But in the end, he wasn’t entirely certain that was the best idea. Maggie and Kit had longed for such a large wedding, and pushing something up so quickly would mean that everyone would grow suspicious as to why. They would all be staring at Margaret for the next several months, waiting to see if a baby made its entrance into the world too soon.
It was possible that people might stare at him and Beatrice, too, wondering if Beatrice would suddenly begin to balloon with child and go into confinement in six months.
But of course that was not the case. He and Beatrice were not easily flummoxed by gossips.
Predictably, Kit said over his glass, “You swore that you would never marry before you were forty.”
William rolled his eyes, draining his gin to the dregs. “Can a man not change his mind? Does his palate not alter as he ages? Must I be stagnant and intractable? I’ve never been so hardheaded that I could not alter my opinion on something. Indeed, it is a sign of intelligence to be able to grow and consider new paths,” he said.
He nodded and smiled, pleased with his explanation.
“True,” Ben said, “you have always been magnanimous and able to be persuaded to another side if given the right information.” Ben looked to his own glass and frowned. “And Beatrice is a wonderful prize.”
“She is not a prize,” he countered, thinking that it was absurd to compare a woman to something one might win after a competition or game.
“I don’t know. I think she’s a bit of a prize,” Kit declared, shoving his hand through his thick, dark hair.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Ben shrugged. “Shall we make a list? She’s not intimidated by your position, she gives as good as she gets, is smarter than all of us, and she’s a good sport. What more could you want? Also, she is capable of keeping us all in line—no easy task.”
He glared at his younger brother, who had so astutely described Beatrice. Perhaps too well. “Ben, she is not your governess.”
“I’m too old for a governess,” he declared merrily. “And do not enjoy discipline as some fellows do, but there’s something about her that’s really quite wonderful, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “there is, and I’m glad you like her.”
“She will be a brilliant addition to the family. I always wanted sisters.” Ben swung his gaze to Kit. “And Margaret will be wonderful, yet I think that Beatrice will be just the ticket for us.”
Will frowned before he lifted the gin bottle on the table and poured the last of it into his glass. “Do you indeed?”
Kit nodded. “Margaret will make us all feel loved and appreciated, but Beatrice? She’ll run a tight ship and won’t take any of our nonsense.”
He thought about that as he took another swallow of gin.
It was probably true.
And he felt damned lucky.
It was well and good to have a lady flatter one and make one feel special.
But to have one tell you the truth? There was nothing better.
Beatrice reminded him of a general who made sure her armies did not retreat or run wild on the field. She kept everyone charging forward, confident and passionate with a whistle here, a bark of a command there, and a rousing speech to lift everyone up.
And he liked that about her. A little bit of organization helped people do much better in this life. He rather hoped that she could help organize Ben, who was on the road to ruin if not absolute debauchery.
“I’ve procured a special license,” he stated. “For Beatrice and myself.”
Kit slammed his glass down. “I beg your pardon?”
Ben eyed the empty bottle, then lifted his hand and waved at the bar wench, who came by their table, swinging her tray high over her head. Her bosoms threatened to spill free, largely thanks to a tightly laced stay and gown meant to make male costumers leave her better custom.
She propped her hand on her hip and asked, “Wot do ye fancy, governors?”
Ben took her hand in his and gazed up into her eyes in that terrible Byronic fashion he had. “My brother is getting married in haste, and I need to get dead drunk.”
“Absolutely.” She winked at him, quite used to gentlemen. “Oi’ll bring ye a bottle of the strongest, luv.”