“He hasn’t been charged with anything yet. Lord Castlereagh’s looking into reports that members of the Bonaparte family transferred substantial funds to London over the past few weeks, but I’m not sure they can link it to O’Meara. Still, with Johnstone’s ship and Fulton’s plans now back with the Admiralty, I think it’s safe to say that this particular threat has been eliminated.”

“I think we make an excellent team,” she said smugly.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 46.

The wedding of Juliet Caversteed and Simeon Pettigrew was, according to all who attended, the most lavish event of the season. The groom took the unusual step of reading aloud a sonnet he’d composed in honor of the celebration, but apart from that mystifying anomaly—during which one slightly deaf old dowager was heard to remark querulously, “I thought poems were supposed to rhyme?”—it all went off without a hitch.

The rings had been specially commissioned from rose-colored gold mined from the groom’s very own Welsh gold mine, and the bride was acknowledged to be as beautiful as a fairy-tale princess in a silver lame gown that had been modelled on the one worn by Princess Charlotte at her own wedding some weeks before. The bride’s mother was resplendent in a ridiculously impractical hat by Madame Cerise, which boasted no fewer than three different artificial fruits and obscured the view of everyone unfortunate enough to be seated in the three rows directly behind her.

Georgie and Benedict’s own wedding, a few weeks later, was a far less fussy, more intimate affair. It took place on a glorious summer day. White cow parsley and pale-green grasses bobbed like froth in the hedgerows, butterflies chased one another in lazy helixes, and fat pigeons cooed contentedly in the trees. Only a handful of selected guests weaved through the avenue of ancient yews to the crooked porch and crowded into the tiny Norman church at Little Gidding, but the atmosphere was one of quiet celebration.

Georgie wore a simple cream dress with a small amount of lace at the bodice and sleeves, and carried a posy of peonies and sweet peas. Juliet was beautiful as matron of honor in pale-blue sarcenet, and their mother had come prepared, clutching her handkerchief and smelling salts in the expectation of happy tears and possible faintness.

Benedict, in a dark coat of navy superfine and buff breeches, was accompanied by his two groomsmen, Alex and Seb, both of whom looked exceedingly handsome in pale grey. Alex had, apparently, ruined no fewer than six cravats before he achieved the perfect knot.

When Georgie walked down the aisle on Pieter’s arm and got her first glance of Benedict waiting for her at the altar, her breath caught in her throat. The proud expression on his face made her heart swell with love.