Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

Lottie adored snow. Some thought it cold and wet, unwelcoming. But she saw in its iciness a beauty. Some sharp things were merely misunderstood. She pressed a palm against the cold glass of the drawing room and read the note her husband had left her that morning.

Meet me in the chapel, Merriweather. At ten. –Chance.

Should she go, or should she challenge him by remaining here? Force him to come to her. Was there any question? She already wore her cloak. Velvet and in his favorite shade of blue, the one he liked to strip off her. Oh, she’d go all right, and if she challenged him, it would be in other ways.

As she stepped into the gray, early morning light, the snow fell lightly on her shoulders and onto her upturned palm. She set her steps toward the chapel and pulled her cloak more tightly about her. It proved a short walk and delightful, though cold. The sky hung low and gray, but where the snow already piled up, the day glistened. The cold possessed its own particular sort of brightness.

She quickened her steps, her heart and eyes and hands anxious to find her husband. But when she saw the chapel, she stopped. There were coaches. Her brother’s coach and others. She ran. And when she stepped into the chapel, she quite forgot how to breathe. Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling. She reached up her fingertips, grazing the pointed bottom of one. How beautiful. But there—oh! Not just snowflakes. Birds, too. And beyond these fluttering paper beauties, the arms and edges of the pews twisted with paper flowers. And the pews themselves occupied.

She walked—almost floating—down the aisle. Her sisters, her brother, Quinton’s mother, their friends Cora and Bailey, and many from the village, and her husband waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

“You’re late, Merriweather,” he called out.

“Had I received your note sooner, I could have arrived sooner,” she said, returning his affectionate smile.

“Well get down here already.” He snapped his lapels and faced the altar.

As she walked toward him, she caught the grins and winks of her family and friends. The twins hugged each other and giggled, and Prudence, sitting next to Cora, bounced a bit.

Andromeda sat next to her husband, his ward at the very end of a pew. Andromeda’s face glowed, and Tristan’s lips quirked up, amused. His ward, the fourteen-year-old Earl of Avelford, gaped at the twins, smoothing his hair back, clearly less interested in the reason he’d been summoned here than in what Lottie’s sisters thought of him.

Lottie stopped and leaned close to Andromeda. “What is happening?”

Andromeda shook her head. “I’ve not a clue. He called us all here. You’d best go ask him.”

Lottie continued her journey up the aisle, stopping at the first pew where her mother-in-law sat, Princess on a lead. Tiny paper flowers decorated the dog’s collar, and she crushed them between her neck and paws as she slept on the stone floor at Lady Noble’s feet. Lottie knelt and scratched Princess behind the ear. In this very chapel, she’d given the dog to Quinton, an innocent girl’s means of healing a wounded boy’s heart. Princess was more loose fur and creaky knees than nimble, nipping, jumping pup now. More white than brown spotted her muzzle. So much else had changed, too. Quinton waited for her now instead of walking away from her.

So, she finished her journey at his side. He wore a particular type of the Noble Smirk he’d adopted of late. Less challenge there and more satisfaction. But like the other, he wore it only when he looked at her.

“Well?” she asked. “Explain.”

He swallowed, inhaled deeply. “I owe you.” He took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I ruined our first wedding day. I thought we might have a do-over.”

She felt her eyebrows pop up onto her forehead. “A do-over? And the snowflakes, the birds, the paper flowers… you?”

“Everything for you, Merriweather.” He lifted her chin and kissed her as soft as snow falling on a velvet cloak.

Cheers rose around them, whistles and shouts.

Samuel stood on the other side of Quinton, clearing his throat. “Get on with it, then. Why can’t my sisters ever do things the proper way?”

Lottie hoped none of them did things the proper way.

“What would be the fun of that?” Quinton asked.

And wasn’t that the perfect thing for him to say? He knew. He understood. When it came to souls, theirs were something of the same shape, and when it came to seeing the world, their eyes saw similar colors and patterns. And when it came to seeing each other, Lottie had learned in the past several months of marriage, they both looked and felt through love.

When the clergyman asked them to recite the vows this time, Quinton did so with ease and a smile only for her. And when he promised to adore her, this time she believed him. And when he walked her down the aisle, arm and arm, leaning heavily one on the other, he plucked a paper flower, folded by his own hand, and tucked it behind her ear. And then he plucked a paper bird and tucked it into his pocket right above his beating breast. She plucked a snowflake, all angles and sharp beauty, and she put it in the pocket of her cloak.

Their audience followed them outside, snowflakes gathering on everyone’s hats and shoulders.

Quinton called out, “Everyone back to Bluevale. There’s to be a bit of a celebration. I’m not as expert at organizing these sorts of things as Lottie is, so it is sure to be amusing if only for what it is lacking.”

“It is lacking nothing, I am sure,” she whispered near his ear.

“Compliments, Merriweather? You’ve given me so many of late that I shall grow used to it.”

“Good.”

“Should I give you some in turn?” He took her hand and guided her down the path that led back to their home.

“You have already fed me compliments this morning. Over the breakfast table, you lauded the manner in which I eat toast. Such an odd thing to compliment, Quinton.”

“Can’t help it. You’re adorable when you nibble it. Like a little mouse.”

“Hm.” She tapped her bottom lip. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“Then you’ve called me beautiful at least five times today.”

“You are beautiful.”

“Six.” And she stashed each one away like berries in her pocket, put into safekeeping to savor later. “And you said you cannot live without my kisses.”

“That’s less a compliment and more a fact of life.”

She knew exactly what he meant. The snow fell a bit faster, but she enjoyed it, hearing her family chat behind her as they walked.

“I’m worried about Prudence,” she said. “After the scandal at the end of last Season.”

He squeezed his arm around her waist, bringing her closer to his side. “Yes, it was all quite shocking. But she seems to be doing well.”

They peered over their shoulders to view Prudence walking beside Miss Cora Eastwood, face angled down as if she watched her feet.

“I worry—”

Quinton kissed the inside of her palm. “Damn glove. It’s in the way.” He threaded their fingers together. “I know you worry, love, but Prudence is strong. How can she not be with you as her sister?”

“You do say the loveliest things.”

“Perhaps it’s only because I want lovely things from you later,” he whispered, his breath hot near her ear. He brought their hands up, kissed the back of hers, and just as their first kiss in the woods on the one of the saddest days of her life had awakened her, just as his morning kisses awakened her every day now, this one poked every bit of her into yawning, stretching, languid wakefulness.

When they returned home, they’d have to leave their guests to themselves for a half hour or more.

For now, she nestled her face against the hard muscle of his arm, inhaled his crisp scent. “You’ve become a bit of a romantic, haven’t you?”

“Not much of a choice, have I? It’s what happens when a lady successfully romances a rogue.”

The End

Thank you for reading How to Romance a Rogue, book 2 in Charlie Lane’s new series: A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship.

Dive right into book 3, Between Courting and Kissing.

Lady Prudence is plagued by a swarm of suitors she does not want, and one in particular--a bearded American with no manners--seems to want something more than marriage--her secrets.

Read on for a sneak-peek!