Epilogue

EPILOGUE

L ondon in December was festive, with garlands of greenery hung over the shop windows and carolers in the streets. Patience and Arthur had chosen Saturday the twentieth for the launch of Mrs. Oliver's book and the shop was bustling with enthusiastic customers. They also had the second volume of their Ladies' Library, an edition of The Canterbury Tales with numerous illustrations, for sale. Patience was initially gratified at how quickly Mrs. Oliver's books were selling, then increasingly worried that they might sell out before the holidays. Arthur had invited many of his former acquaintances and their wives and sisters, and Patience could not have hoped for a better endorsement by the ton.

Mrs. Oliver had sent her regrets that morning, which was both disappointing and a relief. Patience did not like to say as much, but she could only think that some of the potential customers might have found it alarming to discover that such a wizened old lady was the source of intimate advice.

Everyone caught their breath as a singularly glamorous lady swept into the shop. Her red hair and brilliantly green eyes could not be mistaken for the features of anyone other than the beautiful Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne. A ducal coach awaited her outside the shop, which also could not influence trade badly.

She bought thirteen copies and loudly declared that her Christmas shopping was complete before leaving the shop. Chatter broke out immediately and those who had been undecided surged forward to claim their copy of the book in question.

Patience heard Arthur shout a welcome and turned to see Amelia searching the crowd for a glimpse of him. She smiled as the pair embraced, then Arthur brought Amelia toward her. "I hope you do not mind an early present," Patience said, offering the wrapped package to Amelia.

The girl bit her lip. It was clearly a book, but just as clearly, she wished to know which one it was. "I came to buy the new book," she confessed. "Mother says that I can."

"And you will have it," Arthur said, "but add this one to your collection first. You were the inspiration for its publication, after all."

Amelia looked between them then opened the package with a care that Patience would never have shown for a new book. She eyed the cover of the Ladies' Library edition of the Lais of Marie de France , which would be the January offering, then opened it with care. The book had the original Breton on the left of each page and an English translation on the right. Amelia went through the entire volume, page by page, her expression solemn, running a fingertip across the flourishes and studying the illustration for each story. She stroked the marbled paper end pages, then closed the book and ran an appreciative hand over the foiled leather cover.

"It is beautiful," she said in soft wonder. "But it is not signed."

Arthur took the book into the back and Patience watched as he inscribed the front page. He wrote quickly, for he evidently knew what he would write, blotted the ink, then presented the book to Amelia again.

" For Amelia, Christmas 1817, with love from Patience and Arthur. " Her eyes welled with tears and she cast herself at him, earning a tight hug. "I miss you," she said.

"Then you must come to dinner this week," he replied. "I know Lady Beckham does not wish to come, but I will send a carriage."

"Yes, please," she said, then there came the tap of an umbrella.

Lady Beckham stood surveying the pair of them, her manner unwelcoming. Amelia hugged her book and returned to her mother's side, eyes downcast. Lady Beckham turned to Patience. "I should like to acquire a subscription to the Ladies' Library for my daughter. I assume you can arrange that for me?"

"Of course, Lady Beckham." Patience retrieved her ledger, well aware that Arthur and Lady Beckham stood considering each other like adversaries.

Lady Beckham reached into her bag and retrieved a small box, which she handed to Arthur. "Yours, I believe," she said crisply.

Patience watched him open the box and his brows rose. "It was." She saw the blue glint of a sapphire and guessed it was his pin.

"I took it from him immediately," Lady Beckham confessed. "Reynaud had no cause to relieve you of a valuable, much less to see you assaulted, and I chastised him severely for his regrettable behaviour. You may have heard that he and Miss Grosvenor are now married."

"I read of it," Arthur said.

Lady Beckham looked to be pained for a moment. "I am embarrassed that he was the one who showed himself common, he who had been born to better manners than that." She straightened. "You were a better son than he ever was."

Arthur considered the box. "Yet you did not return this until now."

Color flared in the older woman's cheeks. "I hoped you would return to Beckham House. I hoped you would miss it and its luxuries, that you would regret your choice and return to entreat my favor."

"But I do not," Arthur said easily, his tone such that his resolve could not be doubted. "Is that the price of this token's return?" He offered her the box again but she did not take it.

She shook her head and swallowed. "Reynaud is suddenly in possession of more funds than even he knows how to spend. Perhaps it is fortunate that his new wife has many ideas. She plans to expand his country house, so that it exceeds the grace of mine."

"I doubt that is possible, Lady Beckham," Arthur said politely. "You could sell your house to him, if you are less fond of the neighbors than once was the case. You might even be able to buy it back in five or ten years, at a discount, when the earl finds himself lacking in funds."

Their gazes met as Patience watched and a glimmer of humor passed between the two of them.

"You think he will spend it all."

"I think he will not be able to help himself."

"He wants to buy the house in Berkley Square," she confessed. "I thought to make it your legacy instead."

"You owe me no legacy."

"You once were my heir. Indeed, you still are, for I have not visited the solicitors to make a change. You are missed, Arthur. I would leave matters as they are, if you would grace me with your presence on occasion."

