EPILOGUE
Word has it that Gabriel Sinclair, our favorite Rogue Runner, has wed the scandalous widow of the Earl of Wolverston. We’d like to say this is the last time we’ll ever write about Jemma Gregory Forster Sinclair, but we all know that with this family, anything is possible.
-Whispers from Lady X, July 1817
Monmorte, Essex
July, 1817
One year and ten days, give or take, since the death of the Earl of Wolverston
It rained again.
As the Year Without a Summer faded into another cold, wet year, Jemma had come to associate the Church of All Souls with that ever-present downpour from the sky. So much had changed in the last year, but there was still the wet grass at graveside, seeping into the thin muslin of her lilac walking dress as she knelt before Philip’s grave marker.
“Rosemary for remembrance,” she murmured, setting down a fresh bouquet of rosemary sprigs and lilies. “Not that I ever needed it to remember you.”
“What’s that, dear?” Gabriel asked. He held the umbrella over her head, saving her from most of the rain.
“I was thinking of how we handed out rosemary sprigs at Philip’s funeral.” Jemma pushed herself up from the ground, coming to stand next to Gabriel.
He slid an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Together, they had made this trip to Philip’s grave thrice in the last year. Once, to tell Philip that David had been arrested and awaited sentencing. Finally, they had fulfilled their promise: they’d found Philip’s killer, and made him pay for ending his life so prematurely. It did not lessen the pain of his loss, but it gave them closure.
The second visit had been a month later, to tell him about their courtship. Jemma was thankful Gabriel hadn’t questioned her desire to seek Philip’s blessing—even if he couldn’t ever give it. But visiting Philip had made her feel like she could move on, while still remembering the life she’d had with him. Given Jemma’s status as a widow, it had been easier to keep their relationship out of the scandal sheets—there were few events she could attend while in mourning, and Gabriel had no desire to rejoin that part of society. While they spent much of their time together at Wolverston Hall, he still kept his own flat, and returned to it in the evenings. They looked at the year of mourning as time to get to know each other even more.
And lastly, they’d come to update him on David and the Wolverston estate. Given his status as a peer, David would not face the hangman’s noose or spend time in Newgate. The Marquess of Marlburg had argued strongly for David to spend the rest of his life in an asylum for the criminally insane, and the magistrate had granted his request. It was not the exact justice Jemma and Gabriel had wanted, but it was something. The Wolverston estate, meanwhile, was being handled by the Forster family’s solicitor.
“I miss him, still,” Gabriel said.
“As do I.” Jemma reached out, tracing the engraving of his name on the headstone. Philip Forster, Earl of Wolverston. Beloved husband and friend. She’d insisted on adding the “friend” part, even though Georgina had said at the time it wasn’t necessary.
But she’d wanted a memorial to the man she’d loved, not as a soul mate, but as a dear, dear friend.
The man who had led her to the love of her life.
Gabriel sighed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “It makes me determined not to waste a moment of the time we have left.”
“That sounds wonderful to me.” Jemma looped her hand in his, her bright sapphire ring shining as the sun burst free from the clouds. “Shall we tell him, then?”
Gabriel smiled back at her. “It’s your turn, I think. I told him about our courtship.”
“Aye. You thanked him for hiding that letter in my clippings box, which again, I second, Philip.” She took a step forward, Gabriel following her with the umbrella. Dropping down on her knees again, she leaned her head against the cold stone. She placed a quick, chaste kiss to the marker, as she had to Philip’s cheek so many times before they were married.
Drawing back, she held her hand outstretched, as if he could see the ring. “We were married this morning, Philip. We wanted you to know.”
“Felicity suggested we have the ceremony in the cemetery to include you, but I thought that might be a tad morose,” Gabriel piped up, with a wide grin. Her friends had adopted him as one of their own, and Nicholas had declared him family.
Jemma smiled, remembering Philip’s cousin’s words of approval. If you were good enough for Philip, you’re certainly good enough for me. She didn’t think she’d seen Gabriel ever look so delighted to have another man—a duke, nonetheless—clasp his back and declare they ought to go to the club sometime.
“It would have kept Georgina from attending, though,” Jemma said. David’s arrest and institutionalization had sobered Georgina, but it had not completely removed her vicious tongue. In her own way, Georgina was in mourning too, for the man she’d always thought David was.
But Jemma would let Nicholas handle his sister’s grief. She had far, far too much to do these days. She and Claire had joined together to start a school for the children of St. Giles. If they were successful, they hoped to extend to the East End and Jacob’s Island. Meanwhile, Nicholas and Teddy were committed to trying to advance poor law reform in the House of Lords, and Gabriel had recently received a commendation for his work with the Runners.
Together, Jemma and Gabriel worked to build a future. They had neither title nor vast fortune, but they were happy. They would make their home in Wolverston Hall, the place where they had both spent some of their happiest days, and where they had fought a killer and won.
Their lives were on the edge of scandal, but that was how they liked it.