Page 89 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

“Perhaps we could refrain from Eaton Punchy Punch on my wedding day,” Stephen said.

He knew better than to tempt the lot of them by providing any sort of challenge. Therefore, it was entirely his fault when Georgie punched him in the stomach, and Evan ground his fist into the top of his head. Alistair’s jaw ticked as he tried to restrain himself. His decorum lasted less time than it took to snap his fingers. He grabbed Stephen and tickled him under his armpits. The move never failed to make Stephen break into chortles, so with all three of his siblings accosting him, Stephen convulsed with laughter.

“Children.” The countess gave one strong clap as she reprimanded her grown grandchildren. “I dare say, everyone is staring at us. A duchess and an earl acting in such a way. Look at Jimmy, behaving like a gentleman, while the four of you…” She shuddered in horror. “Act like heathens raised in a barn.”

Jimmy Clayton, Alistair’s pubescent ward, had a cup of punch balanced on the stump where his hand should have been. He offered the drink to Rose Beaumont. The poor boy’s crush was pointless since she was almost a woman, and he had not yet shaved. Besides, the Beaumonts would never allow their daughter to marry the one-armed grandson of a servant. Stephen exhaled a pained sigh for the boy’s soon-to-be broken heart.

“Grandmother,” Georgie said, “you mixed your metaphors again, and are you insinuating that Evan can act however he wants since he is not married to a duke and is the third son of an earl?”

Evan stuck his vibrating tongue out at Georgie. Spittle hit her square on the nose. Her eyes lit up with delight as she formed a fist.

“Evan, seriously?” Grandmother scolded. “And Georgiana, do not be so impertinent. It is unbecoming, especially in your lovely gown. What would William say?”

William would probably encourage her to hurtle an uppercut to Evan’s jaw, but that sentiment was best unsaid.

Georgie opened her mouth to say something. Stephen sent her a pleading look, and she clamped her lips tight.

“What in bloody hell does Calhoun see in Arabella?” Evan asked.

“Language,” the countess reprimanded.

“Bluck,” Georgie said. “Perhaps she put a love potion in his drink, for why else would he be looking at her like that? “Bluck,” she said again. “Definitely a witch.”

“Arabella is quite lovely,” their grandmother said. “And she is my dearest friend’s daughter, so I would appreciate it if you kept your unkind remarks to yourselves."

In defense of his siblings, Arabella had put them all through hell. Still, ’twas always better to take the high road.

“She is beautiful. However….” Alistair tapped his finger to his chin and studied Arabella and Benjamin twirling on the dance floor. “Do any of you think she looks a bit like a fish? She’s always reminded me of one of those fish with the puffy lips.” The Earl of Trent puckered up and opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he was scooping up algae—or whatever fish ate.

“She looks more like an Egret.” Georgie stretched her neck and pranced on tiptoes.

Stephen rolled his eyes at his siblings. “Enough. Firstly, Calhoun adores her, and she is quite sweet to him. Secondly, Madalene wanted her to be a bridesmaid, so we will treat her with respect. And I am telling you, if it were not for her assistance, I may not have been able to clear my name.”

“Fine,” his siblings mumbled in agreement.

“I will make a point of being welcoming,” Georgie conceded. “Because I like Madalene, and I adore you.”

The countess gifted them with one of her rare smiles. “I dare say that would be most hospitable, Georgiana.”

Alistair’s wife, Evangeline, waddled up to them, her hand on her belly, a smile on her pretty face. She grasped the countess’s hand. Hopefully, his grandmother would hold Madalene in the same high regard.

“The ceremony was lovely, and everything is perfect, Grandmother Louisa,” Evangeline said. “Your attention to detail is to be commended. Stephen, Madalene is so sweet that she has even turned Myrle and Diggins into gentlemen.”

The two scalawags had showered for the occasion and circled the ballroom bowing and curtseying to everyone. Really quite scandalous. But Madalene had insisted they attend as guests.

Evangeline cringed as Myrle attempted a curtsey in front of Viscountess Beaumont and almost knocked the drink from her hand. “Well, they have not mastered appropriate etiquette yet. But they are trying.”

“Good day, little one.” Alistair rubbed and kissed his wife’s baby belly before meeting her gaze. “You also had a hand in taming the beasts, my angel.”

The Duke of Astleyshire approached and wrapped an arm around Georgie’s shoulder.

Stephen’s heart overflowed with affection for his growing family. “I suppose for being The Troublesome Eatons of Trent, we have all married quite well,” he declared.

Contentment filled the dowager’s sigh. But then she frowned—most likely, she’d remembered she had not yet married off all of her grandchildren. “Evan, Lady Bethany Doolittle looks quite lovely tonight,” she declared with a wrist flourish.

In truth, the girl was lovely and would make some man a fine companion, but the siblings never wasted an opportunity to taunt their rakish brother.

Alistair choked on his laugh. “And her plumage is not hitting the chandelier tonight.”