Joy surged through him, and he kissed her fiercely, over and over in relief and love and anticipation of the delightfully and thoroughly unconventional life they would share. “So, you’ll marry me on February 1st then? Be England’s premier countess chemist?”
Louisa laughed. “As you said, it is the obvious and fitting conclusion to such a momentous experiment.”
It was. And damnation, he couldn’t wait to start the next one.
Epilogue
London, late February 1815
“I just wanted to say you did a magnificent job at the christening, Lady Trentham.”
Louisa raised an eyebrow at Caroline as they stood by the window of Forsyth House’s main parlor and enjoyed some early afternoon sunshine. Spring was finally on its way, thank heavens. Soon when she attempted an experiment in the adorable little garden outhouse that George and Howard had constructed her, she and Belinda wouldn’t be risking frostbitten extremities. Well, not that her maid-companion risked much, especially since she’d met a widowed ex-soldier. The pair were quite adorably awkward with each other, but everyone had high hopes that Belinda would at last know some happiness of her own.
“Why thank you, Lady Westleigh. It was certainly a physically and mentally taxing task, to hold a tiny infant while the reverend did his duty with the holy oil. But I stood firm. So did my husband. And Stephen’s cousin for that matter, although her duty of adjusting the christening gowns wasn’t quite so arduous.”
“I’m proud of you both. And dear Lady Samantha,” said Caroline, as they both glanced over to where the younger, pretty, curly-haired blonde stood talking to the dowager. “My greatest fear was a baby being dropped, having to summon Dr. Murray, and his head imploding at reading the note. But I have been proved righteous in my choice of godparents.”
“So very righteous. Little Lady Olivia and Lady Serena were in the best of hands.”
Caroline narrowed her gaze. “You were holding back laughter at their names the whole time. Admit it.”
“Not at all. They are beautiful choices,” said Louisa, her lips twitching.
“I tried to convince Stephen that giving them tranquil names wouldn’t make a whit of difference to their future, but he was adamant. It was almost like someone, or should I say two someones, teased a brand new father to the edge of madness with talk of nursery catapults and pet roosters who could be trained to fetch hartshorn.”
Louisa gasped. “Wait. You were foxing that night? I am both furious at you and immensely proud. I honestly thought you were asleep.”
“I know,” said Caroline dryly. “As did my husband. When I am given the official nod to resume marital relations, Stephen is going to learn exactly what I thought of his comment on twins being easy to deliver. Oh, will he learn.”
“Come on,” said Louisa, her shoulders shaking with giggles. “Be merciful. He was rather a bundle of strained nerves. Also, I’m not quite sure how you could best the magnificent tirades you unleashed while in labor.”
“I may have settled on a few of those while face-first in a chamber pot. Or waddling the hallways. You have a lot to look forward to, Lady Trentham. Much as it pains me to admit it, I think the cretin will make a most adequate father. Look how good he is with the girls.”
Louisa’s gaze shifted to George, who was perched on a chaise and cradling the two babies in his lap. Both were staring up at him in rapt fascination as he spoke to them in low tones. “You aren’t wondering exactly what he might be saying to his nieces?”
Caroline hesitated, her eyes widening. “Oh God. Do me a favor and rescue my children. Stephen wants me to go and undertake my duty conversation with weedy cousin Clarence.”
Nodding solemnly, Louisa turned and stealthily made her way over to the other side of the parlor. George looked far too handsome as usual, but nothing tripled a huge, strapping man’s appeal like him tenderly holding tiny infants. It was almost enough to stir up maternal craving in herself, although they were both quite happy as doting aunt and uncle right now. Thankfully she hadn’t gotten pregnant the night of the ball, and they’d decided to be careful, wanting to enjoy married life and learn all the duties of being an earl and countess, not to mention an employer and landlord, before welcoming children.
“And that, my little poppets,” said George, just as she approached from the left, “is how one picks locks. Next time I shall instruct you on the finer points of tying sheets together so you might escape captivity. Any questions?”
Both babies gurgled and waved their tiny fists, and Louisa burst out laughing. “That sounds remarkably like pure wickedness, Lord Trentham. Your sister was right to be concerned.”
“Me, Lady Trentham?” replied her husband innocently, leaning over and kissing her cheek as she settled herself close to him on the chaise. “I am merely spending quality time with Olivia and Serena. By the by, they whispered to me that because they love their papa they will tolerate their birth names, but secretly would prefer to be called Trouble and Mischief.”
Louisa shook her head. “You are going to get us banished permanently from Forsyth House. We can’t leave Lady Samantha all alone in godparent duties.”
George sighed. “You are right. That poor chit has more than enough to contend with.”
“Really? Apart from being twenty and on the verge of making a long-delayed come out, something which would send any sane woman sprinting for the hills?”
“Much more. Lady Samantha has been locked away in some third-rate school up in Yorkshire for most of her life, firstly as a student, then as a teacher. I understand from Stephen that it was only just before Christmas that Jane finally managed to convince her brother and sister-in-law to allow Lady Samantha to come to London. Although the dowager rather than the chit’s parents will arrange and pay for her come out.”
“Remind me who the dowager’s brother is again? I don’t think I’ll ever fully grasp the peerage.”
“The Earl of Claremont,” said George, his lips curling in distaste.
Louisa’s jaw dropped as she stole another glance across the room at Lady Samantha Buchanan. Bloody hell. How could such a sweet and friendly, charmingly clumsy woman be the daughter of a complete scapegrace like Claremont? The earl was a drunken fool, and the countess no better, a twit equally renowned for her terrible taste in fashion, and her numerous affairs always ended by a volatile public argument. It was said no place in London was sacred when the countess wished to discard a lover, not even a church or modiste.
“No! Even I’ve heard of him. Ugh. That poor dear. Lady Samantha shouldn’t worry, though. The dowager, Caro, and I will personally attend to anyone who is unkind to her. No doubt the London Lords will stand guard also.”
“A little gunpowder, perhaps, from England’s premier countess chemist?”
“At the very least,” she said firmly.
George grinned. “Speaking of which, I do believe the weather outside is just right for a little experimentation. Perhaps I could be persuaded to surrender the babies and escort you home.”
“Possibly,” Louisa whispered, close to his ear. “Although before any good scientific exploration, one requires…inspiration. Preferably from an experienced tutor. Do you happen to know of anyone who might be available?”
“Hmmm. I do have someone in mind, if you aren’t opposed to silver-rimmed spectacles.”
“I simply adore silver-rimmed spectacles.”
“I adore you,” George said seriously, touching his forehead to hers.
Louisa smiled as she cupped his cheek, the familiar giddy feeling twirling around her heart. Love was similar to chemistry in a lot of ways—unpredictable and messy, but wonderfully fulfilling and oh so much fun.
It had taken time, and some horrid situations, but finally, the bluestocking had met her match.
And what a match it was.
NICOLA DAVIDSON worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing
wicked historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes chocolate—even better!
Keep up with Nicola’s news on Twitter (@NicolaMDavidson) Facebook (Nicola Davidson – Author) or her website www.nicola-davidson.com
Rake to Riches (The London Lords Book 2) Page 26