Belle nodded, wondering why a lecture from her father always managed to make her feel about seven years old.
"Does he have a name?"
"Lord Blackwood," Belle said clearly.
John took the initiative and stepped forward, extending his hand. "John Blackwood, my lord. I'm pleased to meet you."
"I should hope so," Henry replied dryly. "Have you the means to support my daughter?"
"I just purchased a new home, so I haven't much to spend freely," John replied frankly. "But I am wise and conservative in my investments. She shall not want for anything."
"Where are you from?"
"I grew up in Shropshire. My father was the Earl of Westborough. My brother succeeded him to the title."
"How'd you come about yours?"
John briefly told him about his time in the army. Henry nodded approvingly and finally asked, "Do you care for my daughter?"
"Very much, my lord."
Henry surveyed the younger man, whose hand was now clutched quite firmly in Belle's grasp. "Well, Caroline, I think we're just going to have to trust our daughter's judgment on this score."
"There is little else to do," Caroline said bitterly.
Henry placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure we will have time enough to sort out all of the particulars. For now, I think we should concentrate on becoming acquainted with our new son-in-law, don't you think, Caroline?"
She nodded, loving Belle too much to do anything else.
Belle ran forward and threw her arms around her mother. "You'll see, Mama," she whispered. "He's perfect."
Caroline smiled at her daughter's unbridled happiness, but whispered back, "Nobody's perfect, Belle."
"He's perfect for me."
Caroline gave Belle one last squeeze before putting her at arm's length so that she could get a good look at her. "I expect you're right," she replied. "Now why don't we let your father get to know your, er, husband while you help me get settled in. It has been an uncommonly long journey."
Belle thought that, all in all, her mother was taking this news surprisingly well. She shot a fleeting smile at John and followed her out of the room.
"I don't suppose you've sent a notice to the Times, " Caroline was saying as she ascended the stairs.
"There hasn't been time."
"Hmmm. Well, I'll have your father see to that immediately. Where is this new home John has purchased?" Caroline turned around as she reached the top of the stairs, a worried expression on her face. "He did say his name was John, didn't he?"
"Yes, Mama. And it's right next to Westonbirt. I met him while I was staying with Emma."
"Oh." Caroline made her way to her bedroom, where a maid was unpacking her cases. "I suppose I'll arrange a reception for you next spring, when everyone is in town. But I do think that we ought to do something soon, if only to let everyone know you're married."
Belle privately wondered why it was imperative that "everyone" be immediately appraised of her marital status. "Won't the notice in the Times suffice?"
"Not at all, my dear. We need to let the ton know that you have our approval. No need for everyone to realize that we hadn't even met John until today."
"No, I suppose not."
Caroline suddenly clapped her hands together. "I know! The Tumbleys's winter ball! It's perfect. Everyone always comes in from the country to attend."
Belle gulped nervously. Every year the Earl and Countess of Tumbley held a ball in November. It was one of the few events for which the aristocracy would travel back to London in the winter. Normally, she would have loved to go, but she didn't think it would be safe for her and John to venture out into large crowds at night. "Er, when is it, Mother?"
"Sometime in the next few weeks, I imagine. I'll have to check my correspondence for the exact date. I have such a stack of letters to go through."
"I'm not really sure that we would want to go, Mama. We are newly married, you know, and wanting a bit of privacy."
"If you wanted privacy, you should have hightailed it back to the country the minute after you said, 'I will.' But as long as you're here, you'll go to this ball, and you'll do it with a smile on your face. And then you can go back to wherever it is that you're living now and rusticate. Where are you living now-I mean, what's it called?"
"Bletchford Manor."
"What-ford Manor?"
"Bletchford Manor."
"I heard you the first time. It's a dreadful name, Belle."
"I know."
"No, I mean it's hideous."
"I know. We're planning to change it."
"See that you do. After the Tumbley bash, that is, because you're not stepping a foot out of London before then."
Chapter 19
John sat in Hardiman's Tea Shoppe the next day, his back to the wall as he watched out for a man he hadn't seen in over five years, a man who wanted him dead. He'd secured a table in the rear, with Alex and Dunford discreetly seated four tables away.
John kept his eyes on the door, and ten minutes past the agreed upon meeting time, George Spencer walked into the establishment. John felt the years rush away, and he was back in the Spanish tavern again, watching his countryman violate an innocent girl.
Spencer scanned the room with icy blue eyes until his gaze fell on John. He flicked his head back, propelling his straight blond hair from his eyes. He strode arrogantly through the shop until he reached John's side.
"Blackwood." His voice was cold.
"Spencer. You'll pardon me if I don't offer you the courtesy of rising."