by Devon, Eva
Marcus let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. What shall be done with him?”
The moment Peterbrooke had heard of Pippa’s injury, he had devoted himself to finding Westmore, lest the man slip away unpunished.
Even so, Marcus knew how difficult it was to imprison an earl or to condemn him to death. Westmore was an aristocrat, a member of the hallowed realm of English nobility.
Pippa? In the eyes of the highest echelons of the ton? The fate of a young lady meant nothing compared with an earl.
It was horrific but true.
Men like Peterbrooke were happy to arrange for alternative means of justice.
There would be no court proceedings against Westmore. The earl’s punishment would have to be done in Peterbrooke’s style. A style which Marcus preferred at the moment. They were only waiting for Pippa to be well enough to travel for them to leave England.
His friend folded his arms across his brocade waistcoat. “Never you fear, Roxley. We have arranged for Westmore to become the governor of a very small island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.”
Relieved, Marcus nodded. “Good. I hope he shall be able to cause little trouble. Please assure me there are few people on the island. I should hate to think that they should have to tolerate him if we cannot.”
“Oh no,” Peterbrooke replied, a satisfied grin that bore no humor curving his lips. “He shall be the governor of mosquitos and birds and turtles. I think that he shall have malaria within a few weeks’ time. There’s a very good chance we will never have to see him again.”
He wished he could feel some regret, but if he did, it was only for the boy who had long since disappeared. The boy that had once been his friend.
Westmore deserved whatever he got.
He had nearly killed Pippa.
The bastard would have murdered her without a thought.
With Westmore halfway around the world, an appointee of the Crown to an isolated rock in the ocean, they would never have to worry about the earl bothering them again.
The British military was excellent at making certain that no one escaped their duty.
Marcus poured out a brandy and handed it to his friend. “Thank you, Peterbrooke. What you’ve done means more than I can possibly say.”
“Never you mind,” he said, taking the crystal snifter in his hand. “I’m simply glad to see you happy, and I haven’t ever seen you this happy, old man.”
Marcus didn’t try to correct him or deny it. Now that Pippa was on the mend, and it was clear she would be as well as she had ever been, he did feel the most joy he’d ever felt in his life. For he had found love.
“Will you allow me, at least, to be at your wedding?” Peterbrooke asked.
“Of course,” he said, swirling his brandy. He felt so damned pleased. He didn’t try to hide it. For the first time in his life, he would have been happy to crow to the rooftops that he had found the most glorious woman in all the world and that she wished to be his. “It would be my pleasure to have you, since we are going to have so few guests. Can you really spare the time to come to Italy?”
“Of course, I can,” Peterbrooke declared. “I adore Rome.”
The truth was they had been in hiding ever since Pippa had been wounded. He did not wish her father to find her. The man might prove difficult or create some dreadful scene.
Thankfully, their ship was leaving in the morning and Marcus was quite relieved that they would be on it.
Pippa didn’t seem to mind that they would be leaving London behind with no mention to her family.
Sometimes it was simply best to slip away from the past and not look back. In this particular, their future together was all that he looked forward to.
He couldn’t wait for it to begin.
Marcus crossed around his desk, clasped Peterbrooke’s hand, and shook it vigorously. “Thank you.”
“Cease!” Peterbrooke protested, though he was clearly pleased. “Your wedding will be gift enough. Poor Westmore. He’ll have a good deal of time to think about his misdeeds. Perhaps he shall improve.”
“I doubt it,” growled Marcus, “but one can always hope.”
Peterbrooke laughed. “I had no idea you’d become an optimist.”
A rueful smile tugged at Marcus’s lips. “It is amazing what loving a woman like Pippa will do.”
“If only there were more Pippas in this world.” Peterbrooke sighed with wistful drama.
But there is only one, Marcus thought with joy, and she was his. There was no luckier man in the world.
Epilogue
My Dearest Pippa,
Everything has gone a bit wrong. My adventure is still underway, to be sure! I have completed only one volume of my novel. . . But I have found that in caring for small children, I am almost never alone.
Who would have thought it?
I find when I go to bed at night, I throw myself down upon my pillow and vanish into dreams. They are devilish little imps and I adore every one of them. Three! Three wild little boys. They do make my life an adventure. But may I say, their father is the most impossible bore I have ever met. He is rude, impossible, and he thinks he knows everything there is to know about children.
