Epilogue

E pilogue

I walked down Tottenham Court Road, a large basket on one elbow, glancing in shop windows with interest. False interest, as it happened, since I’d never been one for shopping. But if anyone were to pay me any undue attention, I wanted to appear as innocent as possible.

I swept my gaze up the street, searching as nonchalantly as I could, and found Nathaniel immediately. He cut quite the figure, leaning against the aged stone of a dress shop, one leg propped behind the other as he inspected a copy of the Times . He was effortlessly handsome, the late afternoon sun brightening the auburn of his hair, his pose a model of easy masculinity.

A young lady passed him, eyeing him with unmistakable interest. I could hardly blame her—the man certainly knew how to lean on a wall—but I still glared at her back. Nathaniel Denning was not hers to gawk at. That was my exclusive privilege.

I moved closer to him, hefting my basket on my arm—a basket far heavier than might be expected from a window-shopping lady. I knew he saw me, felt his eyes flick over me, but he said nothing, only turned the page of his newspaper. I stopped not five feet away, peering in the dress shop window.

“Very convincing,” I said under my breath.

“You as well.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Is your mother an actress, by any chance?”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, though I recovered quickly, clearing my throat. “Focus, Sir Chivalry.” I began to move past him, my skirts brushing the tips of his boots.

“You look beautiful today,” he whispered.

I whipped my head to look at him, my cheeks flushing. He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He liked teasing me—especially, it seemed, when we were working together.

I attempted a disapproving look, my brows lowering. Then Nathaniel winked. The smallest of actions, but there was such a familiarity and lightness to it. I had no defense. I turned away quickly, a smile pulling at my lips. The scoundrel.

Moving up the street, I lingered outside a milliner’s shop, pretending a fascination with flowered silk hats. But I was much less interested in the latest fashion trends than in the silversmith who happened to be located next door.

We had to wait only five minutes before our suspect arrived, walking down the street toward me. I eyed the man in the reflection of the window as he passed me, keeping my bonnet low to block my face. He was short in stature, with shaggy brown hair and a slight limp. But it was the large bag he held over his shoulder that I focused on. Based on his ragged breaths and slow steps, the bag was incredibly heavy. As we’d expected.

The man went past me and entered the silversmith. I waited a few seconds, then slowly meandered past the window, glancing inside with bare interest. I spotted Mr. Durham, the silversmith, in a second. He stood behind the counter, where the man hefted his large bag. When the man bent over his bag, Mr. Durham looked at me and gave a quick, tight nod.

This was the thief we were looking for.

My heartbeat quickened, but I did not hesitate. I carefully switched my straw basket from my right arm to my left, signaling Nathaniel up the street.

I moved past the silversmith, fighting to keep from looking behind me. But when I heard Nathaniel’s familiar footsteps, I couldn’t help but turn. He had paused outside the silversmith and watched me seriously, all teasing gone from his face. Then he gave a short nod, an acknowledgment of the danger we faced and a reminder of why we did this. To make the world a better, safer place. To help.

Nathaniel opened the door and went inside. The door caught before it closed completely, leaving the slightest gap.

“Ebenezer Croft?” Nathaniel’s voice drifted back to me.

I couldn’t resist. I crept forward again until I could just see inside the silversmith.

The man froze, one hand going to his bag on the counter. “Who’s asking?”

Mr. Durham backed away. He had been willing to help us by identifying Croft, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught in the middle of a confrontation.

“My name is Mr. Denning,” Nathaniel said firmly. “I’m an officer of Bow Street, and I’ve come to arrest you on charges of theft, fraud, and damage to property. If you come willingly—”

Croft did not wait for him to finish. He darted for the back of the shop, abandoning his bag on the counter. It appeared he would not be coming willingly. Nathaniel was after him in the blink of an eye.

Of course the lout had run. They never could make it easy for us. I hesitated for all of one second. I was supposed to stay where I was, keeping a lookout on Tottenham Court Road in case Croft had any accomplices who might interfere. But I could hardly leave Nathaniel to apprehend the thief all on his own, could I?

I turned on my heel and ran to the street corner. Unfortunately for Croft, I knew this neighborhood well, including the precise location where the alley behind the silversmith met the main road. I grasped my straw basket in both hands as I ran, feeling its comforting weight.

