his eyes. “Try to recall we are not in the army any longer.”
“And?” Edward asked, his mouth quirking impishly.
Garret arched a brow. “We are now supposed to speak like cherubim, or didn’t you realize?”
Edward snorted and turned to his own man. He gestured for his own gun. “Well, should we practice our heavenly chorus then?”
James kept walking, his back ramrod straight. As straight as it could possibly be. In fact, that back of his had been made impossibly straight since the day he’d been made duke. “Pick up your pace. One would think I had a host of old women for brothers,” he called over his shoulder. “They’re waiting.”
And indeed they were. Mr. Trent, the bride’s father, and a few other gentleman were about a hundred yards ahead, all standing with their manservants prepared to rain birds from the sky.
“Is this really necessary?” Garret demanded, his foul mood refusing to dissipate, just like the blasted early morning mist. “I mean, couldn’t we have a good bit of sport? Something that combines flesh beating flesh. Boxing is a smashing gentleman’s game.”
“You propose bashing Emmaline’s father?” Edward asked, his voice surprisingly high with indignation.
Garret scowled. Perhaps he really hadn’t thought it through, but God, he longed to slam his fist into somebody’s nose. “Well no. That would hardly be sporting.”
“And I have every intention of keeping on that man’s good side,” James said suddenly without looking back.
Garret halted, an extreme feeling of foreboding creeping upon him. The fates would not be so cruel. Would they? “Why, may I ask?”
James turned and smiled. An irritating, self-satisfied grin. “Miss Harriet is charming.”
Garret sucked in an indignant breath. “Miss Harriet is a pain in the arse!”
How could James? His own brother? How could he even consider the woman? Granted, James didn’t know the sordid details. Almost no one did. But. . . But. . .
James’ smile dimmed, his eyes narrowing. Instead of absolute fury, a look of pure bemusement tilted his brows. “And why is it you dislike women so much?”
Garret cleared his throat and picked a piece of imaginary (his man would never, ever allow such a sin to occur) lint from his coat. “Not women. This woman. I adored mother. And I’m sure that if we had had sisters I would have adored them as well.”
Edward cocked his head to the side. “You don’t seem to mind Emmaline.”
“There is nothing wrong with Emmaline. But nor is there anything special about her. I simply cannot see why so many men are willing to yield up their bachelor’s status. For God’s sake, not six months ago we were all sworn bachelors. I turn my back for one blasted moment and the next thing I know, the both of you are prancing about, more concerned about the state of your beards and cravats than serious matters.”
Garret pointed a finger at Edward. “That one is already guilty of composing songs to his lady love.”
Edward’s face flashed with horror. “I did not,” he said so quickly it sounded like one word.
“Oh,” Garret nodded sagely. “I do beg your pardon. Sonnets are not to be confused with love songs. But sonnets you did indeed pen. Sonnets about her elfin ears and delicate ankles.”
Edward squared his shoulders and coughed. “Emmaline’s ears are particularly charming.”
Garret snorted. “Marriage is the death of a man’s soul. You will see, Edward. And then apparently you, too, James. I shall be the last soul un-trounced upon.”
“Please,” James said easily. “I swear I shall see you a married man.”
“Never. I would rather place my head in a noose and do the honors myself than turn married.”
“You shall choke on those words,” warned James evenly.
“I will eat them with sauce if they are ever proved untrue.”
“I’m thinking of wedding,” James said quietly. “I think it’s time.”
“No!” Garret exclaimed, his voice an octave higher
“And?” Edward asked, his mouth quirking impishly.
Garret arched a brow. “We are now supposed to speak like cherubim, or didn’t you realize?”
Edward snorted and turned to his own man. He gestured for his own gun. “Well, should we practice our heavenly chorus then?”
James kept walking, his back ramrod straight. As straight as it could possibly be. In fact, that back of his had been made impossibly straight since the day he’d been made duke. “Pick up your pace. One would think I had a host of old women for brothers,” he called over his shoulder. “They’re waiting.”
And indeed they were. Mr. Trent, the bride’s father, and a few other gentleman were about a hundred yards ahead, all standing with their manservants prepared to rain birds from the sky.
“Is this really necessary?” Garret demanded, his foul mood refusing to dissipate, just like the blasted early morning mist. “I mean, couldn’t we have a good bit of sport? Something that combines flesh beating flesh. Boxing is a smashing gentleman’s game.”
“You propose bashing Emmaline’s father?” Edward asked, his voice surprisingly high with indignation.
Garret scowled. Perhaps he really hadn’t thought it through, but God, he longed to slam his fist into somebody’s nose. “Well no. That would hardly be sporting.”
“And I have every intention of keeping on that man’s good side,” James said suddenly without looking back.
Garret halted, an extreme feeling of foreboding creeping upon him. The fates would not be so cruel. Would they? “Why, may I ask?”
James turned and smiled. An irritating, self-satisfied grin. “Miss Harriet is charming.”
Garret sucked in an indignant breath. “Miss Harriet is a pain in the arse!”
How could James? His own brother? How could he even consider the woman? Granted, James didn’t know the sordid details. Almost no one did. But. . . But. . .
James’ smile dimmed, his eyes narrowing. Instead of absolute fury, a look of pure bemusement tilted his brows. “And why is it you dislike women so much?”
Garret cleared his throat and picked a piece of imaginary (his man would never, ever allow such a sin to occur) lint from his coat. “Not women. This woman. I adored mother. And I’m sure that if we had had sisters I would have adored them as well.”
Edward cocked his head to the side. “You don’t seem to mind Emmaline.”
“There is nothing wrong with Emmaline. But nor is there anything special about her. I simply cannot see why so many men are willing to yield up their bachelor’s status. For God’s sake, not six months ago we were all sworn bachelors. I turn my back for one blasted moment and the next thing I know, the both of you are prancing about, more concerned about the state of your beards and cravats than serious matters.”
Garret pointed a finger at Edward. “That one is already guilty of composing songs to his lady love.”
Edward’s face flashed with horror. “I did not,” he said so quickly it sounded like one word.
“Oh,” Garret nodded sagely. “I do beg your pardon. Sonnets are not to be confused with love songs. But sonnets you did indeed pen. Sonnets about her elfin ears and delicate ankles.”
Edward squared his shoulders and coughed. “Emmaline’s ears are particularly charming.”
Garret snorted. “Marriage is the death of a man’s soul. You will see, Edward. And then apparently you, too, James. I shall be the last soul un-trounced upon.”
“Please,” James said easily. “I swear I shall see you a married man.”
“Never. I would rather place my head in a noose and do the honors myself than turn married.”
“You shall choke on those words,” warned James evenly.
“I will eat them with sauce if they are ever proved untrue.”
“I’m thinking of wedding,” James said quietly. “I think it’s time.”
“No!” Garret exclaimed, his voice an octave higher
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