Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel by Tessa Dare (26)

Epilogue

Years later

“She’s grown up well.” Julian propped his elbows on the fence rail. “Pretty thing, isn’t she?”

Morland and Ashworth turned to him, surprised.

“Where did you come from?” the duke asked. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

He doffed his hat and hung it on a fencepost. “I finished my business in York early.” To the duke, he said, “Remind me. How old is she now?”

“Turned three this past spring.” Morland’s voice was rich with pride.

“And the dark one?” Julian pointed. “He’s yours, too?”

“No, no,” the duke said. “He’s Claudia’s. Note the intractable spirit. Take care with him around your little ones. He’s been known to bite.”

He chuckled. “Why am I unsurprised?”

“What took you to York?” Ashworth asked. “Another mercantile venture?”

Julian nodded.

“How many does that make?”

“Eleven, all told. Our twelfth opens in Liverpool this autumn.”

He’d just come from the grand opening of the latest Aegis Emporium, a shop selling quality, ready-made clothing for the working man. The idea had come to him back during the war, when the military contracts were rolling in faster than he could fill them. Rather than custom-tailor each coat, they’d begun producing them in advance, based on the most common measurements. In recent years, Julian had adapted the process to civilian attire, making above-average clothing affordable to the average man.

It was honest trade, and worthwhile work. And thus far, a very lucrative venture.

He squinted. “Which one is yours, Ashworth? The big one under the tree?”

Ashworth nodded. “Only a yearling, but fast as a demon. I plan to sell him for racing, but Morland’s training him here for another year first.”

“Osiris left quite a legacy,” Julian mused.

Collective silence served as agreement, as the three of them stood there, leaning on the paddock fence and watching the ponies graze. The grand old stallion had died this past winter, but Osiris was survived by several colts, a good many fillies, and a lasting circle of friendship.

The summer sun warmed Julian’s face, and a light breeze lifted his hair. He was tempted to stay and rest, enjoying the fine Cambridgeshire afternoon and the simple pleasure of not talking with old friends.

Another day, perhaps. It had been two weeks since he’d last seen his family, and he didn’t want to wait two minutes more. He pushed off from the fence and retrieved his hat. “Where are the ladies and children?”

“Kiss it.”

Mary crossed her arms. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s the game,” Hugh insisted. “You have to kiss it.” He thrust the foul, squirming creature in her face and smacked his lips noisily. Behind him, Philip and Leo doubled with laughter.

Mary gave a little growl. Boys.

It was bad enough she had to share everything with Leo, but at least in Town, she had her own friends. Here on holiday at Braxton Hall, her choice of playmates was limited to boys or babies. Mary didn’t want to play with the babies. She wanted to play in Hugh and Philip’s splendid playhouse. It was built like a castle, with real doors and windows and furniture. But it was Hugh and Philip’s playhouse, which meant she had to pay for the privilege of enjoying it by playing along with the boys’ games.

On good days, they would let her play scullery maid to their Arthurian knights or galley wench to their pirates. In the little kitchen, she could spend happy hours weaving reeds into trivets and arranging flowers, whilst the boys dashed about with wooden daggers, looking ridiculous as anything.

Yesterday, they’d even crowned her Queen. But she must have enjoyed her power a little too much, for today she’d been demoted to Imprisoned Princess and confined to the hot, dusty turret. Hours now, and still they hadn’t rescued her. She’d all but decided to head back to the Hall to find a book, when up the ladder the boys clambered, red-faced and laughing.

And in possession of a toad.

“I will not kiss that thing. I’d rather stay imprisoned forever.” In other words, until dinner, which could not be far off. Her stomach rumbled.

“Beg for your freedom, then,” Hugh said. “Say, ‘Prithee, my lord.’”

She rolled her eyes. Hugh would never let them forget he was a duke’s son, and already Earl of Something-or-Other.

“See here,” said Philip. “Kiss the toad. Or we shan’t let you back in the playhouse again.”

Mary dug in her heels. That was one thing about always having to play with boys. A girl learned to be tenacious. “Go right ahead. My father will build me my own playhouse. Ten times grander than this old heap.”

