“Good.”
“That’s why I thought we could start our own publishing company.”
Veronique blinked.
“I know it might sound mad, but some people are doing it. I have the capital. A friend in New York is interested in working with us on the project. He’s a businessman and is very enthusiastic about the idea. I thought I could oversee non-fiction books and you can oversee the fiction books. Would you like that?”
“T-that would be wonderful.”
She wouldn’t have to stop sharing her stories with others. She would even be able to work with new authors, people like herself, and help them connect with readers.
Miles smiled. “And of course you can decide how much writing and how much business you would like to do. I think I would like to write a non-fiction book. Perhaps we might visit Italy so I could research how life is there after the war?”
Italy.
She swung her arms around his neck. When she’d been a little girl living in Barbados, she’d never imagined her life could be so wonderful. She was happy she’d tried to make her own path and that she’d never given up.
“I think you’ll feel more comfortable there,” Miles continued. “The people are more friendly than in England.”
“And I might blend in better?”
“You have too much spirit to ever blend in anywhere,” Miles said. “And that’s one of many, many, many reasons I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said solemnly.
“I know.” Miles grinned and lifted her back into his arms.
Veronique’s heart beat happily as Miles carried her in sturdy arms. The world tilted and swayed, but everything was wonderful.
“Now I think I should show you the rest of the manor house,” Miles said. “Especially our bedroom. I might have to take a long time showing that to you.”
Epilogue
“Scotland didn’t seem so far away last time we visited,” Veronique mused.
“That’s because you were occupied with evading me,” Miles said smugly. “A great intellectual challenge that would leave anyone quite incapable of assessing the passage of time with accuracy.”
“You.” Veronique’s face contorted into a frown, and in the next second she flung a pillow toward him.
The silk and tasseled concoction smacked his chest, and he held it gingerly in his hands. “How are you able to catch me off guard better than any of the talented men who play against me with regularity and who are aware that their conquests over me would garner them positive acclaim in the broadsheets?”
She smiled, and he pulled her toward him. The coach was empty, save for them. No women in frilly dresses fluttered their eyelashes at him, and no stern-faced woman plotted to make him hers.
The curtains were pulled back, and light glowed from the outside. Sheep and goats directed their heads toward the carriage, perhaps astounded to see something besides their shepherd winding up the steep hills.
Miles had the vague sense that he shouldn’t be wondering at the fluffiness of the sheep’s fur, and his lips shouldn’t be moving into a smile at the mere sight of lambs leaping over the thick dark green blades that coated the Highlands. His heart shouldn’t be moved by the mere sight of mammals grazing.
It was happiness.
He’d thought himself content before, flaunting the frequency of his placement in broadsheets to his brothers. If other people had told him with regularity that he should be happy, then he himself might have believed it. He hadn’t known what happiness was before he met Veronique.
The coach tilted upward, a sign that they were nearly at the castle. He almost felt irritated that he would have to exit the carriage. How could anything be improved upon spending time with his wife? It didn’t matter if they were confined in a carriage that smelled vaguely of ale, perhaps spilled from a past visitor who had faced the sharp curves and steep inclines with more trepidation than either Miles or his wife.
Sunlight splattered over the dark stone of the castle. Miles imagined the past workers who must have carved the stone from some nearby quarry and the mules who must have dragged it onto the top of the hill, where the castle might look most intimidating to any mischievous Vikings or Englishmen.
The sunlight didn’t manage to soften the foreboding structure, but the appearance of his older brother and blonde-haired sister-in-law, were more effective.
“Miles!” His brother’s voice boomed, and he rushed toward the carriage. Somehow the burliness of his figure did not affect the speed of his strides, and in the next moment the man flung the carriage door open. His dark eyes sparkled.
“Gerard,” Miles said.
Gerard poked his head into the carriage. “Lady Worthing. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Veronique nodded.
“You gave us a horrible scare last time,” Gerard said.
“No fear of heights,” Miles said fondly. He took his wife’s hand and led her down the steps toward the castle.
“So if climbing down castle walls is your instinct when facing a possible marriage to this man, what is life with him really like?” Gerard asked. “Tell me if he’s spending too much time in London. The man’s too fond of clubs.”
Veronique laughed. “My husband is far too fond of his home to leave.”
“Oh?” Gerard’s eyebrows rose, but Miles nodded.
Warmth tinged his cheeks, but he held his gaze firm. It was all true.
The sparkle in his brother’s eyes softened. “Come, let’s walk down to the chapel.”
Miles offered his arm to Veronique, and they followed his brother. It was all too easy to remember the last time they’d ambled over the path. Each step had seemed painful, pulling him closer to the castle and an impending marriage with Veronique.
How little had he known then.
