Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ONE MONTH LATER . . .

C harlotte peeled back the curtain from the front window, searching the path leading to the house, eager for Simon's return. Although overcast, which Simon explained was perfect weather for fishing, no lightning or thunder lit the sky or boomed in the distance. And if such portents had appeared, she had no doubt Simon would return posthaste to hold and reassure her all would be well.

However, the gloomy skies were not what made her anxious to see her husband, but rather the latest copy of The Muckraker.

Regardless of the idyllic month they'd spent at Rosehaven Park after the incident, most of the time in each other's arms, they had planned to return to London later in the week. Drake had written, emphasizing all was well with Honoria and little Kitty, but from Simon's furrowed brow as he read the letter, something hidden in Drake's words concerned her husband. And as Charlotte clutched The Muckraker in her other hand, waiting for her husband's return, she wondered if the two things were connected.

Trifle meowed at her feet, as if commiserating Simon's absence. Charlotte glanced down, wondering if they could take the kitten with them. No doubt the scamp would require frequent stops much like her husband.

At last, Simon appeared around the curve in the path, his worn fishing hat tilted at a jaunty angle. My, but he was dashing! From his expression, he'd had a productive morning. Charlotte hated the fact she would put a damper on his positive spirit.

He stepped inside, tossing his hat aside and handing tackle and basket to John. "Tell Madge to save a large piece for Trifle." When his gaze snagged on Charlotte, his grin widened, and he opened his arms. "Where's my greeting?"

Not hesitating, Charlotte flung herself into Simon's embrace. "I'm so glad you're home." After one quick sniff, she pulled back. "You smell like fish."

He laughed. "As much as I love the greeting, you haven't given me time to wash."

"Because there isn't time." She waved the gossip rag in front of him. "We must leave for London at once."

Ignoring her complaint about the fish smell, he pulled her close. "First, a kiss to shore me up for what I suspect is going to be bad news."

Long seconds passed, and Simon's lips made Charlotte forget the pungent odor of trout. Who would have ever imagined she'd be so in love she could ignore such a thing? Or that a man like Simon could turn her brain to mush with a kiss?

When he finally broke the kiss, she stared at him in a daze.

"Well?" he asked. "What's so important?"

"Hmm?" Her murmured answer elicited a chuckle from her husband.

"You were waving that gossip sheet in my face and telling me we needed to return to London immediately. "

"Oh, right." Grasping his hand, she led him into the drawing room and pulled him next to her on the sofa. "Here. Read."

Handing him the scandal sheet, she waited.

Simon braced himself. Charlotte wasn't one to become riled over most gossip, so the news must be particularly troublesome. Either that or she had grown soft. He chuffed a laugh at the unlikely notion, then read the first paragraph of the detestable paper.

Rumor has it that Lady Charlotte Beckham and her commoner husband created quite a stir during the May Day festivities in Swindon. This reporter normally does not cover such banal events occurring in the country, but the Marquess of Edgerton heroically intervened on his sister's behalf, possibly saving her life.

He glanced up at Charlotte. "Is this hack serious?"

Charlotte ignored him, urging him on. "Did you get to the part about our behavior?"

"Edgerton a hero, my arse," Simon mumbled, then returned to the rag.

One wonders why the marquess would make such an effort. His sister seems to have forgone all decorum, practically copulating with her husband in public. It's no wonder they had to marry so quickly. Shall we expect a child to arrive several months sooner than the usual nine after their wedding? And will the child look like her husband, or some other fellow?

Simon crumpled the paper in his fist. "When you discover who this culprit is, I want first crack at him."

"Although it grieves me to consider the possibility, what if it's a woman?"

"Then I shall take great pleasure watching you land one of your magnificent punches on the harpy's face." He shook his head. "You should have whacked your brother over the head with his own cane. Surely, he had a hand in spreading this news to whomever writes this rag. Who else could it be?"

"It is strange that what happened here would appear in a London scandal sheet," Charlotte said. "However, there's more. Read on."

"Worse than hinting that you've been unfaithful to me?" Simon cared less that the culprit had subtly called him a cuckold and more that the miscreant maligned Charlotte's reputation.

"You and I will survive that nonsense. Read," Charlotte commanded.

Using his thigh as a table, Simon did his best to flatten out the crumpled parchment, then dropped his gaze to the section under the lies about him and Charlotte.

In addition to the scandalous behavior of Mr. Beckham and Lady Charlotte, not only in Swindon but prior to their marriage as well, which this reporter notes occurred in the Duke of Burwood's London home, news has reached our ears that the duke's sister, Miss Juliana Merrick, posed for a portrait painted by Mr. Victor Pratt, heir to Viscount Cartwright. The news would seem unremarkable, as Mr. Pratt is known to be an aspiring artist. However, the reports state that Miss Merrick did so in a state of undress. It would appear that the new duke's home has become a hotbed of scandal.

Simon peered up from the calumnious article. "This is beyond the pale. Juliana is too sensible to pose so scandalously." Isn't she?

"Something in Drake's recent letter concerned you. Could it be related to this?"

"I—perhaps. Drake mentioned being anxious to leave London and get back to his seat in Dorset, but I thought perhaps it had something to do with little Kitty. Do you think he wants to get Juliana away from Victor Pratt? He seemed like a fine fellow to me. Would he take advantage of a young innocent?" Simon's head pounded at the thought.

"I don't know him well enough, although scandal follows his family. But regardless, Drake and Honoria will need our support. They're not as tough as we are."

He pulled her into his arms. "God, I love you."

She grinned at him. "I love you, too, even if you're?—"

"Incorrigible?"

She gave him a sly, secretive look, then shook her head. "Even if you're going to forget all about me when your son or daughter is born."

He laughed. "I couldn't forget about you in a million years. You're a force of nature. Why—" He stopped, her words finally registering in his racing mind. He held her in front of him at arm's length. "Charlotte Beckham. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"It took you long enough. Now, kiss me, you buffoon."

And he kissed his wanton wife as if his life depended on it.

Which, in truth, it did.