Only Beloved by Mary Balogh

people who crowded around her after she had finished playing did so not because she had netted herself a duke for a husband, but because she was someone who had aroused their admiration.
    He was more than pleased.
    The next couple of days could not go fast enough for him. Not just so that he could have her in his bed—though there was that too—but so that he could have her permanently in his life. He half resented the fact that tonight she would return across the square to Arnott House with all her family, while he must remain here alone.
    He smiled as he caught her eye across the room. And it occurred to him with something like surprise that he was happy. He often felt happiness, surely. He had felt it for all the officers who had left the hospital at Penderris healed, or at least on the road to healing. He had felt it for his nephew when he married Philippa and when Belinda was born. He had felt it in abundance for each of his fellow Survivors when they had married and hadchildren. He felt happy for Dora Debbins tonight. But . . . when had he ever felt happiness for himself? Try as he would, he could not think of any occasion since he joined his regiment at the age of seventeen, when he had been happy for all too brief a time. Only recently had he begun to feel anything approaching it—when he went to Gloucestershire and made his offer and was accepted, a few times during the past month, and now this evening. Now at this moment.
    He was a happy man, he thought, and this was only the beginning. Soon she would no longer be returning to Arnott House and leaving him alone here. Soon she would be his wife. They would remain together. He was almost shaken by the sheer pleasure of the thought.
    And a moment later he was shaken again by the sudden lurching of fear low in his stomach lest something happen to destroy that happiness. Deuce take it, but he must learn to trust the present and the future, to put the past behind him once and for all.
    Someone laid a hand upon his arm, and he turned to find his nephew standing beside him.
    â€œYou are being badly outshone by your own betrothed, Uncle George,” Julian said with a grin. “My sympathies.”
    â€œJackanapes,” George said fondly. “I am standing here basking in her reflected glory.”
    â€œI would be obliged for a private word with you,” Julian said, “if this is not too inconvenient a time.”
    â€œNot at all,” George assured him. “I do not believe my presence will be missed for a little while. Come out onto the landing.”
    His nephew did not speak again until they wereleaning against the oak banister above the staircase and the hall below.
    â€œPhilippa and I have talked a great deal about your impending nuptials,” he said, “and it has occurred to us that you may be feeling a bit concerned about us.”
    George raised his eyebrows and his nephew flushed.
    â€œYou made it very clear to me after . . . after Brendan’s passing,” he explained, “that you considered me your heir. You said at the time that you would never have another son of your own. No, don’t say anything.” He held up a hand as George drew breath to speak. “Let me finish. We are perfectly aware that Miss Debbins is not a . . . well, that she is not a very young lady and that you may well not be marrying her in order to set up your nursery again, but—”
    â€œYou are absolutely right,” George said, firmly interrupting him. “I am marrying Miss Debbins because I have an affection for her. We have no wish whatsoever to populate the nursery at Penderris. Your status as my heir is not in peril.”
    Julian’s flush had deepened. “I believe you, and I am sincerely happy for you,” he said. “It has been abundantly clear this evening that you and Miss Debbins hold each other in deep regard. But the point is, Uncle George, that unexpected things