She blinked burning eyes, and picked peas faster, appreciating having something to occupy her fingers if not her mind. Her thoughts could not help straying to Perry. It was best he knew the truth now, of course. She could not have kept it from him forever. He had to know she was the one who had instigated the events that led to his disinheritance.
Inadvertent or not, she had ruined his life.
She closed her eyes in an awful, squeezing blink. Goodness. That thought rang terribly in her mind.
Opening them, she got back to the task of picking peas.
She had it in her mind to prepare a few vegetable tarts, some of which she would deliver piping hot to the Blankenships to thank them for their annual hosting of the ball. She should have already done so. It was the kind of thing her mother had done and she tried her best to live up to her mother’s example—the spreading of salacious rumors notwithstanding.
“My bowl’s full,” Mrs. Garry announced, straightening and stretching the kinks out of her back.
Imogen opened her mouth to respond when she heard the distant shout of her name. She stopped and glanced around.
Young Teddy from the Henry farm to the east of them was running with a vengeance through the field, his skinny legs lifting and cutting through the tall grass.
He called out wildly, his voice cracking on the air. “Miss Bates! Miss Bates!”
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, peering into the direction of the afternoon sun. “Teddy? What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Garry stepped beside her, muttering, “I can wager what’s wrong.”
Imogen nodded grimly, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Indeed. She could, too.
“It’s Ma! He’s killing her! He’s really killing her this time.”
At this panicked confirmation of her fears, she dropped the bowl of peas and grabbed her skirts.
“Miss Imogen!” Mrs. Garry squawked.
She clambered over the fence of her property—something she had done countless times as a girl, but older now and weighed down in her skirts, she executed it with far less grace.
“Come, Miss Bates! Hurry. He’s really going to kill her this time!”
“Fetch the constable!” she shouted back to her housekeeper.
“Miss Imogen! No! Come back! You can’t go alone!”
She didn’t obey. She didn’t stop. The Henry family lived under a perpetual dark cloud. If Teddy was running to her for help, then things were past dire. Help was needed.
She made good time, speeding across the field, trailing after Teddy who had quite a good lead on her. She was quick, but not as quick as a fourteen-year-old lad.
She clambered over another fence, this time falling inelegantly on the other side and scraping her elbow before hopping back up to her feet.
Her arms pumped at her sides as she raced the rest of the way to the Henry farm. By the time the house came into view, Teddy was already there.
She spotted the lad as he latched onto his burly father. He’d plastered himself like a little monkey to the bigger man, his spindly legs latched around his thick torso.
It was chaos.
Mr. Henry jerked around wildly in the small yard in front of the house, trying to toss his son from his back to no avail. The smallest children sat in the dirt crying amid darting chickens and a barking dog and a few grunting hogs that had escaped their pen.
Mr. Henry was dragging his wife by the hair, his fingers buried deep in the strands, locked at the roots. She resembled a limp rag doll, scarcely struggling. Blood marked her face, dribbling from her nose. One eye was swollen shut. Her arms curled around her swollen belly protectively.
“Mr. Henry! Stop!” Imogen charged into the fray.
He lifted bleary, bloodshot eyes to Imogen. “Mind yer business, lass! This is a family matter.”
Imogen clamped down on his arm, shaking it in an attempt to free his grip. “Unhand her!”
“Stop it, Pa!” Teddy bellowed.
Mr. Henry whirled around with a roar, effectively dislodging both Teddy and Imogen.
Imogen dropped down to the ground beside the boy.
It was madness. Mrs. Henry was sobbing, pleading with her husband. “Please, please, Archie.”
He gave her another shake by her hair, snarling at her. “Wot did I tell ye about disrespecting me?”
Valiant Teddy was not even close to giving up his defense of his mother. He started lashing out with his legs, kicking at his father. He landed one solid kick to the older man’s knee.
Mr. Henry howled and released his wife, clutching his leg. “Ye little bastard!” He raised a thick arm to strike his son, but Imogen dove in the way, covering the boy, shielding him with her body.
Pain exploded in her back, just below her shoulder. She cried out, arching against the impact.
“Pa!” Teddy looked over her shoulder with a stricken expression. “No! Don’t hurt her, Pa!”
Imogen clutched the boy tighter and braced herself for another blow.
It never came.
There was a loud grunt and scuffling behind her.
She cracked open one eye and then the next.
There was no pain radiating through her body. She was . . . fine. Unharmed.
Loosening her arms from Teddy, she peered around her—just in time to see Perry lowering his fists and standing over Mr. Henry who was writhing in agony on the ground. Clearly Perry had used those fists to knock the man down.
“Perry?” she whispered.
He looked like an avenging angel, his dark hair windblown, his gray eyes like a storm as his chest lifted high and deep on serrated breaths. His fists uncurled, relaxing at his sides as the threat subsided.