The only thing that might possibly bring him sorrow now was the thought that he might not continue to spend the rest of his life with her.
Gerard pushed open the doors of the chapel. For a brief moment they were once again swathed in darkness, but merry voices and the tinkling of a baby babbling sounded from inside.
Miles followed his brother into the chapel. This time when the door opened he was not confronted by the image of Veronique, clothed in a flowing wedding dress: they were already married, and she was at his side.
His sister-in-law smiled and strode toward him, clutching a blanket to her in which he could only assume was his nephew. “You’re here. We thought you would miss it.”
“Never,” Miles said.
“May I present you to your nephew, the future Marquess of Highgate?” Lady Rockport’s words may have been formal, but her tone was far warmer than anything that should have befit a woman once crowned as the ton’s ice queen.
His sister-in-law turned, and he glanced at the tiny figure gurgling happily in her arms.
“A pleasure.” Miles bowed and reached to grasp his nephew’s hand, noting the tininess of his fingers and fingernails.
Cordelia smiled. “I believe you’ve already met our local vicar?”
Miles’s back straightened.
“Ah, it’s you.” The vicar seemed to eye him warily, contorting his thin eyebrows.
“Indeed.”
The vicar glanced behind him. “And—”
“Lady Worthing,” Miles said shortly.
“Ah—so I heard,” the vicar said. The skepticism in the man’s voice did not precisely change. “I would have married you here. No need to have cavorted all the way to—” the man’s eyes widened, and his voice lowered, as if fearful of disturbing the baby, “—England.”
Lady Rockport laughed. “Need I remind you that I am English as well?”
The vicar’s face reddened. “Well, technically I suppose. Though I don’t think you really count. What with your Scottish spirit and all. No one could ever suspect.”
“Let’s get on with it,” Gerard said, rubbing his hands. “Enough torturing the English.”
The vicar
nodded. Miles led his wife into a pew, smiling at his other relatives who’d made the journey.
The chapel remained as magical as it had the first time he’d seen Veronique. Sunbeams ushered vibrant colors through the stained glass, and stone flowers crept up the Corinthian columns.
He wrapped his fingers about his wife’s hand. Perhaps one day, perhaps even soon, the might be standing where his brother and sister-in-law stood. Perhaps they might be holding their own child.
Sentiment washed over him, carrying him with more swiftness than any horse ever had. He leaned toward Veronique. “Do you find it dreadful that I would not be aghast at having a child?”
She clamped her lips together as if to contain a laugh. “Not at all.”
“Good.” He glanced at his wife, more aware of the preciousness that surrounded him and how close he’d come to not having any of it.
The vicar began his sermon, rambling in solemn tones about the weightiness of the action today. Though Miles had expressed some skepticism at the prospect of attending the christening, he soon relaxed.
Veronique’s eyes glimmered, and she pressed her hand against his. “I was always right to be mad about the baron.”
About The Author
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. Thank goodness for blustery downpours.
***
Other novels in the Matchmaking for Wallflowers series:
How to Capture a Duke
A Rogue to Avoid
Runaway Wallflower
Connect with Bianca:
www.biancablythe.com
[email protected]
Facebook Page
Wonderful Wallflowers – Facebook Group
How to Capture a Duke
Available in Audio – 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…
Available on amazon.
A Rogue to Avoid
The only thing Lady Cordelia and Lord Rockport can agree on is their mutual abhorrence.
Lady Cordelia was supposed to be the perfect debutante. But three broken engagements later, she’s the subject of titters rather than laudations. Now relegated to the wallflower section of every ballroom, she does not want anything to plummet her further into scandal. She absolutely does not want to have anything to do with the too handsome, too roguish, too Scottish Marquess of Rockport.
Gerard Highgate, Marquess of Rockport, is not the type to attend balls. But when he is chased into a home in Harrogate, he decides he must blend in–even if that means dancing with Lady Cordelia.
Available on Amazon.
Runaway Wallflower
One Swarthy Sea Captain
Lord Rupert Haywood, future Duke of Belmonte, has no desire to manage an estate with his corrupt father. He prefers to roam the ocean with his crew of rugged pirates.
One Adamant Bluestocking
Ever since Louisa Carmichael’s brother unexpectedly inherited a dukedom, her mother’s expectations for her have veered in a distinctly vertical direction. Louisa dreams not of glittering ballgowns, but of exploring the tropical waters of the Caribbean with her latest invention, an underwater breathing apparatus.
One Forbidden Journey
When her mother arranges a marriage for her, Louisa decides she might just don a pair of breeches and discover the Caribbean in disguise. The only problem is a certain very handsome captain…
Available on amazon.
Mad About The Baron (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 4) Page 18