He leaned forward, the devil lurking in his brown eyes. “There were six items on the list.”

Ellie leaned back. “I'm sure I didn't ask you the number.”

“But you wanted to.”

She kept silent.

“Now then,” Charles said, “you must tell me something about Miss Eleanor Lyndon.”

“I'm not Miss Eleanor Lyndon any longer,” she pointed out pertly.

He laughed at his mistake. “The Countess of Billington. What is she like?”

“She is often a bit too mouthy for her own good,” she replied.

“I already knew that.”

Ellie made a face. “Very well.” She thought for a moment. “When the weather is nice, I like to take a book and read outside. I often don't return until the sun sets.”

Charles reached out and took her arm. “That is a very good thing for a husband to know,” he said softly. “I will know where to look, should I ever lose you.”

They walked toward the dining room, and he leaned down and said, “The dress seems to fit you well. Is it to your liking?”

“Oh, yes. It is quite the most lovely gown I have ever worn. It required only the smallest of alterations. How were you ever able to obtain it on such short notice?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I paid a dressmaker an obscene amount of money.”

Before Ellie could respond, they had rounded a corner and were entering the dining room. The small crowd of guests stood up to cheer the new couple.

The wedding breakfast passed uneventfully, with the exception of the introduction of Charles's great-aunt Cordelia, who had been mysteriously absent from the ceremony and much of the breakfast. Ellie couldn't help but glance at the empty seat, wondering if her husband's aunt had an objection to the marriage.

Charles caught her staring, and murmured, “Do not worry. She is merely eccentric and likes to act on her own schedule. I am sure she will make an appearance.”

Ellie didn't believe him until an older woman, dressed in a gown at least twenty years out of date, came crashing into the room with the declaration, “The kitchens are on fire!”

Ellie and her family were half out of their seats (indeed, Mrs. Foxglove was halfway out the door) by the time they realized that Charles and his family had not moved a muscle.

“But Charles!” Ellie exclaimed. “Didn't you hear what she said? Surely we must do something.”

“She is always claiming that something or another is on fire,” he replied. “I believe she enjoys a flair for high drama.”

Cordelia made her way to Ellie. “You must be the new bride,” she said bluntly.

“Er, yes.”

“Good. We needed one of those around here.” And then she left, leaving Ellie openmouthed in her wake.

Charles patted his wife on the back. “See? She likes you.”

Ellie sank back down into her seat, wondering if every aristocratic family had a crazy maiden aunt stashed away in the proverbial attic. “Are there any other relatives of yours you'd like to introduce me to?” she asked weakly.