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by Mary Jo Putney


  Two dark-skinned sailors waited at the foot. At a word from Simon they boarded the Lady Liberty to get Judith’s baggage.

  Everyone loves a parade, and Simon and Judith’s progress along the quay rapidly attracted an audience of sailors, small boys, stevedores, and other assorted denizens of the port. Half the population of Belfast seemed to be present, smiling, waving, and making graphic comments calculated to bring a blush to any cheek.

  Judith herself was such a hot, bright red that she feared her skin might never return to its normal hue. She really ought to demand that Simon put her down, but being held in his strong arms was too wonderful to end. She felt foolish, conspicuous, and quite absurdly in love.

  As they reached a ship called the Star of India and Simon carried her up the gangway, the crowd on the quay broke into a roar of applause and whistles that must have been audible in Dublin. Once they reached the deck, Simon set Judith on her feet. He turned and waved to the crowd before whisking her below decks.

  Breathless with laughter, Judith said, “I will never dare set foot in Belfast again!”

  Simon smiled with impish tenderness. “I daresay I won’t be very good at romantic gestures, so I wanted to make at least one you’ll always remember.”

  “I will certainly never forget that!’’ Judith said fervently.

  Simon guided her to a sizable cabin where Adam and Antonia waited. While Adam watched with warm approval, her former employer flew across the cabin to give Judith a hug.

  “Thank heaven everything has worked out,” Antonia said joyously. “We were all being so noble and self-sacrificing that we would never have got sorted out properly if it hadn’t been for you, Judith. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  Her friend looked up at Simon. “I have my reward,” she said softly, her gray eyes glowing with happiness.

  While Simon presented Judith to Captain Langdon, Antonia returned to her cousin and twined her arm in his. “Adam, is it true that sea captains can perform marriages?”

  He looked thoughtful. “I’m really not sure. The ship would have to be on the open sea. Even then, since large amounts of property are involved, it would be wiser to have a ceremony performed by a regular vicar, so there would never be a question about the legality.”

  “We could have a second ceremony, just to be on the safe side. After all, the special licenses will be waiting at Thornleigh.” Her voice dropped, husky with promise. “But since we have a perfectly good ship and sea captain available, why don’t we have him marry us on the voyage to Liverpool? The present sleeping arrangements leave a great deal to be desired.”

  Adam’s gray-green eyes met hers, and the rest of the world faded into insignificance as laughter and desire blazed between them. “You’re right, Tony. we’ve waited quite long enough,” he agreed, his voice husky with intimate promise. He glanced up at Captain Langdon. “Shall we be off? The sooner we’re on the open sea, the better.”

  With a marvelous disregard for decorum, Adam bent to kiss his intended. As Antonia returned his kiss, she thought it strange that the perfect lover she had dreamed of had been there all the time, as playmate, friend, and refuge. Had it not been for his near-fatal accident and amnesia, she might never have come to see Adam as the passionate, devoted man she had longed for.

  Truly God worked in mysterious ways.

  * * * *

  Captain Langdon found the voyage back to Liverpool rather tedious, but he accepted it philosophically. One could hardly expect two pairs of newlyweds to be good company.

  In White’s, the long-standing wagers on who would wed the scrumptious and unattainable Lady Fairbourne were all canceled because no one had bet on the man who actually won her. Very bad of the fellow to spoil their sport, it was agreed.

  News of the marriage of Lord Launceston caused massive weeping and wailing among those unmarried female members of the ton who had had the good fortune to meet him. While his lordship’s interests were admittedly eccentric, it was universally acknowledged that Lord Byron couldn’t hold a candle to him.

  James Malcolm was shocked speechless when he received the letter saying that Adam Yorke had decided to invest in his company. The engineer had never really expected the nabob to be so tolerant over the fact that the steam engine had almost killed him. Yorke was a real gent, and no mistake.

  The letter of intent included a line saying that the accident had paid unexpected dividends, whatever that meant.

  Ian Kinlock was not a man to follow society news, and it was purest chance that he spotted familiar names in the newspaper that had been used to wrap the dinner his landlady had put up for him.

  Flattening the greasy sheet, he saw that Lady Fairbourne of Thornleigh had lately wed Adam Yorke. The item below that informed the world that Lord Launceston of Abbotsden had married Mrs. Judith Winslow, and the couple would be residing in Kent and London.

  Kinlock threw back his head and roared with laughter, releasing the tension of a hard day’s work at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. A pity he would never know exactly what had happened, but he had a feeling that when the music had stopped, everyone had ended up with the right partner.

  Antonia’s aunt, Lady Forrester, read the news of her niece’s marriage with initial shock, followed by a thoughtful silence. Over the years, she had sometimes wondered if she had done the right thing to tell Lord Spenston about his daughter’s youthful involvement with her cousin.

  Certainly it had looked like a most unsuitable match at the time, but Adam Yorke had been a decent lad, for all his birth and lack of fortune. Antonia had never been the same after her cousin went to India. Still, Adam Yorke had come back a nabob and far more eligible than when he left, so everything had turned out for the best. Lady Forrester took full credit for the satisfactory outcome.

  Antonia gave the telescope to Simon and Judith as a wedding present. As she pointed out with invincible logic, it wasn’t the sort of thing you could give just anyone.

  To Ruth Cohen, who is everything an agent should be, and more.

  Copyright © 1989 by Mary Jo Putney

  Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451162676)

  Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  Electronic sales: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

 

 

 


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