Epilogue

St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, London

The organ played softly. Race paced back and forth in front of the altar. Where was she? He pulled out his watch and flicked it open.

“Plenty of time. Besides, brides are always late,” Oliver, his cousin’s husband, said calmly.

Oliver was Race’s best man, and maddeningly placid about the whole thing he was, too. Race would have asked his best friend, Leo, to perform the role but Leo, as Clarissa’s legal guardian, was giving the bride away.

“Relax,” Oliver said. “Take a pew.”

Take a pew, indeed, Race thought irritably. How could he calmly sit when his every nerve was crackling? It was ridiculous, he told himself. Clarissa wouldn’t let him down. She’d promised herself to him. She’d given herself to him. She wasn’t the sort to break faith. He trusted her with his life.

Which was true, and all very well, but where was she?

He continued pacing.

There was a stir at the doorway of the church and he whirled around, but it was only Lady Scattergood, who’d been brought right to the church door in her ornate sedan chair. He watched her carefully alight.

She was heavily veiled and wore a large colorful turban. Why the veil? He had no idea. She was an eccentric old bird. Another heavily veiled female guided her to a pew at the front. A servant, no doubt, who led the old lady as if she were blind. Ah, that would be it—Lady Scattergood would have her eyes closed. Blocking out the rest of the world until she was safely inside. Clarissa would be pleased the old lady had made the effort to come.

If she ever came herself.

The two veiled ladies were followed by Clarissa’s chaperone, dressed as usual in a rainbow—or an explosion of tropical parrots—and wearing a large feathered and beflowered hat. She also wore an elegant silver-haired gentleman on each arm.

His cousin Maggie entered, waggled her fingers at Race and blew a kiss to her husband. She was followed by that nosy young female who lived on Bellaire Gardens, accompanying a larger, more imposing version of herself; clearly her mother. Lord, how many frills and ruffles could be fitted on one dress? Two dresses.

More and more people entered the church—a surprising crowd, really. He caught himself up on the thought. Clarissa had touched so many people with her sweet nature and kindness.

There were people he recognized from Lady Davenham’s literary society, including Lady Davenham herself, accompanied by merry old Sir Oswald Merridew, who sent him a wink. And there was the woman with the granddaughter who caterwauled—he hoped she wasn’t going to sing.

An elderly woman dressed in blue entered, leaning on the arm of Clarissa’s maidservant, Betty. That would be Clarissa’s old nurse. Leo had arranged for her to be brought up to London especially for the wedding, as a surprise. Clarissa had no idea she would be here. The old lady beamed at him, and he nodded back. A sweet-faced old girl.

Lord and Lady Tarrant arrived with their three little girls all dressed in their best. The baby would be at home with his nurse, of course, but why was the smallest girl scowling? Oh, of course; she hadn’t been allowed to bring her precious cat into the church.

Lord and Lady Tarrant were accompanied by that fellow who’d helped him expose Clayborn—Thornton, that was it—and his stylish wife.

Half a dozen fashionable ladies filed in, Lady Snape and Lady Windthrop among them. They gave him sour, Hell hath no fury looks. A handful of modish, slightly dissolute-looking gentlemen accompanied them, several clearly the worse for drink.

None of them had been invited, of course, but then anyone could enter a church. They certainly hadn’t come to wish him and Clarissa happy: bets had been laid that he wouldn’t make it to the altar.

So much for that. Here he was, standing proud, waiting for his bride.

His side of the church was filled also, mainly relatives and fellows he’d been to school or university with.

A tall, darkly handsome gentleman slipped into a pew on the bride’s side. Vibart! What the devil was he doing here? The villain had had the cheek to court Clarissa—and lost, thank goodness. If the man had a shred of decency he would have taken himself back to whatever hole he crawled from, blast him. Instead he’d had the audacity to come to her wedding. And sit on the bride’s side.

Race glared at the elegant rakehell. Vibart caught his glance, smiled and gave the sort of bow that was both insolent and provocative.

Race turned his back on the congregation and looked at his watch again.

“She’ll be here,” Oliver murmured. “Stop fretting.”

Of course she would. Race had no doubt of it. Only when?

