Epilogue

EPILOGUE

N ATHAN AND V ERITY stopped in the street, looking up at the sign above her office.

"Dunbridge and Dunbridge," Verity read with some satisfaction and tucked her hand into the crook of Nathan's arm. "It looks perfect, don't you think?"

Of course, everything had looked perfect to her for the past month. They had solved the case. Shoemaker and Hill had confessed to being hired by Robert Douglas for the kidnapping of Malcolm and the attack on Verity and Nathan—though the men had told the authorities that they had only been planning to scare the couple into giving up Will Tolliver when Nathan and Verity attacked them and the men had been forced to defend themselves. Which, Verity, had to admit, was not entirely untrue.

Shoemaker and Hill had also disavowed any knowledge of Tolliver's murder. Verity found that claim less convincing. Robert Douglas did not seem the sort to empty his own chamber pot, so to speak, but since there was no proof on either side and Robert was dead and therefore beyond punishment, Verity had to satisfy herself with the knowledge that Robert's two henchmen would spend much of the rest of their lives in prison.

The Dunbridge name remained unstained, and though the Douglases' reputation had suffered from the gossip surrounding Robert's actions before his untimely demise, at least Malcolm's paternity was still a secret. And Malcolm himself had changed enough in his attitude toward Nathan and the Dunbridges that he had attended Nathan and Verity's wedding.

Even Lady Lockwood and Nathan's mother and aunt taking over what had been intended as a quiet little wedding in Verity's parlor—turning it into an extravaganza of white lace and flowers and candles in Lady Lockwood's ballroom—had not dented Verity's good humor.

It had been sweet of them, really, and it had been good to have all their friends and family there—not to mention a bit of surprise to see how many friends and family she seemed to have picked up over the course of the last couple of years.

It was really rather embarrassing to be this utterly happy.

"Are you sure you don't want to name it Cole and Dunbridge?" Nathan asked. "I feel as though I'm taking over your business."

"Ha. As if I'd let you," Verity shot back. "I like this. Besides, Cole wasn't even my real name."

"It wasn't?" He let out a chuckle. "I suppose I ought to be inured to surprises from you. What was your real name?"

"Cowhill," Verity said. "All in all, I prefer Dunbridge." She grinned up at him. "Besides, I'm beginning a new life. It seems appropriate to have a new name."

"As long as you don't change Verity."

"You said the name was a misnomer when you met me," she protested.

"Now I find I quite enjoy the irony."

Verity smiled and leaned her head against his arm. "It's all been wonderful, hasn't it?"

"If this is what marriage to you is like, I shall have a very happy life." Nathan paused. "Others might think it odd to spend one's honeymoon breaking up a ring of jewel thieves, but I thought it added a certain liveliness to the venture."

"Well, I could hardly let them steal that poor woman's necklace—it was a treasured family heirloom."

Nathan bent to kiss her softly on the forehead. "No, I don't suppose you could."

"Besides," Verity said with a wicked look, "chasing people wasn't all we did."

He matched her grin. "No, there was quite a bit more. And it was interesting to actually be husband and wife instead of pretending we were." He looked up at the sign again. "Shall we go see what mayhem has occurred while we were gone?"

"Wait." Verity put her hand on his arm. Her stomach was suddenly dancing with nerves. But she wasn't going to let herself back out. "There's something I need to do." She drew a shaky breath. "I don't want any shadows hanging over us and our life together. I've lived in fear of my past for too long. I've faced guns and knives and even, once, a sword, and not flinched. Yet when it came to my past, I have been a cowering little girl. But no more. I'm going to face Stanhope."

"Very well." Nathan took her hand, and his calm confidence steadied Verity.

"And I want—I need to visit Poppy. You once told me that I should give her the chance to decide whether or not she wanted me in her life. You were right. The only reason I stayed away so long was that I couldn't face her rejection. But you give me strength, Nathan. With you, I am braver."

He cupped her cheek with his hand. "My love, you are braver than anyone I know, and stronger. However, I'm very glad you feel I help you. Do you want me to go with you?" There was a certain wariness in his eyes, and she knew he thought she would insist on doing it by herself.

In the past, she would have, but now she said, "Yes. I want you by my side."

"Then that's where I'll be."

W HEN THEY ARRIVED at Poppy's house, Verity was doubly glad Nathan had come with her. His quiet presence steadied her as she left the carriage and started up the short walk to the house. But before they reached it, the front door opened, and Jonathan Stanhope came out.

Verity came to a dead halt, stunned, her stomach turning to ice.

He was putting on his hat, his eyes on the steps in front of him, but he looked up and saw Verity. He went still, his gaze suddenly intent—like a hound that had scented his quarry, Verity thought.

Beside Verity, Nathan muttered, "What the devil is he doing here?"

Verity's thoughts flew to her sister . Had he hurt Poppy? Threatened her? And suddenly the ice was gone, and a hot determination flooded her.

"Nothing good," she snapped and tightened her grip on Nathan's arm.

"Verity." A smile started on Stanhope's face—not the fierce triumphant one he had shown her at the play, but an uncertain curve of the lips that matched the faint wariness in his eyes as she marched up to him. Before she could speak, he said, "I wish to apologize for startling you at the theater. I had been looking for you for a very long time, and I was so surprised that I fear I lost my manners. I should have guessed that you might not know who I was."