He moved from where he stood over the wretched man and crouched down beside her. “Imogen?” He brushed a hand down her face, his gaze assessing her, roaming over her body, searching for evidence of injury. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, motioning to Mrs. Henry. “She is the one who needs attention.”
Teddy and the other children surrounded Mrs. Henry. The constable and Mrs. Garry arrived in a wagon and joined the children to fuss over Mrs. Henry.
Perry didn’t leave Imogen’s side. Several minutes passed and he said, “She is well cared for now and you look quite pale.” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Allow me to escort you home.”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded shakily.
“I came for you and spotted your frantic housekeeper. She told me where you had gone.”
Imogen watched as the constable shackled a foul-tempered Mr. Henry and secured him in the back of the wagon.
Mrs. Garry harangued them through it all, insisting they lock Mr. Henry away forever. “He’s a menace! Not just to his family, but the entire community. What would he have done to my Miss Bates if Mr. Butler had not arrived in time?”
“We will handle him, Mrs. Garry,” the constable gruffly assured her. “This is one time too many for his shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans,” Imogen murmured under her breath. It seemed a very insignificant word to describe the horribleness she had just witnessed. What would have happened if Teddy had not gone for help? If she had not arrived? If Perry had not?
Mrs. Garry helped Mrs. Henry and her children into the house. She looked back over her shoulder and called, “I will tend to Mrs. Henry here. Can you manage, Miss Imogen?”
Imogen opened her mouth, but before she could speak Perry called out, “I have her, Mrs. Garry. Fret not.”
Imogen looked at him sharply. “You have me?”
He stared back down at her. “Yes. I’ll escort you home.”
With a sniff, she started walking, trying not to wince at the tenderness in her back. “I can get home on my own.”
He fell in beside her. “But I’d rather walk you.”
She released a snort of laughter. “I thought you were angry at me, Mr. Butler.”
“It’s Perry. Or did you forget?”
&n
bsp; How could she forget that? She fell silent as they continued through the tall grass. When they reached the fence, she stopped and gathered her skirts, ready to climb over. Before she realized his intent, he scooped her up in his arms and set her down on the other side of the fence.
“I’m capable of climbing a fence. I do it all the time.”
“But now you have me. I know you can do things, but you’ll have to forgive me for wanting to be there for you.”
She whirled around to face him, watching him as he vaulted the fence. “I do not have you. You despise me.”
“You do have me,” he immediately countered. “If you want me. And I don’t despise you. How could I? I’m in love with you.”
She stared at him in astonishment, searching for her voice. It took some time. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. She shook her head, reprimanding her heart to slow its sudden wild beating. “I destroyed your life, remember? I think that’s what you said.”
“That was badly done of me. I said many things I regret. Many things I didn’t mean. I was surprised, and I acted like an arse. Forgive me.”
She blinked in disbelief.
He went on, “It does not matter. Accident or not, I don’t even care. I’m not the duke, and I don’t care.”
Mystified, she shook her head. “Who even are you?”
“I’m the man in love with you.”
She staggered back a step. It was just as astonishing to hear that a second time. In love with me?
“Forgive me,” he said again. “Forgive me, Imogen.”
“Forgive you?” She blinked burning, tear-blurred eyes. “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course I do. You didn’t do anything wrong. Now say you forgive me, and let me love you.”
She ignored the treacherous little thrill wiggling through her, still frightened. None of this could be real. It could not be her reality.
“I can’t make you happy. I’m not what you want. I’m a poor vicar’s daughter. I don’t have anything to help restore you to your old life.”
He closed the distance between them then, his hands closing on her arms in a demonstration of sudden earnestness. “Don’t you understand? I didn’t even know who I was until I lost everything. It took losing everything to find me. To find you . . . and I could not be more grateful for that.”
She blinked several times, marveling at the tears springing from her eyes.
“I . . . I’m frightened,” she admitted.
Frightened of believing in them and trusting this.
Trusting what her heart was telling her to do.
His hands flexed on her arms. “Do you love me, Imogen Bates? Even a little?” His gray eyes scanned her face, devouring her, missing nothing.
She nodded slowly, choking back a sob. “I do. Of course. More than a little,” she sobbed.
He kissed her then. Swept her up in his arms and lifted her off her feet, kissing her and spinning her in a small circle.
She laughed joyously against his lips.
Even when he stopped spinning her, she still felt like she was flying.
They ended their kiss, and he rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath colliding on her lips. “Shall we go together to tell your father and ask for his blessing?”
“Of course. Then you won’t need to climb in and out of my window anymore.” She grinned. “As delightful as that was.”
“Perhaps I’ll surprise you every once in a while and do just that.”
“As long as you don’t have to sneak out before I wake up.”
“Oh, Imogen. I promise to be there beside you every morning for the rest of our lives.”
Epilogue
One year later . . .
The Hare and The Basket was bustling. As it was most nights.
Ever since Perry had purchased the place from Mr. Compton and renovated the main room, it had become quite the attraction for locals and those passing north and south, en route to either Scotland or London.