Philip said smugly, “Your father’s not even here.”

“At least I have a father,” she shot back.

“My godfath—”

“Your godfather what?” she said, teasing. “Flew to the moon Thursday last?” Philip was always spinning wild, unbelievable tales about Mr. Faraday.

Don’t, her brother signed at her, his shoulders tight with anger. He’s my friend. It’s not kind.

A glance at Philip’s face told Mary she’d gone too far. The toad, she signed apologetically. Take it away.

Over the loud objections of his friends, Leo grabbed the toad and shoved it through the narrow turret window. She and Leo weren’t supposed to sign in front of those who couldn’t understand—it was rude, Mother always said. But at times a secret language came in useful.

“What’s this?” came a deep voice from below. “An Egyptian plague? Toads, falling from the sky.”

Mary and Leo’s gazes met. “Father!” they cried as one.

There was a mad scramble to climb down the ladder, which Mary won. She then set herself the task of climbing her father.

“Papa.” She clutched his neck and hugged tight, not even minding his rough whiskers. Even unshaven, he was much nicer to kiss than a toad. “The boys are horrid. They locked me in the turret.”

He laughed. “Well, and so I’ve come to rescue you.”

Leo stood close. He was a year younger, but he considered himself too grown up now for hugs and kisses, especially in front of his friends. He did accept a brisk rub on the head.

Mary wormed her hand downward, to her father’s side pocket. But before she could reach her prize, he set her on the ground. She and Leo had to do three sums each and correctly spell “hypotenuse” before he finally withdrew the packet of sweets.

“One last question,” he asked, holding the tantalizing treats just out of reach. “Where will I find your mother?”

“Oh, take care, darling!” Amelia rescued a chubby finger from a near miss with a thorn. She kissed the plump little hand in apology and herded her daughter back toward the mums. “Just the daisies, Claire. Only pick the daisies. Leave the roses to Mama.”

“I think I see someone coming.” From her seat beneath the canopy, Meredith looked up from fanning the blond infant slumbering in her lap. She peered into the distance. “Just there, over the rise.”

“Well, I know it won’t be our husbands.” Amelia snipped another rose. “I’d bet my last crock of winter pears, Spencer will keep Rhys at the stables all day. Perhaps it’s Claudia and Mr. Faraday, back from their walk.”

“No,” Meredith said, raising one hand to shade her brow. “I don’t think so. I only see one. But I’m glad to know those two are still fast friends.”

“So am I,” Amelia replied. Claudia had grown into full womanhood now, tall, curvaceous and—as ever—bold. Mr. Faraday seemed to have a gentling influence on her. “They exchange a great many letters. And Mr. Faraday takes his role as Philip’s godfather very seriously. He’s already planned out the boy’s schooling, from tutors to Eton to Oxford to a tour of cathedrals on the Continent. Both Philip and Hugh are terrifically fond of him.”

A thin wail rose up from beneath the canopy. With reluctance, Amelia put away her shears. Nap was over.

In Meredith’s lap, baby Charlotte squirmed, squalling and red-faced.

“I’m so sorry,” Meredith said, rising to her feet.

“Don’t be,” Amelia reached to gather her crying child. “It’s high time she awoke. Come to Mama, darling.”

She thought she glimpsed a flicker of emotion in Meredith’s eyes as her friend relinquished the fussing babe. After eight years of marriage, she and Rhys still remained childless. “It will be your turn soon,” she said softly, patting Charlotte on the back. “I’m certain of it.”

“I’m reasonably certain of it, too.” Meredith smiled. “It will be my turn in November, if the midwife can be believed.”

Amelia’s startled cry of delight set off another round of baby Charlotte’s wails. And the little one was most displeased to be squashed in the middle of a hug.

“I’m so happy for you. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

The corner of Meredith’s mouth tugged. “So many times, we’ve thought … we’ve hoped … only for naught in the end. Don’t tell Rhys I’ve told you. He’s so oddly superstitious.”

“But you’re certain now?”

