by Baird Wells
Ty shrugged, filling his plate. “He wanted to know what we plan to do next.”
Of course he did, now that he had discovered them. Discovered, she amended silently, but not dismissed.
“Not a thing!” The force of the words surprised even her.
Ty froze with a bite halfway to his lips. “For Whitehall, you mean.”
“At all.”
“Something,” he protested.
“No.” Nothing more than enjoying each other.
“Egypt?”
She stuffed her mouth with a bite of chicken, sliding a little relish onto her fork.
“The tombs,” he insisted, smacking the tabletop. “Pyramids, Olivia!”
“Oof! Someone is feeling cheated out of the Africa campaign.”
“The Sphinx, Olivia.”
Resting a hand on his, she squeezed. “They're not going anywhere, Tyler.”
“Its nose is already gone,” he muttered to his plate.
“Not going anywhere,” she repeated, chuckling and pressing her belly, “and just now neither am I.”
His frown was dramatic. “Sounds like a recipe for absolute mayhem.”
She arched a brow. “Meaning what?”
Ty pushed back his plate, tossing his napkin along after. “An idle woman.” He shuddered.
“Who says I will be idle?” She menaced him with her butter knife, laughing.
“Truly, Dimples. What will you do with yourself?” He scooted back and rested his boot on the hearth. “Needle work? Trying on hats?” He made a ridiculous arc with his hand. “Teaching a small dog to jump over books?” Ty shook his head. “No. I cannot imagine it.”
Neither could she, and for a moment laughter gripped her. “I don't know,” she mused, finally catching her breath. “I thought perhaps we could have an adventure or two where nothing catches on fire.”
Ty grinned and took her hand. “Let's not be too hasty.”
EPILOGUE
The Paris of Olivie de LaValette's youth is, like the girl herself, gone.
She would live to see another king and two reincarnations of Napoleon before her death in 1871, and more upheaval in her beloved country which would last until the dawn of the twentieth century.
In 1848, Napoleon III began a campaign to modernize Paris, a city paralyzed by revolution and neglect for over half a century. He commissioned Charles Marville, photographer by trade, to document the city as it stood before the improvements. Marville’s images are all that remain of a Paris lost. His photographs of the Tuileries are a glimpse through time, showing the grand palace before it was burned out and later demolished to prevent inciting further hate.
Public squares were renamed, the guillotine packed away, and misery-soaked streets paved over. Paris washed away some of its stain, and though Olivia vowed never to speak well of any emperor bearing the name Napoleon, she was as relieved as any modern, young artiste to see the rotting bits gone. At last, her city thrived.
There was little time, however, to absorb the changes, and even less to enjoy them. Sir Tyler and Lady Burrell welcomed little Madeline and her brother Arthur Webb Burrell in quick succession, turning three years in Paris into a whirlwind.
Egypt came next, in order to mollify Ty and stop his grumbling. Tombs, the Sphinx, it was just a brief stay, but with so much to explore, two years passed, and suddenly there was baby Charlotte.
When they did finally settle in London, the calling cards and invitations were endless. The first to be answered was from Olivia’s half-brother Jules, who brought a portrait of their father as a gift. It was hung in the quiet comfort of the blue parlor beside the painting of her mother.
Madeline wed Lord William Webb in 1838, after months of both families chewing their nails that the stubborn pair would never come around. On Kate’s clever suggestion, Ty forbade his daughter from marrying a Webb. The engagement was almost immediate, and the marriage lasted fifty years.
Arthur served in the Royal Navy, remaining at sea when his commission was up. An adventurer and cartographer, his acquaintances were surprised to find him spending time mapping the hinterlands of Angola. His parents were not surprised to discover he’d been secretly recruited by Portugal to spy while he was there. He quit the assignment in 1855, persuaded by a Portuguese siren that they’d been too long on land.
Charlotte, more like her mother than either would admit, headed West, vowing that there was too much adventure in life to be married and have babies. Her vow lasted until she crossed pistols with a handsome Weaverville sheriff who convinced her to put down roots in his beloved California. Eventually.
Ty and Olivia were thrilled to have children at every corner of the world, satisfying their own thirst for adventure. Now and then, when they stood still long enough, Grayfield would appear and hint that perhaps Whitehall was the cure for their restlessness. Ty and Olivia politely declined. Despite the unrest in France, those days were done.
As for Ethan Grayfield’s hand in matters, that is a story for another time...
The Author Wishes to Acknowledge:
My four children: War, Famine, Pestilence, and Tantrum.
Kirstin ‘Frigg’ Boyd
My parents, for starting all this trouble
Kristen Buchta
Michael J. Sullivan, for those first five pages
Stacey Pickens
Mike Doody & Rhonda Gardner, my phenomenal English teachers
Robin ‘b’ Billiet
Sleep, even though we never hang out anymore
My reviewers, for being gracious, and of course, my readers. Each person who gave their time to one of my books, shared it with a friend, or sent me their thoughts. You are the wish-granters.
Nancy Congdon & Mimi Sandbom, two amazing grandmas
And to Lori Who Doesn’t Believe in Time Travel, for teaching me that it’s both healthy and necessary to tell some people to sod off
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