Epilogue

Northam Hall

Brighton, England

August, 1818

G awain stood on the terrace of Northam Hall with Reggie on a particularly fine summer’s day as they watched their wives engage in lawn games with the other house party guests. Reggie, much matured and proving to be of great help in managing the Bromleigh properties, had married Margaret three months ago, and appeared as besotted with the sweet peahen as Gawain was with Cherish.

The current game was archery, and teammates Margaret and Cherish were demolishing their competition. “You are a terrible influence on Cherish,” Reggie jestingly remarked. “She is as ruthless as you and Fiona at these games, not to mention she is turning Margaret into a competitive beast with killer instincts. We should not have allowed them to team up. They are showing no mercy to the others.”

Gawain laughed. “I shall be content so long as they beat Fiona’s team. Stomp on them. Rout them. Annihilate them.”

“Uncle Gawain!” Reggie tried to appear disapproving, but Gawain saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew he was just as eager to see Fiona defeated. They loved her, of course. But Gawain was out for sweet revenge for the team she had saddled him with during her own house party last year.

What misery!

And Fiona had yet to stop teasing him about it.

His friends, Camborne and Lynton, had admired her diabolical genius when told about the torment she had put him through. Those Silver Dukes would arrive soon, but Gawain was already exacting this harmless prank on Fiona. Why wait when the perfect opportunity had already presented itself?

And what could be sweeter revenge than to have Cherish and Margaret, the two sweetest and gentlest ladies at this party, defeat her?

“You invited Pershing just to stick him on Fiona’s team, didn’t you?” Reggie accused. “Lord, he’s so drunk, I’m surprised he is still standing. I ought to go over and take his place. He is going to shoot someone through the eye with his arrow, probably himself. The man is utterly useless. His arrows have yet to hit a single target.”

Gawain stopped him. “Fiona is about to strangle him with his own bow. I cannot wait to watch this.”

Durham now joined them, laughing just as hard as he and Reggie were as they watched Fiona chasing Pershing around the lawn. “You are cruel, Bromleigh.”

Gawain grinned. “Pershing is too drunk to keep running for long. He’ll pass out soon. I’ll rescue him before Fiona actually strangles him,” he said. “Oh, hell,” he added a moment later. “Cherish is going to rescue him. Botheration—I had better get down there before she ends up with a black eye.”

He raced onto the lawn and caught his wife gently around her increasing waist. “Love, you are in no condition to be mixing it up with those two.”

“Fiona knows my condition and will be careful around me,” she assured him.

“But Pershing doesn’t. You are only four months along and hardly showing yet. I will have to kill him if he hurts you, accident or no.”

She cast him a loving look. “Gawain, you are being apishly protective again. But very well. For the sake of saving Pershing’s life, go ahead and separate those two before Fiona knocks out one of his teeth. You know how competitive she is, so why torment her? You are having far too much fun with this.”

“It is nothing to the agony she put me through last year. Although she did find me my perfect match, so I suppose I ought to be grateful. All right, I’ll put Durham on her team tonight. He’s a very smart fellow. I’ll even let her team win, if that will make you happy.” He gave Cherish a lingering kiss, and then ran off to haul Fiona off Pershing, who was sprawled on the grass and not moving. “He looks dead,” Gawain muttered. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No, but it isn’t for lack of trying,” Fiona grumbled. “I can hear him snoring. Just leave him there. He is in no one’s way and will eventually wake up on his own. I hope it rains on him.”

Gawain glanced up at the sky that was a deep, cloudless blue. “No rain today.”

“Too bad.” Fiona sighed and returned to the other guests to finish the archery game her team could not possibly win, since Pershing had just forfeited his turn.

Gawain returned to Cherish’s side, amazed by how exquisite she looked. She grew lovelier by the day—quite a feat, because she had always been strikingly beautiful. There was a serene beauty about her, an ethereal glow that radiated from within.

She had wrapped herself around his soul.

He was shamelessly happy in this marriage. But it was easy to love Cherish because—these cutthroat house party games aside—she was the kindest, sweetest, and most caring wife a husband could have.