But Arthur shook his head. "You do not have to buy my attention, Lady Beckham. I would have called upon you already if I had believed you would welcome me."

"I would," she said quickly and Patience felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Then I will come," Arthur said easily. He took her hand, then bent to kiss her cheek. He murmured something, but Patience heard his words. "Make the house Amelia's legacy. Give her the ability to choose her fate, just as you were able to choose your own."

Patience's heart warmed that he showed such concern for the young lady he had so long known as his sister. Lady Beckham blinked rapidly, then glanced at Patience. Her gaze flicked down Patience before meeting her gaze. "Are you?" she asked softly.

Patience smiled and nodded. "June, if all is well."

"Good," Lady Beckham said, her tone decisive. "I am past due for a grandchild to spoil." And then she smiled as she had not yet, and reached to kiss Arthur's cheek. They eyed each other for a long moment before she nodded satisfaction, then she and Amelia turned to leave.

"You should come on Sundays," Amelia said. "And Patience must come, too. And we will talk about books."

"Of course, we will," Arthur and Patience said in unison, and Patience waved as the pair left.

She would have spoken to Arthur but a woman stepped toward her with purpose. She was breathless, her expression revealing her excitement, and she placed a large sheaf of papers on the table between them. "My name is Eurydice Montgomery," she said hastily. "Countess of Rockmorton. I have written a book and my friend, your sister, recommended that I bring it to you in the hope that you might publish it."

"Has the baroness read it?"

"She says it is perfect." The countess gripped her hands together.

Patience eyed the stack of paper. "What is it about?"

"It is a novel and a tale of two sisters," the countess began even as Patience reached to turn the first page.

"But that is the very best kind," she said and they shared a smile of complete understanding. "Leave me your address and I will write to you when I have read it."

The countess smiled. "And I must have a copy of Mrs. Oliver's book. I was there when she began to write it, you know, as was your sister."

"Truly?" Patience had not heard this tale.

"It was a year ago, at Rockmorton Manor." The countess glanced over the crowded shop. "You are busy today but I will tell you of it when we speak again."

Patience could scarcely wait.

* * *

That evening, Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne reviewed her diaries, her journals and her notes regarding clients past and those men with potential. She compiled a list of twelve men of promise who were, nonetheless, notorious womanizers. Several were inveterate rakehells. All were possessed of wives of beauty and grace beyond what they deserved, but none were so dissolute that Miss Ballantyne believed them incapable of reform.

She packed and dispatched twelve of the books she had purchased, reserving the thirteenth for her own shelf.

Twelve aristocratic ladies received an unexpected parcel in the days before Christmas. They did not realize that their package had eleven identical siblings, each without a sender or return address. Every lady surrendered to curiosity and opened the anonymous gift. All were astounded and fascinated by the book and its contents. Most read the small volume twice. Four read it three times. One read it seven times. Another used a mirror to verify the details provided in the illustrations, and all realized that the return of her husband for Christmas offered an opportunity that was not to be missed.

Eleven of these ladies celebrated a very joyous Christmas Eve. The twelfth found her husband besotted that evening, so had the brandy hidden on the following day. She invited him to embark upon the challenge of finding the key that night in her chamber, thereby adding a playful element to their intimate encounters that—unbeknownst to the lady—had been the reason her husband sought such entertainments elsewhere.

All twelve ladies enjoyed a merry Christmas night and a very happy new year year—precisely as Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne had planned.

* * *

Esmeralda Ballantyne is the most successful courtesan in London, a woman envied by many and a mystery to all. When her past threatens the future of her younger sister, she finds an unexpected champion in the Duke of Haynesdale, a gentleman driven by his honor to intervene on her behalf, despite his disapproval of her trade. Does she dare to trust her newfound protector with her truth, or is the duke—like so many men of her acquaintance—interested in only one kind of compensation from her? As much as she refuses to surrender to any man, Esmeralda fears her impulse will lead her astray…will the price of capitulation be her fiercely defended independence or her heart?

Damien deVries, the Duke of Haynesdale, abandoned his rakehell ways when his father bought his commission, and the injury he sustained is a permanent reminder of his wasteful youth. The youngest of three sons, he never expected to inherit the duchy, and finds himself discontent, burdened by responsibilities and—according to his mother—past due to wed and provide an heir. The difficulty is that the only woman of interest is the forbidden beauty, Miss Ballantyne. There could not be a less inappropriate choice for his duchess, but no other woman tempts him to abandon convention and return to his wicked ways again.

Drawn together by an irresistible desire, duke and courtesan agree to a short affair. But their need for each other proves so insatiable that it cannot be denied. Does Damien dare to surrender his heart to a woman like Esmeralda? Can Esmeralda trust any man fully and give Damien his deepest desire? There is one last secret she holds that will either draw them together or drive them apart forever—when she finally shares it, can they put the betrayals of the past behind and forge a future on their own terms?

* * *

The Duke's Desire

Coming Spring 2025

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