Epilogue
Genie mapped out a wedding journey that wandered from Yorkshire to Lancashire, then down to her beloved Derbyshire, the better to inspect properties for purchase. She also frequently inspected her husband’s unclad person.
She settled on a lovely estate in Derbyshire and promptly named it Farmdale. The lintel over the drawing room was Gibbons’s work, and the portrait gallery included plasterwork by Bradbury and Pettifer.
“I do so love my sheep,” she said, lounging back on the blanket. “They seem happy.”
Adam, upon whose chest she reclined, propped his chin on her crown. “They seem woolly and happy.”
She turned in his arms, feeling like the luckiest woman in the realm. “Are you happy?”
Adam nuzzled her ear, which gave her the shivers in the best possible way. “Not quite.”
Oh dear. She’d worried. She had never quite felt like a genuine duchess—and thank heavens she no longer had to try—but would Adam ever feel comfortable as the husband of a dowager duchess?
“What’s amiss?”
“Another viscount has petitioned for membership in the club.” The gentlemen’s club in London was simply named Morecambe’s, nicknames notwithstanding.
Adam had the loveliest steady heartbeat. “How many is that?” Genie asked.
“This will be our fourth if we approve of his application. He’s an earl’s heir.”
Three months ago, Genie might have scampered off to the nearest copy of Debrett’s, where she’d research the courtesy lord in question and all of his family connections. The Farmdale library held no such volume.
“Is he a decent fellow?” she asked.
“Seems to be. Two current members vouch for him. He pays the trades on time.”
Genie struggled into a sitting position as an inquisitive lamb sniffed at the blanket. “But you don’t want his business?”
“I want the business of any decent man who appreciates a place to spend time with others of like temperament, but this man will be an earl someday. Viscounts can be relatively unassuming, but an earl…”
Genie waited, because Adam considered his words and what he had to say mattered.
“Life was simpler when I could resent the entire peerage and dukes in particular,” he said. “We’ve been invited over to Chatsworth for dinner.”
“His Grace of Devonshire is a lovely man,” Genie said. “He’s a bit hard of hearing, but a great patron of the arts and sciences.” He was also their neighbor, by country reckoning, and a genial host.
The lamb grew bolder, sniffing at the wicker basket on one corner of the blanket.
“He’s a duke,” Adam said. “This part of the country is positively infested with them. I’m an architect.”
“My favorite architect, who is wrestling with some conundrum which you’ve yet to share with me.”
Adam distracted the lamb by scratching its woolly forehead. “Devonshire’s invitation included a note. He’d like my opinion on some renovations.”
“Ah.”
He scooped up the lamb and cradled the lucky little creature against his chest. “Am I a tradesman, a respected professional, a neighbor?”
“What would you like to be?”
“Mostly, I’d like to be your husband.” The lamb leaped off of Adam’s lap and gamboled away. He watched it go, and Genie took the lamb’s place.
“You are concerned,” she said, pushing his hair back from his brow, “that a gentleman does not engage in trade, much less in commercial undertakings. As an architect, you were a gentleman with a profession. Now you are in the middle of Derbyshire, with me.”
“My favorite place to be.”
He meant that, and he’d given up much to make it so. “Adam, you don’t have to choose. You don’t have to remain penned here at Farmdale like one of my rams. You can be Devonshire’s neighbor and consult on his renovations. Chatsworth is a perpetual work in progress and enormous. If the duke isn’t modifying his house, he’s tinkering with the stables, the gardens, the conservatory, the landscaping, the fountains… I’m sure you will assist him if you can, and if he offers a professional arrangement, and you’d enjoy the work, then do it.”
Adam passed her a clover plucked from the grass. “For pay? You would not object to my taking commissions?”
He’d found a lucky clover, hadn’t even had to hunt for it.
“You trained long and hard to develop your expertise, and Devonshire has pots of money. Why should you work for free? I don’t intend to give my wool away.” That Adam would trouble over this decision and discuss it with her was all the morning gift Genie would ever need.
“I never want you to regret marrying me, Genie. You learned to move in circles I never aspired to reach, and I…”
“You love to build things.” He’d built her the most marvelous barn, for example, with winches and trapdoors and chutes and clever lifts.
“Mostly, I want to build a life with you. I’ll have a look at the renovations at Chatsworth.” He fanned his hand over the grass again, as if he could feel the four-leaf clovers. “Worksop apparently needs some interior redesign as well.”
“That’s the family seat of the Dukes of Norfolk.”
Adam was smiling. “His Grace of Newcastle has invited us to Clumber House at a time of your convenience. I think your peers are rallying to your cause, madam.”
Genie tackled him, because what were blankets—and husbands—for? “They are rallying to your cause, you daft man. Not all dukes are like Seymouth or Dunstable. They are the exceptions, in fact. Most dukes are simply gentlemen with complicated estates.”
“I am a gentleman,” Adam said, frothing Genie’s skirts up. “I am your gentleman.”
He was so much more than that. He was Genie’s partner in every regard, her lover, her companion, her favorite architect.
“You will be very busy,” she said, kissing his nose. “I might have to hire you to ensure our home is kept in good repair.”
“You will come with me on reconnaissance,” he said. “I don’t intend to take on these dukes without you.”
“We’ll take them on together, just as you assist me to manage my flocks, and—oh, Mr. Morecambe.” Adam had situated himself behind her, so they lay spooned on the blanket. His hand had found its way between her legs, and Genie’s thoughts went scampering off like spring lambs.
“We should reply to Devonshire’s invitation, Mrs. Morecambe.” He called her that when they were private, and it was Genie’s favorite endearment. “Also to Newcastle and Norfolk. You’ll help me compose my replies?”
“No dukes right now, please, Adam. Not on my picnic blanket, please.” What he could do with his big, talented hands…
He leaned closer and kissed her temple. “No dukes for now, then, only the architect of your fondest wishes and most intimate dreams.”