“Gawain, I see Potter setting out refreshments on the terrace. Would you care for some lemonade?”

“No thank you, love.” He had gone hard after her uncle, the Earl of Northam, because she was such a genuinely good person and had not deserved any of that oaf’s cruel treatment. His villainous accomplices were now disgraced and imprisoned. Gawain, with the assistance of Reggie, Durham, and London’s finest Bow Street runner, Homer Barrow, had recovered all she was due to inherit. At his behest, the Crown had imposed a heavy fine on Northam, burdening his entailed estate so that he and his wife were forced to live on the brink of penury, as they deserved.

“Are you sure I cannot pour you a lemonade?” Cherish asked. “It is getting warm out here.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Reggie, Durham, and I shared a bottle of brandy earlier.”

“Hmm, no wonder you have a naughty glint in your eye. You are forbidden to carry me off into a quiet corner and kiss me senseless. Understood?”

“Is it so bad? I am only ever naughty with you.”

She blushed. “Well, perhaps later.”

Cherish, who truly did have a soft heart, had been quietly assisting the tenant farmers and staff who worked on Northam’s entailed properties. They could not possibly make ends meet because Northam did not have the means to pay them due to that crushing fine imposed on him.

Gawain had no quarrel with how she chose to spend her own funds now that she had put her own holdings, Northam Hall and its farms, back in good order. She was a capable estate manager and knew what she was doing. He did not interfere other than to insist she not give so much as a ha’penny to her uncle and his greedy wife.

He was not certain she had obeyed him. But he wasn’t going to look into it or ever confront her about it. If she took mercy on them, then so be it. This was who she was, and he loved her for all of her qualities. With her farms back in shape, she could easily afford to be generous.

She had also spent the year putting the manor house back in order. New paint colors and wallpaper for the walls that were light and breezy, and reflected the countryside and sea close by. New drapes and decorative pieces for each room. The result was an elegant, yet inviting and warm, seaside manor.

This party was Cherish’s way of showing off her newly refurbished home.

Here was where they would spend their summers, while the rest of the year would be spent between London and the Bromleigh estate. Gawain was glad Cherish and Fiona would have these summer months to enjoy each other’s company, for they were true friends and cared for each other as sisters. They had also taken Margaret into the fold now that she had married Reggie.

Margaret was sweet and adorable, but still a peahen. Well, catching up on all the education she had been denied was a daunting task, and Gawain had to give her credit for her diligence and enthusiasm for it.

“My love? You are lost in your thoughts.”

He shook out of them and escorted Cherish onto the terrace now that Potter had finished setting out refreshments for their thirsty guests. “Not at all. I am merely plotting my next revenge on Fiona.”

“Gawain!”

“All right, no more irking Fiona. I’ll behave.” They settled with their guests to enjoy the light fare of cakes and lemonade. He tried to be an attentive host, engaging the various friends in conversation and keeping an eye on Pershing as he awoke and stumbled off in the wrong direction. He sent one of the footmen after him.

But mostly he watched Cherish smile and chatter with the ladies in her company. A gentle breeze blew off the water and rustled through the trees that provided shade. Cherish’s hair shimmered gold as dapples of sunlight adorned her locks and the wind ruffled a few curls. She glanced over at him with her big brandy eyes and cast him a beaming smile.

This was what she was—gold to his silver. Sweetness to his bullheadedness.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, leaving his guests to make his way toward Cherish. “My dear, I have need of you for a moment.”

“Oh, have we forgotten something?”

He led her back inside the house. “Only this,” he said, and kissed her with all the love he felt in his heart.

She laughed and returned his kiss with equal fervor. “I love you, Gawain.”

“Mutual, sweetheart.” He had his hand now protectively placed on her stomach and was shocked to feel a light flutter.

“That’s your son,” she said with an improbable certainty. “A miniature Silver Duke.”

“Or a sweet version of you,” he insisted.

But five months later, Cherish delivered a howling and healthy boy.

This Silver Duke was well pleased.

And more in love than ever with his wife.

THE END