I reached the alley entrance and stopped just out of sight, listening carefully. Then I heard quick, thumping footsteps, heavy breaths, and gasped swearing. I peeked around the corner. Croft ran wildly toward me, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Nathaniel. The man was right to have such panic in his eyes. Nathaniel was fearsome, so close on the man’s heels.

Croft was almost to me. I pulled back, energy coursing through me. I counted to three, then swung my basket as hard as I could around the corner.

It whacked Croft squarely, and he went down hard. He hit the street, stunned, the barest wheezing moan escaping him.

I stepped into the alleyway as Nathaniel reached us. He stared at me, then put his hands on his waist, breathing hard. “Blast it, Verity. You were supposed to remain as the lookout.”

“Was I?” I asked, unperturbed.

He reached for the pair of iron fetters in his jacket pocket. “I really should stop being surprised when you refuse to listen,” he muttered as he bent over Croft and yanked his arms behind his back. The thief groaned in response, barely coherent.

“And here I thought it was something of an ongoing lark between us,” I said, crossing my arms. “You insist I stay behind. I come anyway and save the day—”

“A lark?” Nathaniel said dryly. “Yes, such fun to never be sure when you’ll actually keep to our plan.”

“That is why we work so well together,” I replied with a saucy wink. “You plan; I improvise.”

“Is that right?” He was clearly exasperated, but even he couldn’t deny that I had helped. Croft would have likely fought him, but now the man slumped against the wall, expression dazed and body slack.

I hefted my basket back onto my elbow, and Nathaniel eyed it suspiciously. “What exactly do you have in there?”

I assumed a look of pure innocence. “Just my coin purse and handkerchief.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“And perhaps five or six of my heaviest books.”

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “Only you, Verity.”

“Me?” I asked, holding a hand to my chest in mock outrage. “You are the one who insists we must be prepared for anything. Today I happened to be prepared for a bit of light reading.”

“Light,” he said, still grinning. “Indeed.”

“Come on, then,” I said with a few jaunty backward steps. “We need to take him back now, or we’ll be late for dinner, and Mama will have my head.”

Nathaniel grabbed Croft’s arm and hoisted him to his feet. The man should have been a bit more concerned about being arrested, but instead, he stared at me with a bewildered expression.

“Who is she ?” I heard him ask Nathaniel as I turned to lead us from the alley.

“That, sir,” Nathaniel said in amused resignation, “is a woman the likes of which you will never see again.”

I grinned.

We left Croft in a holding cell at The Brown Bear and reported our success to Mr. Etchells at the office. It was a fairly simple case, and I doubted the magistrate would have any difficulty finding Croft guilty. We’d caught him red-handed with stolen silver, which he’d intended to have melted down until the crest and initials were unrecognizable.

“My client will be pleased,” I said as we started back down Bow Street. “He had thought the silver lost forever.”

“I hope you are rewarded appropriately,” Nathaniel said pointedly.

I slipped my arm through his. “It was only the one time.”

“It shouldn’t have happened even once.” His voice was gruff. He had yet to forgive the man who had refused to pay me for my services a few weeks ago, even though I had returned his lost dog. “You did the work, and he owed you.”

“Champion of women, indeed,” I said as I tightened my hand on his arm. “Thank you, Sir Chivalry.”

He gave a smile. “You hardly need a champion, Verity.”

My chest filled with a familiar warmth. His confidence in me was a continual source of strength, and how grateful I was to have found such a man.

“When do you leave for Devon?” I adjusted the heavy basket on my arm. Books made for excellent weapons but were not entirely pleasant to carry in large quantities.

“Tomorrow,” he said, taking the basket from me. “Rawlings wants an early start.”

I sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically. “Call me selfish if you must, but I am always rather put out when Mr. Etchells sends you away for a case. There is plenty of crime in London, is there not?”

“Yes, but that is what you are for,” he said, teasing. “You must keep the criminals in line while I am gone.”

“You know I shall,” I said. “But that will not make me miss you any less.” My hand tightened around his arm.

Nathaniel slowed our steps and turned to face me. “It’s only a week,” he said softly.

I absently toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat. “A week without you is an eternity,” I said, my voice delicate.

I meant it. The last three months together had been something of a dream. Even though we were both busier than ever with cases, Nathaniel had been quite serious about courting me, and we’d spent every spare second together that we could. He had become a steady, easy part of my life—laughing with me, sharing my fears and dreams, holding me, and kissing me.

