Epilogue

EPILOGUE

T wo months later…

"What do you want to do with this painting?"

Drake had refused to wait for the banns to be read and paid an exorbitant sum to be granted a special license to marry Fleur before she had the chance to change her mind. After that, Drake had set about tying things up in London because it turned out that Flavian's idea of living a quiet, quaint life in Whitby as a fisherman appealed greatly to Drake. Once he'd found a cottage near the sea for his new bride and Flavian had secured lodgings nearby, he'd set about leaving Mr. Porter to rest. He sold all of his holdings in the city and told Avalon that if he wished to visit, he might do so on holiday but they wouldn't be coming back.

"Fleur has given me this opportunity to start over with a clean slate and that is what I intend to do."

"But never to see London again?" Avalon countered with a lift of his dark brow. "I don't see you doing that."

"Perhaps not in the past, but as I'm to be a father in a few months, I will be using my expertise elsewhere."

Avalon stared at him for a few moments and then he burst out in rich laughter. "By Jove! Mr. Porter is to be a father. Wonders never cease."

His words had echoed in Drake's mind long after he'd left. He didn't know if Avalon intended to keep his position with the Blue Boys. He could tell that he was doing some thinking as they'd parted ways. While he might never see the king of the underground again, Drake wished him well. He was glad that they had found a way to work things out and could part on good terms. It was one more bridge that he had been able to repair with Fleur's help.

The townhouse on Chelsea was the last project that they had tackled before leaving the city for the coast. The secret room was the final chapter on the life Drake was glad to put behind him. He'd effectively cleared out all of the memorabilia he'd thought it necessary to keep and lit a fire under it all. He'd never felt a sense of relief as he had in watching the edges of those pages curl and turn black. It was as if he was set free, cleansed by their demise.

The last thing to come down was the painting he'd long admired. It had reminded him of a time in his life on another coast. In Burnham-On-Sea he'd been content for a time but this landscape had always reminded him of where he'd come from. Now, that no longer mattered. He wasn't going back, but moving forward.

"I think we can leave it with the British Museum. They will likely be overjoyed to have this piece in their gallery."

Fleur wound her arms around his neck. "I was afraid you might suggest we put it in the nursery."

He lifted a brow and brought her closer to him. "Heaven help me if I have a son that likes to pursue intrigue."

She scrunched up her nose. "Who says it's going to be a boy and that she won't do the same?"

With another groan, he decided the best way to silence her was a kiss.