"Oh, I know you, Lord Stanhope."

"I see." He looked taken aback. "Well, um...I'm not Lord Stanhope yet. Merely Mr. Stanhope—Jonathan, I had hoped, to you. My father still holds the title."

Verity stared. She felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. "He's alive ?"

"Yes. Were you not aware?"

"No," she said faintly, feeling a little breathless, and Nathan slipped his arm around her waist.

"He still lives. But he is much changed. He spends most of his days in a chair on the terrace, looking at the garden. His memory is very poor. He wouldn't know who you are."

"I thought—all that blood—I thought I killed him." Verity was grateful for Nathan's supporting arm. She was bombarded by conflicting emotions—relief, joy, disbelief, regret over the years lost—and she turned to Nathan, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I know, love," Nathan said to her, tightening his arm around her waist. He looked over at Stanhope. "Verity thought that she had been blamed for his murder. That evening at the theater, when you appeared, well, we presumed that you were going to accuse her of exactly that."

"That is why you ran?" Jonathan said. "You thought I wanted revenge?" He shook his head. "I don't. Frankly, I am grateful, as are all the servants. Father seems content and is in no pain, and the household is now peaceful. No doubt I sound as cold as he, but what you did made my life a great deal more bearable. I was under his rule just as you were. I was still at school...the servants found him. Money and jewelry were missing, so the assumption was that thieves had broken into the house and when he tried to stop him, they attacked him."

"But Poppy and I were gone."

"We decided that whoever assaulted him also abducted you and your sister." A faint smile touched his lips as he saw the skeptical expression on Verity's face. "I didn't believe that, you understand, but it seemed the best solution. I did try to find the two of you, but not because I wanted you punished. I thought to simply bring you home. But we could find no trace of you."

"We were hidden by an expert," Verity said drily.

"Eventually, I found Poppy, but you were much tougher to locate. I hired a Bow Street Runner—"

"Milsap," Verity cut in.

"Yes." Jonathan frowned, but didn't ask her how she'd known. "He told us you were dead. However, Poppy never believed it. She said you were the toughest, most resourceful person in the world and we would eventually find you. Still, several years in, I gave up searching. But when I saw a redheaded woman at a party not long ago, it relit the question in my mind. I contacted Milsap again, but he proved as useless as he had been the first time. And then, by the merest chance, I saw you at the theater. After that, I was able to discover where you lived, but no one was there."

"We were on our honeymoon," Verity said. "I'm sorry—I haven't introduced you to my husband, Nathan Dunbridge."

The two men shook hands, and Jonathan went on, "Please, you must come inside. Poppy will be beyond delighted to see you."

They followed him to the front door, where a puzzled-looking maid let them in, then, bobbing a curtsey, led them to the drawing room. Verity's sister was seated, stitching on an embroidery hoop, and she looked up in surprise. "Why, Jonathan, you're back. Did you forget something?"

Her eyes went past him to Verity, and she drew in a sharp breath. Poppy jumped to her feet, her embroidery falling unnoticed to the floor. "Vetty!"

Verity nodded, her throat clogged with tears at the sound of the childhood name that only Poppy had called her.

Poppy ran to Verity and flung her arms around her. "Oh, Vetty, you're finally home!"

Verity hugged her tight, half laughing, half crying. "Yes. I'm home."

Jonathan soon left, giving Verity and Poppy the chance to chat together. They talked for over an hour, recalling their childhoods and relating their histories since last they saw each other. Poppy proudly brought out her three-month-old son to show Verity and Nathan, and they made appropriately effusive compliments.

Eventually, making promises to call on one another soon, Verity and Nathan left.

"Well...that was..." Verity said as they walked along, her hand tucked into the crook of Nathan's arm.

"Unexpected?" Nathan guessed.

"I was going to say like something out of a novel," Verity replied wryly. "If anyone else told me this story, I would have been sure they were lying."

"Sometimes good things happen, Verity." Nathan smiled. "You didn't see enough of it growing up, but you deserved to. You deserve all the joy we have now."

She smiled back at him, her eyes a little misty. "I suppose I will have to get used to that now that I am married to you."

"Yes. Because I intend to do everything I can to make you happy."

"For a moment, when I learned how wrong I'd been about Jonathan and what happened—well, about everything—I was angry at myself for simply assuming I'd killed Stanhope and fleeing. Everything would have been all right. My stepfather wouldn't have remembered. I wouldn't have had to give up Poppy or join Asquith's organization or do all the things I've done."

"I think we have both learned how foolish it is to assume we know things without finding out," Nathan said lightly, then went on in a serious tone, "But you cannot blame yourself. You couldn't have known the future. You were only fourteen, and you were scared. You did the best you could."

"The important thing is..." Verity stopped and turned to Nathan, looking up into his face, her eyes glowing with love. "I am glad I did what I did, despite all that happened. However hard, however dangerous the course I took, it was the path that led me to you. If I had stayed, I would have had a completely different life. I wouldn't have met you, and you are the one thing that I could not bear to lose."

"My love." He smiled down at her. "I would have found you. No matter where our lives went or what we did, I know that somehow I would have made my way to you. You are my North Star."

"My words will never be a match for yours. So you will just have to settle for this," Verity said and kissed him in a way that made certain that even Nathan didn't have a coherent thought left in his head.