He had been patient and understanding during our courtship—he knew my apprehension about love and marriage. But that apprehension had faded with every day he stayed at my side. He loved me in a way that both shook me and grounded me, so raw and beautifully real. And I loved him, too, so much so that it was difficult to understand. But love was not something to be understood, I’d learned. It was something to be trusted.

I’d come to love him while we worked the Harwood case, but now, after spending so much time together, I was more certain than ever that he was all I ever wanted. And anytime we were parted was a physical pain to me, one of aching want.

Nathaniel’s eyes moved over my face, as if he sensed my thoughts. He opened his mouth, stopped, then firmly set his jaw—as if deciding something. “You could come with me,” he said simply.

I lifted my head. “Come with you?”

“That is, not tomorrow,” he clarified. “But if I were to ask Mr. Etchells, I do not think he would refuse me next time.” He cleared his throat. “If you were my wife.”

I stilled, my eyes fixed upon him. “Nathaniel, is that—is that a proposal?”

Nathaniel grimaced. “Not a terribly good one.”

He glanced around, then pulled me with him through the bustling crowd to a nearby mew, lit by the setting sun. It gave us an illusion of privacy, though the noises of the street still rang through the air, and passersby walked not ten feet from us, ignorant of our life-changing conversation. My heart was pounding fiercely in my chest. Ever since our first kiss at the inn, I’d pictured this moment—dreamed of it—even when I’d refused to admit it to myself.

He set my basket down at our feet and took both of my hands in his. He tugged me closer until our knees touched, and I was forced to look up at him. “Shall I try again?” he asked softly.

I nodded, my throat inexplicably dry.

“I know very well how different we are, Verity,” he said, thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “If you wished it, you could marry a wealthy man, any of your choosing, and live a life of comfort and plenty.”

“Don’t be ridicu—”

He put one finger to my mouth. “But if you are determined to marry beneath you,” he said, his voice softening, “let me put forth my suit.”

I pressed my lips together to hide a smile, then nodded. He lowered his hand, and his gaze swept over me, tender and sweet.

“I want to be with you always, Verity,” he said, tightening his hold on my hands. “I cannot promise an easy life, but I can promise you laughter and love. I can promise you hope and happiness. If we are together, we cannot help but have those.” He allowed himself a smile. “I do not care if we are chasing criminals or children, I only wish to do it with you.”

A small bubble of laughter escaped me, though my eyes were glassy with tears. Nathaniel tucked back one of my ebony ringlets. “My heart is yours, Verity Travers, to do with as you wish.” He lowered his head to whisper in my ear. “But if you trust me with yours, I will cherish it until the day I die.”

I pressed my forehead against his, eyes closed, heart full. “You do not realize it, do you?” I managed, my voice hoarse. “You do not even realize how you’ve saved me. I was lost, and you found me.” My hand slid to his jaw, holding him there against me. “You have helped me remember who I am, but even more so, you have helped me understand whom I wish to be. There is no one I trust more with my heart, and I give it willingly. I wish to be yours, Nathaniel. Your wife, your friend, your home.”

Nathaniel kissed me, his hands finding my back and holding me against him. He had kissed me countless times, but never had it felt like this. There was a new intimacy between us, soft and unspoken, and I knew he felt it too. The promises we made echoed back with every caress of our lips. This was it. Our beginning. Our future.

When we finally pulled away, I sighed and leaned my cheek against his chest. “You have timed this abominably, you know,” I said cheerfully.

He chuckled. “How so?”

“We still have to attend Mama’s dinner party, and I have little inclination to do anything but stay right here with you.”

“And I thought I’d done well,” he said. “Do you not want to tell everyone right away that you will soon be Mrs. Denning?”

“Hmm.” I lifted my head to look at him, resting my chin on his jacket. “Are you sure you do not wish to take my name? You did make such an excellent Mr. Travers.”

He laughed out loud, tipping his head back. “If that is what it takes to get you to the altar.”

I grinned. “Never fear. I rather like the sound of Verity Denning. She seems a happy and contented sort of person.”

“I very much hope she will be,” he said, kissing my forehead.

We stood there in an embrace, the busyness of the city surrounding us. I ignored it all. There was nowhere better than here —in the arms of the man I loved.