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friends,
     gathered at attention to honor her. She only heard their cheers. Emotion clogged her throat, and she was suddenly afraid she
     would humiliate herself before them. But they were all smiling. They meant the best for her. So she smiled back. And with
     every ounce of dignity she could muster, she limped through the arched swords, head high and her hand on Diccan’s arm.
    “Stand down, men!” she called gaily. “My husband has just declared that no soldier will pay for a drink this day.”
    The cheer that met her words was full-throated. With another command, they turned with a snap and followed the wedding couple
     as if on parade.
    “Impressive,” Diccan said, never looking back.
    “Do not,” she warned, very serious, “make light of them.”
    He shot her a look of pure astonishment. “You wrong me, madam. I was just thinking of the kind of person who would warrant
     such devotion. And wonder at the fact that she is my wife.”
    It was Grace’s turn to look astonished. She turned to her husband, expecting to see that familiar sardonic gleam in his eye.
     But his his eyes were clear. He lifted her hand and kissed it. Behind them, the men again cheered. Grace didn’t know what
     to do but walk on.

Chapter 4
    T he wedding breakfast was boisterous and fun. Lady Kate set the tone when she gifted every soldier with a glass of champagne
     and a kiss. Diccan circled the room as if at a diplomatic reception. The Grenadiers, knowing well how to celebrate, celebrated
     well.
    Grace never moved from the wing chair Diccan had positioned for her between the great brick fireplace and mullioned windows.
     It was a thoughtful gesture, as if he could tell how much her leg ached and her head spun. Her Grenadiers lined up with hugs,
     congratulations, and promises of support. She smiled and she sipped her warm champagne and balanced a plate of uneaten food
     on her lap, battling a growing sense of dislocation, as if she had been dropped into a play and didn’t know her next line.
    She was completely unprepared to have Diccan slip up behind her and lift the plate from her lap.
    “If I might steal my wife, gentlemen,” he greeted them. “I’m feeling just the slightest bit jealous of the military right
     now.”
    “Don’t be daft, man,” one of the men objected. “You have the bonniest lass in England.”
    His smile seemed genuine. “Yes, but I feel I must perform some impossible feat to have her smile on me as she does you all.”
    Grace knew that he was proffering his
ton
face, but she couldn’t help blushing. If only it were true. Allowing Diccan to help her to her feet, she dipped a curtsy
     to the men she had always considered to be her family and took the arm of the man who now actually claimed that privilege.
    “I don’t wish to drag you away from the party,” he told her, his head bent close enough that she could feel the tantalizing
     whisper of his breath against her hair. “But I must be in London.”
    For a moment, Grace stared blankly up at him. Was he leaving her?
    “Kate’s dresser has packed for you,” he went on. “I need you to bid farewell so we can leave.”
    He spoke as if her acquiescence was a foregone conclusion. She found herself stammering. “But we haven’t even seen your father.”
    His smile was dry. “Oh, he won’t be here. He doesn’t hold with drinking. Or revelry. Or happiness.”
    Just then, Lady Kate sidled up, Grace’s pelisse and bonnet in hand. “Looks like you managed to winkle her away.”
    “You knew about this?” Grace demanded, feeling betrayed.
    Kate’s smile was rueful. “He did tell us he had to go. I offered to have you return to London with me, but I think he’s right.
     You two need to present a united front right now.”
    Grace sighed. “You’re right, of course.” The sense of dislocation growing, she accepted her plain gray bonnet. “It was just
     a surprise.”
    “I have to collect Bea from home,” Kate said. “But the minute we reach