Birds fluttered ahead, flapping their wings with vigor as they sailed into the sky.
“Well—” Her father coughed. “It seems that Oggleton had feigned the extent of the late Lady Somerville’s debt.”
“So you cannot expect him to honor a forged debt,” Cordelia said sternly.
Her father shifted his legs. “I suppose there would be some injustice in forcing a payment for a loan that never took place.”
“Utter injustice,” Cordelia said. “And it would be a mistake to continue your practice of loaning money for outrageous interest fees.”
“Well—” Her father swallowed hard. “I suppose the practice would be challenging without my assistant.”
“Henchman,” Cordelia said sternly. She turned to Gerard. “I want you to share your experience in London.”
“Even if that makes people think poorly of your father? And of you? You know what the gossip is like . . .”
“The security of others is far more important,” Cordelia said sternly. If her father weren’t a peer, she would turn him into the magistrate herself. Her father was a duke, and prosecution would be impossible.
She smiled tightly at her parents. “I doubt we will see each other for a very long time.”
She took Gerard’s arm before her parents had a chance to respond and allowed him to lead her toward the carriage and toward their future.
Epilogue
London
June 1817
The carriage jaunted past London’s loveliest buildings. Her lady’s maid had insisted Cordelia wear her nicest clothes, and Cordelia smiled as the late spring sun splashed warm, golden rays over her. She was going to meet Gerard.
My husband.
The words never failed to send an inexplicable warmth through her.
Cordelia had expected that Gerard would sweep her away to Scotland immediately, but instead they’d spent a week at Highgate Manor. He’d professed an interest in London. The season was almost ending, and he’d expressed sorrow that they’d spent most of it gallivanting around the country.
The duke and duchess had invited them to accompany them on their newest excavation, but in the end Cordelia decided she would prefer to spend the start of her married life exclusively with her new husband and not with her new husband as well as her former fiancé, even if the former fiancé happened to be a duke, and even if all the ton might think her mad for declining the invitation.
Finally the carriage stopped before St. George’s. The coachman opened the door and smiled at her. Smiled in a way most coachman did not smile at her. Smiled as if he were genuinely happy, as if he held a secret, as if—
It couldn’t be.
The fact that Gerard had wanted her to meet him here was a coincidence. She descended the steps of the carriage. The Corinthian columns glistened under the bright sun, and more than the normal amount of carriages and coaches were parked nearby.
Somebody moved from the portico of the church. She blinked. It was Gerard.
But not the Gerard she knew. This man was more polished. He wore a double-breasted tailcoat, a gold silk brocade waistcoat, pantaloons that showcased his marvelous thighs, and his bronzed skin gleamed. A top hat adorned his head, and he twirled a walking stick.
He grinned when he saw her and dashed down the marble steps of the church. He pulled his hands around hers.
“My bonnie lass.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice, even though members of the ton sauntered around them.
More people than Cordelia would have thought possible. No one was normally around in the mornings. This was almost eleven o’clock.
Blossoms dotted the trees, and some fluttered onto the ground.
She smiled at Gerard. The man was so easy to smile at after all.
She gazed around. Perhaps a wedding was occurring in St. George’s? Many of the ton married there.
A strange feeling pushed against her. But it couldn’t be—that.
“Pity we never had many wedding guests,” Gerard mused.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“It does.”
Something in his gaze quickened her heartbeat. Her heart would just have to get used to it. It would always run at an increased speed and force in his presence.
“I have a solution.” He smiled. “I will just have to marry you again.”
“But—” She swallowed. “That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” He leaned toward her. “Especially when it concerns our everlasting happiness. Together.” He stroked her cheek, and his eyes softened. “I love you, Cordelia. I love you with all my heart.”
He beamed. “And before you can get away—we have a wedding to get to.” He winked at her and swept her over his shoulder.
“Put me down!”
“Nonsense.” He rushed toward the church. Her face bopped up and down in the new upside down world.
He swung open the wooden doors and marched over the nave. Her heart throttled against her ribs, and she became conscious of other people there. Other people in nice clothes and nicer hats. Other people—applauding.
“Gerard—” She gasped.
Then she blushed. She should be calling him by his proper name. But right now she didn’t care. He lifted her down before the minister, and her feet wobbled against the floor. She tightened her grip over him, even though the action was improper.
She gazed at the room. It was splendid. Flowers dangled from the church ceiling and the aisles were filled with people. “You did this all for me?”
“I did.” Gerard nodded gravely.
“But you despise anything to do with weddings. With marriages.”
“But I love you.”
Bouquets of flowers adorned the church. They must have been brought in from outside the city, and she blinked at the expense. The church was nearly full.
“I want everyone to know that you are my wife. And not because of convenience. Because of love.”
“Gerard.” Her voice trembled.
“I want to vow to love you for the rest of our lives before the whole ton. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. Because I want everyone to know that you are everything to me.” He wrapped her hands in his. “Please marry me.”
Tears misted her eyes. “I—I didn’t expect this.”
“Just say yes.”
She looked at all the people in the seats. All of London’s ton seemed to be sitting there, watching her exchange.
He had risked everything to have her here. He’d arranged this wedding, keeping it a secret, even though he abhorred weddings. Even though he had written an article in Matchmaking for Wallflowers stating himself as completely opposed to them.
She could walk out of the church and humiliate him—but she wouldn’t. Because she loved him. Completely and utterly.
The minister cleared his throat. “I had assumed that the lady would know about the marriage.”
Cordelia smiled. “I know now.”
“Did you register?” the minister grumbled. “You cannot simply surprise someone with a wedding. It’s not proper. Not decent. Certainly not legal.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Gerard said. “We’re already married.”
