by Wilma Counts
“There is a landau and a team in the stable. You are welcome to take them. But really I must insist that you stop ‘my lording’ me.” Alex put his arm around Hero. “I fully intend that we shall be brothers just as soon as humanly possible.”
Michael grinned at them. “I suspected as much.”
“And,” Alex added, “I will see Hero home later, if she pleases. She and I have a few things to sort out.”
* * * *
The moment the door had finally closed on everyone, Hero melted into Alex’s arms for a very long, very passionate display of their mutual affection. After a while, she pulled away slightly. “How dare you make that announcement so blatantly,” she said in a feeble attempt at umbrage. “You have not even asked me.”
He pulled away and sank to one knee. He gripped her hand and said, “My sweet, lovable, stubborn Hero. I love you to the point of distraction. So—will you marry me?”
“I’ll have to think about that,” she said. She tugged at his hand to bring him to his feet and gave him a quick kiss. “There. I’ve thought about it. Yes. Of course I’ll marry you. I’ve loved you ever since you showed up unconscious in our clinic.”
“Ah, but you kissed me awake—remember? Just as Annabelle told you to do.”
“She will be so pleased at this turn of events,” Hero said.
“I know. I saw it in her note. So, my love, when?”
“When what?” she said blankly.
He gave her an impatient shake. “When will you marry me?”
“You must know these things take time. I need a dress, there are the banns, and—”
“And I have a special license.”
“Wha-at?”
“In London, while my father was doing his business about a special court of the assize, I went around to Doctors’ Commons and procured a special license. It is valid for three more weeks, I think.”
She dropped her arms from around his neck and tried to step back. “You were certainly sure of yourself—of me—were you not?”
He refused to loosen his hold on her, and bent his head to nuzzle her neck. He murmured, “No. Just very, very hopeful.”
“Oh. Well, in that case…”
“Well, in that case, let’s discuss it further upstairs, shall we? There is a perfectly good bedchamber up there—the one I used my first night in the Abbey. We’ll have the master chamber renovated.”
“Well, in that case—” she repeated.
“We’ll have to be relatively quiet,” he cautioned. “Mac is sleeping right next door.”
“You mean I can’t scream out my delight?”
“You are not a screamer.”
“I could be.”
But she was not a screamer. Not that night.
Epilogue
The Duchess of Thornleigh came into the most elegant guest chamber of Weyburn Abbey to find her husband already in bed, propped up and reading a book.
“Things have gone very well while we’ve been here, do you not agree, my dear?” she asked as he threw aside the covers for her on the other side of the bed.
“Are you speaking of the wedding or the trial, my dear?”
“Both, actually. I am already quite fond of our new daughter-in-law.”
He emitted a soft snort. “I should think you would be. The two of you are very much alike, if you ask me.”
“Really? Do you think so?”
“Really. I do think so,” he repeated with a great show of patience.
She snuggled closer. “That makes me feel very good, my love. They say that in the matter of choosing wives, most men judge prospective brides by their own mothers.”
He looked up at the canopy over the bed. “Just as I did, eh?”
She pulled back and punched his shoulder. “I certainly hope that is not the case. You know very well your mother and I did not get along at all. I think I will get along very well with our Hero.”
“Yes, dear,” he said in a show of insincere contrition.
She babbled on. “And the trial went well too. Those truly dastardly sorts are off to the penal colony in New South Wales and Alex got to keep his own people where he needs them.”
“Do not forget, my dear, that he had to ensure their being upright citizens for at least twenty years. They all signed on to that.”
“I’m in love with our new granddaughter too. I shall have to return to Cornwall on a regular basis just to keep track of Annabelle.”
“She’s a pip,” he agreed, then asked in a sleepy voice as he slid down in the bed, “What did you think of the way Alex dealt with Teague’s family?”
“That was pure Alex, was it not?—finding the perfect solution in giving that abandoned farm to the Mullinses. Mullins apparently started life as a farm boy. The country is usually a wonderful place to rear children. And Alex promised him adequate help.”
“And the new butler?”
“Well,” she said, “most butlers I know of are usually close to six feet tall. Mac falls short of that by a good ten inches! But he is devoted to my son, so that is the most important factor.”
“That does seem to be your basic requirement for many things,” he said. “Now turn out that light, won’t you? Alex told me this is a new bed, so let us make proper use of it, eh?”
She emitted an exaggerated sigh. “You’re too old to be so randy.” She eagerly complied with his request and slid down closer to him. “But I suppose I must take advantage of that while I may.”
Meet the Author
Wilma Counts devotes her time largely to writing and reading. She loves to cook, but hates cleaning house. She has never lost her interest in literature, history, and international relations. She spends a fair amount of time yelling at the T.V. She is an active member of Lone Mountain Writers in Carson City, Nevada.
Readers can visit her website at www.wilmacounts.com.