Son of a rogue and a gypsy, Hero Fiennes Tiffin was a notorious rake until a shattering betrayal left him alone and embittered in the Welsh countryside. Desperation drives quiet schoolteacher Josephine Langford to ask Hero Fiennes Tiffin to help sav...
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Josephine became the Countess of Westgate with miraculous smoothness. She wore an elegantly simple cream-coloured gown and carried a bouquet of bright spring flowers. Marge stood up with her and Owen gave her away, crutches and all.
She had also invited the other members of her class meeting, all of whom attended, brimming with good wishes and bright-eyed curiosity. Hero was at his most charming, and even Edith Wickes seemed persuaded that he had renounced his evil ways in favour of the love of a good woman.
Josephine sailed through the ceremony and the wedding breakfast with an amazing absence of nerves. Perhaps that was because she had felt married ever since her blood had flowed with that of Hero. Even the Methodists consumed champagne after Hero persuasively explained that it was no more intoxicating than common ale. As a result, good cheer abounded on all sides.
Needing to return to London, Lucien left immediately after the wedding breakfast, which lasted into the early afternoon. Josephine gave him a heartfelt hug, glad that he had made the long trip to Wales. She suspected that much of the reason he had come was to show that Hero's well-born friends supported a marriage that most of society would consider a sad misalliance.
After the rest of the guests left, singing with true Welsh vigour and tuneful Welsh voices, Hero took Josephine's hand and towed her playfully through the house. "I've something to show you. It was installed yesterday when you were out."
When he led her into the billiard room, her eyes widened. "The table has the new slate top?" She ran her palms over the green surface and found not a single bump or lump. "Smooth as a baize-covered mirror. This could start a new fashion."
"I anticipate selling much slate for the purpose, all at a premium price." He put his hands on the end of the table and gave it a hard shove, with absolutely no effect. "An advantage I hadn't thought of is that it's so heavy that it takes ten men and a boy to move it. No more accidental jostling that ruins shots. The carpenter had to reinforce the legs and the frame to support the weight of the slate."
"Shall we test it with a game of wedding-day billiards?" She grinned. "You should be able to win. Since I've had two glasses of champagne, even my leather-tipped cue won't make my strokes accurate."
"Billiards has so many marvellous double-entendres—strokes, balls, pockets, even leather-tipped cues. ..." He gave her a wicked smile. "I had a game in mind, but it wasn't billiards."
"Hero, it's mid-afternoon!" Half-laughing and half-serious, she skipped around to the other side of the table. "What if someone comes in?"
"The staff are all enjoying champagne in the servants' hall." He moved toward her purposefully. "And have you forgotten that it was afternoon the day we drove back from Penrith? And in the hayloft three days ago. And ..."
"But those times it just happened, it wasn't premeditated like this." Her voice was prim, but she leaned over and rested her arms on the table rail so he could see her decolletage.