I am not sure why he advertised for a governess at all. He is also remarkably handsome. I find this to be a most interesting situation. The hero of my novel looks very much like my employer. But my employer is so infuriating, surely he should look like the villain!
I was so delighted to hear you are well again and soon to be married. Oh, how I wish I could be there! But I must stay at my post, though I am afraid that one day I shall do murder. . .
Pippa folded the letter and tucked it into the bundle of recent correspondence that had reached Cairo that very morning.
They had given her much joy. No doubt, she would read them again and again over the next days, looking for the heartening details of her friends’ new lives.
Helena’s seemed most interesting! And she did wonder about her employer. Impossible, was he? She smiled to herself.
Pippa slipped the letters into her walking skirts.
The frock that her husband had made for her was perfection. It allowed her to take long strides and accommodated her rather sturdy boots. The skirts had also allowed her to be guided up the steep side of the pyramid where she could stand upon the very top. She drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of Egypt and its heat.
Thankfully, her frock was also made of linen so fine that the heat was quite bearable.
In fact, she didn’t mind the temperature in the slightest.
Oh no, how could anyone ever mind the heat with such inspiring vistas to look upon?
She gazed out at the land before her, awestruck.
The country was magnificent. It was more than she could have ever possibly dreamed.
The golden glow of the sand and the verdant stretch of green land along the Nile caused her eyes to water. Not with tears of sorrow, but with tears of wonder.
She lifted a hand so that she might shade her gaze and admire the shimmering water of the great river, winking like diamonds, as countless boats skimmed its surface.
To think that boats had traversed it for thousands of years. It was almost more than she could fathom.
She dared herself to look down, taking in the steep angles of the pyramids at Giza.
They towered in the desert, their points shooting up towards the azure sky.
She could not cease smiling.
She loved having the letters with her atop the greatest of the pyramids.
It was almost as if her friends had been able to come with her.
Each of them was on a journey of their own and she looked forward to reading of their endeavors whenever she could.
She wondered if they too would triumph in their lives as she had done. She didn’t dare consider otherwise. No, she knew that they would!
They were the kind of young ladies who always would. She believed in them. It didn’t matter what might come along the w
ay, somehow they would find their dreams. They deserved nothing less, after all.
“My love?” her husband called as he tucked his sketchbook into his pocket.
“Whatever were you drawing?” she asked, happily stepping towards him.
He pulled her to him and tucked her into the curve of his arm. Softly, he kissed her, his mouth caressing hers with the passion that had become her life.
“You,” he whispered against her lips. “I was drawing you.”
Her heart hummed with so much love, she did not know if she could stand it. But she could. It was the remarkable thing about love. For one could always, always love more. And it seemed that the more she gave to him, the more she received.
Together, they stared out at the desert stretching far to the horizon, and she wondered how many people had stood at the top of this pyramid feeling as though they were above the world.
How many had their breath stolen away by the magnificent sights?
The knowledge that this was just the beginning for them filled her with an excitement she’d not even comprehended but a month ago.
They had rented a boat that would take them up the Nile to Luxor, and there they would begin adventures untold.
“However did I manage to find you?” she asked suddenly.
“I have asked myself the same question, if you must know.” His brow furrowed. “How did you discover that I was looking for an assistant?”
She laughed. “I saw your advertisement in one of my father’s old university correspondence. Quite by chance.”
A look of complete shock transformed Marcus’s face. “Your father attended university?”
Another laugh rippled from her throat. “It’s most surprising, is it not? But he did.”
Her husband joined her laughter, their voices blending.
“Who would have thought that it was your father that brought us together?” Marcus marveled.
“It is remarkable the way the universe works,” she replied, content.
“Whatever brought us together,” he said, his gaze full of love, “I’m very grateful, Pippa. I cannot imagine being here now without you.”
“And I cannot imagine my life without you,” she said. She’d never thought to find perfection. She’d always assumed such a thing did not exist. But it did. It was here, with him, and their journey together.
Pippa leaned back against her husband, her head resting on his shoulder.
Hundreds of years of people’s stories, stretching out before them, hummed through her. Now she and Marcus’s stories would be added to those that had come before. And that which made her happiest of all?
Knowing theirs would be a love story. And a happy one.
THE END
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