Epilogue

Six months later ...

Marianne had been rightly nervous about travelling to and from Italy by sea. It had not escaped her memory that her father had met his end on a boat—and there would have been a poetic irony in Marianne dying there, too, right after her wedding. Thankfully, that had been four months ago, and Marianne was still alive.

Like everything else in her young marriage, the crossings had gone perfectly according to plan. The most perfect factor of all, of course, was her doting husband. He had suggested Bologna as their first stop as a married couple after completing their marriage tour around England.

There were more Colline relatives than Marianne could keep track of. And even more hidden Chambers relatives, who had been delighted to meet the long-lost daughter of rebellious Nicholas.

The last leg of their journey, the carriage ride back to Norfolk, had been perhaps the most arduous of all. Marianne pressed her head against the cool glass of the carriage window while a frantic Anthony rummaged in his Gladstone for her smelling salts, pushing aside his art supplies. Her early pregnancy had been taxing, to say the least, making a return to England necessary—and merciless.

She just about found her legs as their coach arrived before Moorhaven Manor. Anthony rushed out of the carriage to help her out, holding her like his life depended on it, not hers.

"I warned the driver to go slowly, but I have to assume the man was deaf," he grumbled, pressing a kiss to Marianne's forehead.

"Or a sadist," she said through a sigh. She pressed her throbbing head against his chest. "At least no wheels fell off the carriage."

"I think you are grossly misremembering your first trip here." Anthony laughed, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. He nodded to the staff who had come to greet the duke and his duchess. "But I shall forgive you a few theatrics."

"Only a few?" Marianne scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I have much more up my sleeve now that we are back in England. The ton will not know what to do with me."

"As if they ever did."

One aristocrat was glad to see Marianne if nothing else. Catherine rushed down the stairs to greet her son and new daughter-in-law, hugging Marianne first and marvelling at the barely visible swell of her stomach. She was finally out of black, dressed in a light lavender gown better fitting her complexion.

Eagerly, she dragged the newlyweds into her solar, begging to be told about their trip. Marianne let Anthony do most of the talking, smiling madly as he reconnected with his mother. There was something lighter about her husband than when she had first met him, and she loved this new, brilliant side of him even more.

"And naturally, I've been taking good care of your charities while you've been away, darling," Catherine said, leaning over to pat Marianne's hand. "It's been a little difficult without our Frida. I had forgotten how difficult it was to find good help."

She side-eyed the maid on standby, likely Miss Barclay's replacement. "But I have never been one to stand in the way of true love—as you well know. You did not run into the romantic Mr Bowers and his new wife on the Continent, did you?"

"He's written a few times," Anthony replied, standing behind Marianne's chair. "He and Miss Barclay—Mrs Bowers," he corrected, "were in France the last I heard."

"Such a shame about the elopement," Catherine said, pouting. "I love a good wedding."

"Patrick refused to give his mother the satisfaction," Marianne explained, having received a few letters of her own from Frida. "So long as they are happy, I don't see the harm in it. And it must have been a real love for Frida to do something so rebellious."

"Does love not bring out the rebels within us?" Catherine said. Her expression betrayed her thoughts about Anthony and the ordeal with the Webbs. "But before you ask, the general opinion of your match has been favourable here in Norfolk. And the unfavourables are long gone—to Carlisle with the mother, or so I've heard."

Marianne felt Anthony's grip on her shoulder intensify. The duke had done what he had promised, taking De Laurier before a magistrate and then before the Criminal Courts. He was now practicing out of Newgate Prison, where he belonged.

And as for Lord Hindborough and his daughter, a list of De Laurier's associates had been released in a scandal sheet not long after the trial. Those who had survived his treatments did not survive the backlash from the ton.

The afternoon wore on, and Marianne soon changed for dinner in her old room at Moorhaven Manor. Anthony knocked on the door, entering with a devilish smile she knew meant trouble. He grabbed her from behind before the vanity table, sinking his mouth into her neck and lavishing her with kisses.

"My maid has just gone to press my dinner gloves," she said through a laugh, wriggling in Anthony's hold. "She'll be back in no time at all."

"Why should that matter to me? My utter adoration of you is not something I am looking to keep secret." He held her close to him, swaying her gently as he resumed his kisses. "And in my own house, no less; I plan to do with you as I please ..."

She hummed in satisfaction as his hands roved her body over her chemise, wondering how it was possible that she had got so lucky.

"You didn't tell your mother about the other defector in the family," Marianne said, mind wandering as Anthony sighed against her neck. "Gideon and his own bride will be returning to Norfolk soon ..."

"Why discuss your cousin's recent happiness when we could be indulging in our own?" Anthony replied, smiling.

She supposed her husband was right. After learning of Marianne's betrothal to Anthony, Gideon had left London and had not been heard of again for weeks.

The truth soon revealed itself when he arrived at Moorhaven Manor with a beautiful, freckle-faced young woman—the woman he had loved when he had been no less an earl than Marianne had been a lady, who he had felt forced to relinquish because of his new station, despite his enduring love for her.

All things end well, with a little courage, Marianne thought.

"Make the most of the quiet, my love," Anthony whispered into her ear. He cupped his hands over her stomach. "Between our new treasure and our soon return to London, we shan't know a moment of peace for years. As your most obliging mouthpiece, I ask only that of you in return."

"You're exaggerating now. Teasing me," Marianne said through a laugh, placing her hands over his. They had plans for Anthony's season in parliament—and no intentions to stay quiet regarding the causes they were jointly passionate about. "Though I won't say I don't enjoy working together ..."

"We're a force to be reckoned with, I think."

Watching them in the mirror, Marianne smiled at the look of contentment on her husband's face. That was all she ever wanted for as long as she lived. His happiness. Her own happiness. Them living together as they saw fit. A force to be reckoned with, indeed.

But there was something else in their reflection. Something she had not seen before. Turning in Anthony's hold, she grabbed his head and investigated his hairline. A light grey strand had appeared in his dark tousle of hair. She plucked it free and showed it to him.

"Your first one," she said, twirling it in the light. "Perhaps our marriage is ageing you quicker than I thought. I shall try to behave better for all the stress it's causing you."

"Perish the thought ... And so what if it is ageing me?" Anthony took the hair from her and cast it away. "I have no fear about growing older. How could I when I know that every year I get to live is another year by your side?"

THE END