Epilogue

Venice, Italy

One year later

Lily rested beneath her parasol on the deck of Rafe's sailboat. The teal water sloshed against the mooring as the boat gently rose and fell outside of their palazzo.

Well, the palazzo belonged to a friend of the duchess, but she had been so gracious to lend it to Lily and Rafe on their honeymoon trip.

"I don't know if I ever wish to eat anything besides lemon gelato ever again." She sighed, reclining back into the pile of pillows on deck.

Rafe bent down, smiling before he lunged and licked her dessert.

She playfully shoved him away. "I believe that is my gelato."

"I will buy you all the gelato your heart desires if you make that noise again."

She blushed, glancing around as the busy Venetians strolled along the canal.

"Keep scrubbing the decks, Lieutenant."

Rafe chuckled, plunging the brush back into the sudsy bucket.

Lily rolled over once more and pushed her books aside, certain she had received a letter. Oh, there it was. She plucked it out of the pile. First, Charlotte had written about enrollment at school. The first year at the seminary went triumphantly, and Charlotte was pleased to pass on that they had accepted seven more pupils and a teacher skilled in drawing.

Classes would begin in September, once Lily returned from her trip. Though if she were being honest, she never wished to leave Venice. Or perhaps it was traveling with Rafe she enjoyed so much.

Kate's letter was shorter in length but, nevertheless, exciting in nature. Kate, who had sworn never to be a teacher, had accepted a position in Scotland as a governess for two young girls. There was little other detail, only that she would miss Lily when she returned and would write once she had settled.

"Kate is becoming a governess in Scotland."

Rafe paused. "Really?"

"That was my thought exactly. She swore she was content spending time in the country. But Scotland? And a governess?"

He returned to his scrubbing, and Lily folded both letters up. She sat on the desk and stretched, tilting her head toward the warm Italian sun.

"We should dress for dinner soon."

He sat on his knees, so recklessly handsome. His olive skin bronzed with the sun, making his hazel eyes as heated and pointed as ever. She was too busy staring at his mouth to recognize he had moved, erasing the distance between them.

"Not here," she giggled as he kissed her neck.

"I like dressing for dinner," he whispered against her ear. "We have to undress first, and I have it on good authority that I am most excellent…"

"Oh, I made one comment, and you let it go right to your head." She swatted him but it didn't matter. He scooped her up and stepped over the side of the sailboat, up onto the dock, then up through the doorway of the beautiful house.

"Say anything you like, Mrs. Davies, I promise to make good on whatever you wish. "

She pulled herself upright enough to whisper into his ear. She swore he took the stairs two at a time after that.

THE END