“I think so.” Meredith’s eyes misted, and she pressed a hand to her belly. “Does it feel like a little frog? Kicking around inside?”

“Yes. That’s precisely how it feels.” Amelia hugged her again. “I’m so happy for you. You and Rhys will be wonderful parents.”

“You’re expecting? That’s brilliant.” The deep voice startled them both.

“Why, Julian,” Meredith said, releasing Amelia and stepping back. “So it was you I saw coming over the ridge.”

“I suppose it must have been.” After tipping his hat, he reached for Amelia’s hand, bowed over it, and kissed it lightly. “Your Grace.” He then went through each of the others in turn, kissing hands. “Lady Ashworth. Little Lady Charlotte.” Then, crouching beside a clump of daisies with all seriousness, “Lady Claire.”

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Amelia said.

“I was able to conclude my business a bit early. I met with your husbands over by the stables.”

She laughed. “I could have guessed that you would.”

He turned to Meredith. “Ashworth didn’t let on a thing about your good news, however.”

“It’s meant to be a secret yet,” Meredith said. “Don’t tell him you know.”

Julian’s mouth tipped as he considered. “I’ll keep your secret if you give me an answer.”

“Oh?” Meredith’s brows arched. “To what question?”

He spread his arms wide. “Where, on this grand, magnificent, sprawling estate is my wife?”

Lily took a cautious step to her right. Her bare toes squelched in spongy mud, and the knotted hem of her skirt swirled atop the rushing stream.

Bending at the waist, she grasped a handful of watercress and pulled by the stems. She shook the leaves free of excess water before adding them to the basket threaded over her wrist. Just a few more bunches, and she would call it enough.

A brilliant blue dragonfly zipped past, darting from one patch of sunlight to another as it hovered above the creek. Lily watched, delighted with the creature’s iridescent beauty and graceful speed. The dragonfly made a sudden streak to the left. She turned her head to follow its path—

And spied her husband standing on the riverbank, one shoulder propped against a beech tree. She was stunned. She hadn’t expected him until tomorrow.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Not long.”

She turned to face him. Lord, he was dangerously handsome. Unshaven, rumpled, bronzed from a day of travel in the sun. He’d stripped off his coat and wore it slung over his shoulder on the crook of one strong, talented finger. His cravat, if he’d been wearing one, was gone.

The stream’s brisk current lapped at the backs of her knees. Her mouth watered.

He tossed his coat over a branch and advanced toward her. “You,” he signed, “are very hard to find.”

She swallowed hard. Then lamely lifted her basket. “I’m gathering watercress.”

“So I see.” He came closer, plunging right into the stream, boots and all. As he neared, he drew a deep breath. “You smell of it, too. Green and peppery and fresh.”

“I’ve missed you,” she told him. And she had, every hour of every day.

“Nowhere near as much as I’ve missed you.” His throat worked as he swept her with a hungry gaze, from her loosely plaited hair to the froth swirling and eddying about her bare legs. “I’m going to kiss you, right here in the water. And then I’m going to make love to you on the riverbank.”

“That sounds lovely.”

He reached for her basket of watercress and unthreaded it from her wrist, stretching to place it safely on the riverbank. Then his hands went to the ribbon ties of her straw hat. He unknotted the bow beneath her chin and tossed the whole business aside.

Then … at last … he reached for her.

He touched one hand to her cheek and released a deep, full-body sigh. “Lily.”

A shiver swept her, all the way from the cool stream’s surface to her sun-warmed nape. She trembled. So absurd. He was her husband of more than eight years. Most days, she felt she knew him better than she knew herself.

Still, she trembled.

They smiled at one another as they slowly leaned forward, taking their time easing into the kiss. Because by now, they both knew better than to rush. It was drudgery, being apart for long weeks. But it was magic, reuniting after long weeks apart. A mere glance was exciting. The first brush of skin against skin was pure exhilaration. The first taste of each other was an exquisite blend of the familiar and the wild.

And wherever they were—be it London, or York, or the middle of a stream in Cambridgeshire—this first kiss meant they’d come home.