The place was a smashing success and Perry was already looking for ways in which to expand. His next goal was to add a full-fledged restaurant next door, a fine dining establishment, connecting to the tavern. Given the profits he’d made from the tavern, he would not even require investors this time to help with the addition of a restaurant.
His ideas were endless and they filled him with continual excitement. Every morning he woke up early, thrilled to be alive.
Astonishing how many times a life could change.
He went from being an overprivileged duke to a man without station or wealth.
Now he was a successful entrepreneur. In love. Married. Eager to start every day.
Thurman was deep in conversation with a table of gentlemen by the fire. He opened a box, bowing forward to offer each of them a fine cigar.
Thurman had been another surprise in all of this.
While Perry’s mother had been shocked and decidedly not thrilled at his decision to buy the tavern from Mr. Compton and take it over, Thurman had merely listened, saying nothing. Until later.
A smile twitched Perry’s lips as he recalled his mother’s reaction. In truth, Perry could not guess which had shocked her more—her son becoming the proprietor of a tavern or his marrying Imogen Bates.
Thurman was not so scandalized.
A full day passed following Perry’s announcement that he was acquiring investors to help him take over The Hare and The Basket and he was giving up his quest for a wealthy heiress before Thurman cornered him.
After pressing Perry for more information on his plans for the tavern, his mother’s butler had requested the opportunity to go into business with Perry. It seemed he had a bit of a nest egg set aside, and he had always dreamed of having something for himself. He did not want to spend all of his life in service. He wanted to be his own man apparently. Just as Perry did.
Thurman had simply lacked an inspiring idea, but it did not take long for Perry’s budding inspiration to become his own, and Thurman brought his own value to their enterprise. His financial contribution was not the only benefit. His years in service gave him a unique perspective that Perry lacked. They made the perfect team.
Together, they dove into the renovation of the tavern. After a brief closure, The Hare and The Basket reopened under their ownership, grander than ever.
Perry ducked into the back office and slipped on his coat.
Thurman entered the room after him, cigar box tucked under his arm. “Off for the night?”
He nodded. “Dinner awaits.” At the mention of that, he asked, “You’re still dining with us on Thursday?”
“I would not miss it.”
Nodding, Perry bade him good-night and slipped out the back door of the building.
He rounded the side alley and came out the front, spotting his former valet, Carter, as he was about to enter the building.
“Mr. Butler,” the young man greeted, stepping forward to warmly shake his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Carter,” he returned. “Evening off?”
“Indeed, His Grace retired early for the night.”
“Ah, good for you. I hope the new duke is treating you well.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Carter nodded agreeably, but Perry knew if the new duke was not treating him well, Carter would not be the one to say it. He took his position as valet very seriously and never carried tales. Just one reason he was excellent at his job.
Carter’s gaze flicked to the front of the building. “I cannot tell you how nice it is to have such a fine establishment to come to when I’ve the free time. You’ve done wonders here.”
“Well, thank you. That was the goal. We wanted the tavern to serve as a comfortable refuge. I’m glad you’re enjoying the place.”
“Indeed.” Carter continued to nod agreeably. “I am so very glad you’ve found your footing and met with success.”
Perry grimaced slightly, well aware that when they had last parted his valet likely thought he would end up dead in a di
tch. He had not been in a good place at the time.
“Well, I am late for dinner. It was good to see you, Carter.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Please send my regards to your kind wife.”
“Indeed, I will.”
Carter’s gaze turned very thoughtful. “I was so very glad to hear of your marriage to the vicar’s daughter. Whoever would have thought that when . . .” His former valet’s voice faded. Clearly he did not know how to speak of Perry’s less than blissful past.
“When I lost everything?” Perry finished for him.
It was the simplest way to characterize the events that had transpired nearly two years ago. That time had been abysmal.
Carter ducked his head and nodded rather sheepishly.
Perry clapped him on the shoulder. “In truth, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He gestured around him, letting the vague motion encompass all the riches he had in life, both the physical and intangible.
Carter beamed. “I’m so very happy for you . . .” His voice faded yet again and Perry knew he still struggled with how to address him.
“Call me Perry,” he provided.
“Perry.” Carter nodded, looking much relieved.
Perry gave a final nod and motioned for him to continue inside the building. “Have a good evening.”
That said, Perry stepped forward and continued on, humming lightly under his breath as he strolled through the village amid the settling dusk.
The vicarage soon came into view ahead of him, the setting sun above the treetops gilding the ivy covering the front of the house and setting it gloriously afire.
Home.
He was aware that it would not be home forever, and he and Imogen had not so distant plans to build a house. His father-in-law was beginning to entertain the notion of retiring from his post, so plans were in development. He and Imogen were already eyeing a certain property, and had made an appointment with a London architect so that they could begin on the designs for the house.
For now though, the vicarage was home.
Any place with Imogen was home. They had each other, and that was enough. More than enough. It was everything.
Together, they had everything.
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