had the jeweler make itfrom his own description to be sure it was unique. It was a substantial ring, a ring meant to catch attention and be noticed, exactly like Lizzie herself.
Brecon sighed, unconvinced. “I trust you are right, Hawke,” he said. “But then I’ve no notion at all of what would please a lady of her tender years.”
“Pray hope that I do,” Hawke said. Yet just as he’d been sure Lizzie would like the old painting, he was equally certain that she would like this for her wedding ring. He couldn’t explain why. Even he would have to admit that he didn’t know his bride, and yet he had not a single doubt as he handed the ring back to the jeweler. “All you need do now, Boyce, is add the engraving inside.”
The jeweler puckered his mouth with worry. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but is that wise? We have not fitted the ring to the lady’s finger, and if an adjustment must be made after the wedding, then the sentiment will be marred.”
“Bad luck in that, Hawke, no mistake,” warned Brecon. “The ladies will be all aflutter over that. Better to wait and have the sizing made right, with the lady’s finger here to measure.”
“It’s right as it is,” Hawke said confidently. “Go ahead, Boyce. Mark our initials on the inside, and have it sent to me tomorrow.”
The jeweler bowed and retreated into the next room, leaving Brecon to let out a small harrumph of disbelief.
“Aren’t you the cocky bastard, Hawke,” he said, and only half in jest. “First you choose your bride’s wedding ring, then you declare you know the very breadth of the finger it will grace.”
“I should know it,” Hawke said defensively. “Procuring Lady Elizabeth’s ring is the only task I’m permitted in this entire rigmarole of a wedding, and if that is all, then I intend that ring to be as perfect as it can be. Whatelse am I to do? Three weeks, Brecon, only three weeks between the day I agreed with the lady and the day we are to wed, yet I’ve never had time stretch so interminably long.”
Brecon shrugged. “You shall survive,” he said. “Three weeks is a veritable wink of an eye compared to the whole span of your wedded life with the lady.”
“But that is just it, Brecon,” Hawke said, exasperation in his voice. “I had always heard that betrothed men and women were supposed to be together, and yet I have seen Lady Elizabeth but once in the last fortnight, and that was with the harpies hovering.”
“By ‘harpies’ I suppose you mean your esteemed mother and Lady Sanborn,” Brecon said wryly. “Really, Hawke. Likening those dear ladies to the foul, vicious creatures that plagued the Greeks is a bit harsh. Did you know that March calls Lady Sanborn ‘the dragon,’ likely for much the same reason?”
“Most appropriate, too.” Restlessly Hawke drummed his fingers on the jeweler’s counter. “I cannot fathom how much worse it will be when Lady Elizabeth’s mother finally arrives tomorrow.”
“Lady Hervey?” asked Brecon with surprise. “Oh, Lady Hervey’s no harpy, nor dragon. You’ll never have meddling from that quarter. She’s a lovely lady, more like another sister than a mother.”
“Well, then, the others are bad enough,” Hawke grumbled. “They invent a score of empty reasons for me not to see her alone. Even my letters to her have been returned unopened, my very pen and paper having been deemed too ‘inflaming’ for her so close to the wedding. Inflaming, for God’s sake! I should show them true fire, and then they’d have genuine cause for worry.”
Brecon smiled. “Clearly they fear you already, cousin, else they’d not take such care guarding their little innocent.But likely they are engaged in their preparations as well. Ladies live for weddings.”
“There’s less effort to launching a fleet than to make one lady presentable for the altar,” Hawke said. “Damnation, Brecon, our fathers arranged this marriage years ago. You’d think these women would
Brecon sighed, unconvinced. “I trust you are right, Hawke,” he said. “But then I’ve no notion at all of what would please a lady of her tender years.”
“Pray hope that I do,” Hawke said. Yet just as he’d been sure Lizzie would like the old painting, he was equally certain that she would like this for her wedding ring. He couldn’t explain why. Even he would have to admit that he didn’t know his bride, and yet he had not a single doubt as he handed the ring back to the jeweler. “All you need do now, Boyce, is add the engraving inside.”
The jeweler puckered his mouth with worry. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but is that wise? We have not fitted the ring to the lady’s finger, and if an adjustment must be made after the wedding, then the sentiment will be marred.”
“Bad luck in that, Hawke, no mistake,” warned Brecon. “The ladies will be all aflutter over that. Better to wait and have the sizing made right, with the lady’s finger here to measure.”
“It’s right as it is,” Hawke said confidently. “Go ahead, Boyce. Mark our initials on the inside, and have it sent to me tomorrow.”
The jeweler bowed and retreated into the next room, leaving Brecon to let out a small harrumph of disbelief.
“Aren’t you the cocky bastard, Hawke,” he said, and only half in jest. “First you choose your bride’s wedding ring, then you declare you know the very breadth of the finger it will grace.”
“I should know it,” Hawke said defensively. “Procuring Lady Elizabeth’s ring is the only task I’m permitted in this entire rigmarole of a wedding, and if that is all, then I intend that ring to be as perfect as it can be. Whatelse am I to do? Three weeks, Brecon, only three weeks between the day I agreed with the lady and the day we are to wed, yet I’ve never had time stretch so interminably long.”
Brecon shrugged. “You shall survive,” he said. “Three weeks is a veritable wink of an eye compared to the whole span of your wedded life with the lady.”
“But that is just it, Brecon,” Hawke said, exasperation in his voice. “I had always heard that betrothed men and women were supposed to be together, and yet I have seen Lady Elizabeth but once in the last fortnight, and that was with the harpies hovering.”
“By ‘harpies’ I suppose you mean your esteemed mother and Lady Sanborn,” Brecon said wryly. “Really, Hawke. Likening those dear ladies to the foul, vicious creatures that plagued the Greeks is a bit harsh. Did you know that March calls Lady Sanborn ‘the dragon,’ likely for much the same reason?”
“Most appropriate, too.” Restlessly Hawke drummed his fingers on the jeweler’s counter. “I cannot fathom how much worse it will be when Lady Elizabeth’s mother finally arrives tomorrow.”
“Lady Hervey?” asked Brecon with surprise. “Oh, Lady Hervey’s no harpy, nor dragon. You’ll never have meddling from that quarter. She’s a lovely lady, more like another sister than a mother.”
“Well, then, the others are bad enough,” Hawke grumbled. “They invent a score of empty reasons for me not to see her alone. Even my letters to her have been returned unopened, my very pen and paper having been deemed too ‘inflaming’ for her so close to the wedding. Inflaming, for God’s sake! I should show them true fire, and then they’d have genuine cause for worry.”
Brecon smiled. “Clearly they fear you already, cousin, else they’d not take such care guarding their little innocent.But likely they are engaged in their preparations as well. Ladies live for weddings.”
“There’s less effort to launching a fleet than to make one lady presentable for the altar,” Hawke said. “Damnation, Brecon, our fathers arranged this marriage years ago. You’d think these women would
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