Epilogue

PROLOGUE

April 1819

The carriage stopped in front of the townhouse, and Lottie cried out, "He's here!"

Andromeda smoothed her skirts, then leapt for Tristan, who was striding across the room for the entryway.

"Let him breathe, Tristan," she said, wrapping her hand around his wrist and pulling him back into the parlor. "He's just returned. He does not need his older brother glowering at him as soon as he steps foot on London soil."

"I'm not going to glower. I'm going to welcome him home. Then wish him a happy birthday. Then crush his entire body in a hug."

"Yes. Excellent plan. But before he's crushed, let him greet the others."

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, then glowered.

Andromeda kissed his cheek.

Footsteps in the hall, then the door flew open, and there he was—Alex Kingston, Earl of Avelford, newly arrived from Eton and newly fourteen years of age.

Alex paused in the doorway, his head tilted as he looked at everyone assembled. "What's going on? Why did the coachman bring me here instead of home? Not that I'm unhappy to be here with"—he curled a grin, no, a smolder—"such charmingly beautiful ladies, but you all do know I don't live here. Yes? I live with King, no matter how often I've been here in the past."

"If only you were here less often." Gertrude, ensconced in an oversized chair in a corner, fancywork in her fingers, rolled her eyes.

Alex's glower seemed a perfect copy of his brother's, but it did not keep the boy from being crushed. First the twins and Prudence and Lottie rushed forward to drop happy curtsies, then Felicity and June, and even Gertrude welcomed him home. Samuel did so at a distance with a respectful head nod and lift of his glass of wine. Even Lord Noble, lounging at his side, offered something a bit lighter than the Noble Smirk.

"Why are we all here?" Noble asked Samuel.

"You were not invited," Tristan reminded him.

"But you're free to stay," Andromeda added. "Lottie has organized a lovely homecoming party, and there's enough cake for you, too. There are to be games."

"I'll take the cake," Noble grumbled, "but not the games."

"Only if I say you can have some." Lottie, escorting Alex farther into the room, did not even look Noble's way to deny him repast.

Noble scowled.

"Is all this for me?" Alex asked.

The room had been decorated in roses and a cake centered on a table, surrounded by other delicacies.

"Yes, for you," Andromeda said. "It's not every day a young man turns fourteen."

Tristan cleared his throat. "You are the arbiter of your own destiny now. What shall you do with it?"

Alex's grin was crooked, his eyes brimming with light. "Eat cake first. Then…" He ducked his head, fiddled with a button on his waistcoat. "Should anyone happen to ask me who I'd like my guardian to be, I'll tell them."

Tristan pulled at his cravat. His fingers were tan and nicked against the snowy white neck cloth. Now, as always, they snagged her attention, ripped her composure to shreds, and set her heart racing to the rhythm only he could play across her skin.

"Where are your gloves?" Andromeda asked.

He leaned low, whispered in her ear. "You tell me, Captain. Last I saw them, you were stripping them off me."

"Ah. How right you are." She ignored the heat moving through her. For now.

Lottie was cutting cake and handing slices to a maid to dispense around the room. "How was school, Alex?"

He'd sat in a chair near the food-laden table, and he'd just popped a forkful of fruit-heavy cake between his lips. He spoke around the bite. "Gewd!"

"Wait to speak until after you've eaten," Tristan chided.

Alex shrugged and continued chewing, happy to talk or eat or both simultaneously.

"Can I hover over him yet?" Tristan's voice low in her ear again, but impatient.

She nodded, and he kissed her temple, then flew to his brother's side, pulling a chair right beside him and shooting questions at him like arrows at an enemy.

"That fellow, Bricksly. Did he give you any more trouble?"

Alex shook his head.

"What about dear old Barty?"

"Barty's the worst. Still angry about the carriage in the park. But it wasn't my fault. Not entirely." Alex shrugged. "We keep our distance."

Tristan grunted. "Good. And your studies?"

Alex groaned. "King, you know all this. I wrote you—"

"But it's not the same in writing. Is there anything new?"

"Yes!" Alex's fork clattered to his plate. "The lads got a hold of The Daily Current, and they take studying it much more seriously than their Latin. Mr. Marks has said he'll confiscate the next copy he sees. But I argued that courtship is just as much an important part of our education as anything else. He didn't like it. So, you may be hearing from him, but—"

"The boys at Eton are studying The Daily Current?" Tristan leaned back in his chair with a chuckle.

"They call it The Daily Courtship," Alex said.

Samuel strode up to the small group. "This may explain why I've had such interest of late. In my methods. Three bachelors from good families have inquired as to my availability."

"Availability as what?" Lottie asked.

"A tutor of sorts. Of courtship."

Andromeda laughed. "Why would they consider you for such a position?"

Samuel straightened his sleeves. "The weekly column in The Current about courtship. Seems its author's identity is not such a secret after all."

"You?" Lottie screeched, the knife she'd been using clattering to the table.

"Yes, me." Samuel arched a brow. "And why not?"

Tristan flinched, glanced at Samuel. "Someone at the paper must have overheard our conversation a few weeks ago. I knew you should have stayed home."

"Annie has been to your shops. No reason I shouldn't, too. I write your most popular column. I should be allowed inside the da"—Samuel looked around at his assembled sisters, waiting sweetly for him to continue—"blasted place."

If he only knew the sorts of things his sweet sisters had read. A simple damn could not shock them.

Andromeda joined Lottie, taking a glass of wine from the table and watching her husband interrogate his brother. They looked up at the same time, found her watching, and grinned—twin smiles that made her heart too full. The kind of full that made a person glow, made their eyes burn with happy tears.

"Do not cry, Andromeda," Lottie said, wrapping an arm around her.

"I might. But I'm terribly happy." She hugged her arm around her sister's waist. "Are you?"

Lottie flashed a glance at Lord Noble, then purposefully turned her gaze from him to Andromeda, a hard movement that seemed to say she might never look back that way again. "I plan to be." She lifted her chin high and called out, "Shall we have dancing?"

A chorus of Yes! met her suggestion, and the room became a galaxy of movement. Furniture dragged out of the way, the pianoforte opened, keys plonked, and notes trilling through the air as hands found partners and laughter met song.

Tristan found Andromeda and bounced her into a waltz to the tune Felicity sent skipping about the room with skilled practice. He held her tight, and he looked at her with love and something hotter, and when he tugged her from the room, no one noticed.

When he pulled her into her mother's old parlor, not even a maid bore witness. He pressed his body close to hers near the wardrobe hiding books she should not know about and whispered that he loved her and always would. He chased the promises with kisses, hot and sweet, and she melted into his arms and surrendered to whatever the future held, as long as he was with her.

The End

Thank you for reading Never Woo the Wrong Lady, book 1 in Charlie Lane's new series: A Gentleman's Guide to Courtship.