The minister blinked and some of the guests murmured.
“That’s very unconventional,” the minister said.
Cordelia tossed her head. A lock toppled from her updo, but she didn’t bother to fix it. Instead she grabbed hold of Gerard’s hand, even though women didn’t grab hold of men’s hands. Even when they were married. “I am afraid we are a very unconventional couple.”
Gerard smiled, and happiness thrummed through her.
This was more than she’d ever dreamed of. She laughed, even though laughing was also on the list of unladylike behaviors.
“Well, well.” The minister sighed. “I suppose since we’re all gathered here, we may as well begin. Gerard Highgate, Marquess of Rockport, will you take Lady Cordelia Haywood as your bride?”
“I do.” Gera
rd’s baritone voice made her skin prickle with happiness. He was right here beside her, declaring his commitment to her.
“Lady Cordelia Haywood, will you take Gerard Highgate, Marquess of Rockport, as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do!” She looped her arms around his neck, smiling as his eyes flared. This was happiness. This was joy.
This was the rest of her life.
Perhaps they would still face problems, but there was no other person whom she wanted to face them with. Gerard was her rock, her stability, but more than that his sense of play made her heart leap with joy. She could never go back to being the stiff, repressed woman he’d met. She would be carefree, loving and would do her very best to show him every day how much she adored him.
Something sounded, and she became vaguely aware that the guests were applauding. She pulled Gerard closer to her so their lips touched, even though the behavior was scandalous, even though not all members of the ton might approve of their affection.
She no longer cared what people thought. It didn’t matter, now that she had Gerard.
THE END
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Born in Texas, Wellesley graduate Bianca Blythe spent four years in England. She worked in a fifteenth century castle though sadly that didn’t actually involve spotting dukes and earls strutting about in Hessians.
She credits British weather for forcing her into a library, where she discovered her first Julia Quinn novel. She remains deeply grateful for blustery downpours.
Bianca lives in Massachusetts with her dashing rogue.
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How to Capture a Duke
Coming in Audio in October 2016 – Performance by Rosalyn Landor
All she had to do was find a fiancé. In four days. In the middle of nowhere.
One reclusive bluestocking…
Fiona Amberly is more intrigued by the Roman ruins near her manor house than she is by balls. When her dying Grandmother worries about Fiona’s future, Fiona stammers that she’s secretly engaged. Soon she finds herself promising that she will introduce her husband-to-be by Christmas.
One dutiful duke…
Percival Carmichael, new Duke of Alfriston, is in a hurry. He’s off to propose to London’s most eligible debutante. After nearly dying at Waterloo, he’s vowed to spend the rest of his life living up to the ton’s expectations.
One fallen tree…
When Fiona tries to warn a passing coach about a tree in the road, the driver mistakes her for a highwaywoman. Evidently he’s not used to seeing women attired in clothes only suitable for archaeology waving knives. After the driver flees, Fiona decides she may as well borrow the handsome passenger…
Excerpt
December 1815
Yorkshire
Crisp jingles chimed through the cold air, merging with the rhythmic trot of horses, and Fiona Amberly had never been more convinced of her utter abhorrence of Christmas.
She poked her head from the archaeological site, brushed a hand smudged with clay through her hair and peered in the direction of the sound.
A coach barreled down the slope, pulled by two pairs of prancing white horses, and her throat dried. Red and green plumes perched from the horses’ headgear, an unnecessary nod to the approaching holiday. The sun glowed over the glossy black surface of the coach, flickering over its vibrantly painted wheels and golden crest.
She tightened her fists around the slabs of timber she used to fortify the pit.
Only one person had threatened to visit her.
Madeline.
Fiona hauled herself up and rushed to the road, dragging her dress through more mud. The coach thundered toward her, and she waved both arms above her head. Now was not the time to muse on the ridiculousness of her appearance.
“Halt. Halt.”
The coach slowed, and she hastily brushed some dirt from her dress, managing to remove a few specks.
“What is it, Miss Amberly?” The driver was sufficiently trained not to openly gawk, but his gaze still darted to her ragged clothes and the pile of excavation materials.
Never mind that. Red-headed women with freckles were never destined to possess elegance.
“Is Lady Mulbourne inside?”
The driver nodded, and Fiona rushed to the door. The question was foolish: only her cousin would have asked for her coach to be decked out in such finery for a five-mile jaunt.
Madeline poked her head through the carriage window, and Fiona hastily brushed a few more specks of soil from her dress.
“Happy Christmas,” Madeline chirped.
“Er . . . yes.”
“You have a remarkable ability to never change.”
Fiona shifted her feet, and her boots crunched over dried leaves.
“So unconstrained by the pulls of even the most basic fashion rules.” Madeline’s eyes flickered over her, roaming over every button and pleat with the eagerness of a general scrutinizing a map of enemy territory. “And still in half-mourning, I see.”
Fiona stiffened and pulled her hands back. No need for her cousin to comment on the frayed hem of her sleeve as well as her gray dress.
“Would you like a ride? I’m on my way to see Grandmother.”
Fiona didn’t want a ride. She wanted to work more on the site. Winter was approaching, and if the farmers were right about their grumblings regarding the shade of the sky, the place would be covered in snow soon.
But ever since Fiona had blurted out to Grandmother that she was engaged to the most brilliant man in the world, it was vital that she not allow Grandmother to be left alone with Madeline.
The captain was everything a man should be: handsome and brave, smart and funny, and since the Napoleonic Wars had ended, finally living in England.
At least he would be if he existed.
Available on amazon.
A Rogue to Avoid (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 2) Page 21