wife an amused look before addressing Knight. “Is that how you would describe it, Knighton?”
“At a wedding breakfast and in polite company? Probably,” Knight said.
“Anyway,” Gabby said with cheerful aplomb, “I’m so glad you’re sitting with us, Fancy. Bea mentioned that you were recently married in Gretna Green. That sounds ever so romantic, and I should love to hear about it!”
As the delicious meal was served, along with flutes of champagne, Fancy found herself chatting easily with the group. Bea’s friends seemed interested in learning more about her life as the daughter of a travelling tinker. No one showed any sign of judgement—perhaps because they, too, came from unconventional backgrounds.
Tessa shared proudly that she was the granddaughter of London’s most notorious cutthroat and described her toddler son as an even bigger terror. Mr. Kent pointed out that since she’d insisted on naming their boy Bartholomew after her grandfather, it should only be expected that the tot take after his namesake. Tessa had them all in stitches with her tales of how little Bart liked to ransack the pantry, waving his play sword with one hand and keeping up his listing nappy with the other.
What was striking to Fancy was not only the kindness of the people at the table, but the passionate devotion she saw between the husbands and their wives. Impish Tessa obviously enjoyed teasing her husband, who bantered good-naturedly with her. Gabby was sweetness and light, her flame glowing brighter against the dark foil of her husband. When Adam Garrity looked at his wife, his black eyes had a proprietary gleam that sent tingles over Fancy’s skin.
She couldn’t help but wonder how she and Knight appeared to the other couples. Her husband wasn’t a demonstrative man, and she knew he didn’t yet love her the way these men clearly loved their wives. At present, his emotions were masked by a neutral expression. Weddings, she realized, had a way of bringing love and relationships to the forefront of one’s mind. As she was yearning for Knight…was he thinking of Imogen?
Her heart clenching, she finished her champagne, and a helpful footman refilled it.
“I hope I’m not being too forward, Fancy,” Gabby was saying, “but Bea told us about your recent accident. Or rather, she said she was afraid that it was not an accident. She asked