Chapter Text
Ravenhurst, Sussex, August 1817
"Such a lovely day for a picnic," the Honorable Cressida Stavely observed blandly, as she rode in a carriage through grounds of the Denville country estate. "It was so kind of you both to invite me while Kit is occupied."
"It's the least I could do for my soon-to-be-sister," said Patience, the newly-minted Lady Denville, with a slight flush.
"Truly, it is our pleasure," her husband echoed with a grin.
The ever-impulsive Lord Denville, Evelyn Fancot, had wed the former Miss Patience Askham by special license in June. The precipitous wedding allowed his twin brother Christopher, widely known as Kit, to attend the ceremony and serve as best man. A mere two months later, the British ambassador to Austria, the rather lax Lord Stewart, had generously given Kit leave to return to England again for his own nuptials to Cressida. Kit and Cressy would take their honeymoon in the northern regions of the Italian peninsula, following a circuitous route back to Vienna.
"It must have been difficult for you, to be separated from Christopher these several weeks," Patience said kindly.
"Indeed it has been," Cressy agreed. "One can only say so much in letters."
"It is true. Face-to-face intercourse is so much more enjoyable," agreed the blond man seated across from her in the carriage. "Have you and Kester had much opportunity for such since his arrival?"
Cressy raised an eyebrow, noting the twinkle in his eyes and Patience's discomfort. "As you may know, Kit and I have had virtually no time together since his return, and none whatsoever alone."
Christopher Fancot had been back in England for three days, but with their wedding scheduled for Saturday, Cressy had only seen her fiancé twice. Or perhaps three times, depending on the identity of the blond man seated next to Patience and across from her.
"Kit did mention something . . . I believe he said he's seen your grandmother as much or more than you since his return," replied the now-laughing blond."
"Indeed he has," Cressy confirmed, with a touch of exasperation. It was frustrating to her and Kit both that their two visits had taken place under the gimlet eye of her grandmother, the Dowager Lady Stavely. While the formidable old woman approved of their marriage, and approved of Kit in general, she still was smarting from his impersonation of Evelyn in the spring.
In part as a reprimand, and in part because there had been some murmurs in society about the younger son snatching Cressy from underneath his twin's identical nose, the dowager was being a stickler for propriety in the days leading up to the wedding. While Kit's mother or even Cressy's stepmother would have indulgently turned a blind eye towards stolen kisses, Dowager Lady Stavely would give a warning snort if Kit and Cressy held hands or even sat too close on a settee.
"We've both of us been caught up in a whirl of wedding preparations," she concluded on a milder note.
The blond man gave her a wink. "Yes, my twin was very disgruntled at having to visit his tailor on such a fine afternoon, but we can't have Kit looking like a shab-rag at the altar."
"No, I suppose not," Cressy said doubtfully to the man, who she increasingly suspected was not Lord Denville. She began scrutinizing him for some tell-tale giveaway as the carriage drove on, without any definitive success.
His conversation with her was mildly flirtatious, but Denville - despite having made a love match with Patience - flirted with all the ladies, from ages nine to ninety-two. When they arrived at the picnic spot, the putative Evelyn handed Cressy and Patience down from the carriage with polite promptitude and no lingering touches for either of them. He also seated himself an equal distance between the two of them on the picnic blanket, providing no clue.
Inspiration struck. "What do you think about the assassination of George Petrovich in Serbia? Will that upset the European peace?" Cressy asked between bites of her roast chicken.
"I think," the mystery Fancot twin lightly replied, "that such a serious topic is ill-suited for a picnic."
Cressy gave a frustrated sort of huff, and he obligingly continued on.
"But to answer your second question, Petrovich has been out of power some months, so Obrenovic and the Ottomans should be able to keep a lid on things," he analyzed. "But make no mistake, Serbia is a tinderbox that could ignite all of Europe into a conflagration. I only hope it won't happen in our lifetime."
Despite the seriousness of his words, Cressy could not help but smile at her darling Kit. "It makes sense, in a way. There are too many religions and cultures that meet there to prevent them from butting heads."
He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You will make a most admirable diplomat's wife, my dear Cressy."
Patience soon found a reason to efface herself, returning to the carriage with a murmur about a headache.
"I think she may be expecting an interesting event next spring," he said doubtfully, looking at Lady Denville's retreating form.
"Isn't that the sort of thing a husband should know about his wife?" Cressy asked archly.
"Don't be a minx, Cressy," Kit laughed. "It doesn't suit you."
"You, however, suit me perfectly," Cressy said saucily. "At least when you're not pretending to be your brother!"
He smiled and moved closer on the picnic blanket, until he was close enough that she could lean into his shoulder. "You and Evelyn would never suit, but you are perfect for me, my love," he smiled down at her.
"Oh, Kit! How I've missed you!" Cressy exclaimed, just before he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that left them both breathless.
Abruptly, she broke off their kiss, eying him sternly. "I do hope you weren't trying to trick me again. Was this some silly test, to see whether I could tell you apart?"
"Not at all, love," Kit promised, grasping both her hands in his own. "The only one I was trying to gammon was your grandmother, since she seems determined to spike my guns until the wedding! You knew it was me all along, didn't you?"
Cressy merely smiled and kissed him again.