The organ stopped in midtune. An imposing chord sounded. At last! He turned to face the entrance of the church. And there she was, his love, his life, wrapped in some gorgeous confection of satin and lace. But he had no eyes for her dress; it was the gorgeous woman inside it that mattered.

As their eyes met, she smiled, a smile that stole his breath away. So beautiful and loving. His bride.

Race tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn’t particularly cared where the wedding would take place. He’d never been much of a churchgoer, but now, in this hushed atmosphere, with the sun splashing rainbows through the stained glass windows, with the scent of flowers and beeswax and brass polish all around him, and the most precious being in all the world walking down the aisle toward him, he understood that the church was the right place, the only place for a blessing to be bestowed upon him: a blessing called Clarissa.

On Leo’s arm, with Izzy following close behind her, Clarissa forced herself to walk slowly down the aisle. There he was, standing in front of the altar, waiting for her, tall and elegant and beloved. He was looking pale and very serious, but oh, the expression in his eyes—if she wasn’t careful she’d start crying, and she was determined not to do that.

She glanced at the people seated in the church. She hadn’t expected so many to attend. Fashionable London people often skipped the church ceremony, preferring to attend the wedding breakfast instead. But here they all were, so many friends and well-wishers.

Such a short time ago, she and Izzy had arrived in London, not knowing a soul. And now…

Her eyes were blurring. She blinked furiously. She would not be married all teary and red-eyed.

She took a few more steps then faltered, spying among the sea of elegant hats, one very familiar straw hat covered with red silk poppies. It couldn’t be—but it was! Nanny in her favorite hat. Nanny, who had always refused to travel all the way up to London. Nanny, whom she hadn’t seen in an age.

Her face crumpled. Nanny gave her a watery smile in return, and waved.

Leo leaned closer and murmured, “Izzy’s idea. She knew you’d want your old nanny here for the day.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and put a hand behind her to catch and squeeze Izzy’s hand. They continued the long walk down the aisle. She couldn’t see Race’s face now. He was just a tall, handsome blur. All her friends, and now Nanny.

They reached the altar. She felt a tear trickling down her cheek. She quickly dashed it away, passed her bouquet of roses to Izzy, and held out her hands to him, her beloved husband-to-be.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cry, but—”

“You look lovely.” He raised her left hand, kissed it, most romantically, and then kissed the right.

A sigh ran through the watching congregation.

The minister cleared his throat, and they turned to face him. “Dearly beloved,” he began.

The wedding breakfast was to be held at Leo’s house. It was one of his last duties as her guardian. Their flower-bedecked carriage pulled up in front of his house, and there was Matteo, beaming at the door to welcome them. Clarissa hastily tried to straighten herself—she and Race had been kissing all the way from the church.

Race chuckled. “Don’t worry, you still look beautiful.” He handed Clarissa down and they entered the house together.

After receiving Matteo’s effusive congratulations, they turned to climb the stairs to the reception rooms, but Matteo stopped them. “No, no, this way, milor’, milady. Prego.” He swept out a dramatic arm and ushered them toward the back of the house.

“Is such a beautiful day, we ’ave the wedding breakfast in the garden, no?” He grinned and waved them on.

Clarissa gasped. “In the garden? What a lovely idea.”

“Race’s suggestion,” said Leo, coming up behind them. “He said you would love to have it in the garden, and as you know, Matteo enjoys a challenge.”

Clarissa turned and hugged Race. “Oh, it’s perfect, Race. I couldn’t think of anything nicer.” She turned and thanked Leo and Matteo, who modestly waved her thanks away.

They stepped out into the garden. With the spate of warm weather they’d had recently, the garden was in full bloom, heralding the imminent onset of summer. The air was redolent with the scent of freshly cut grass and a multitude of fragrant flowers.

They strolled down the path, turned a corner and found a sea of tables set out on the lawn, each one covered in a white linen cloth and laid with gleaming silver cutlery and crystal glasses. Every table bore several tiny crystal vases containing rosebuds and a collection of other flowers.

A short distance away a raised dais had been set up. On their arrival, a string quartet began to play. Clarissa gazed around. It all looked quite magical.

The other guests started to arrive and soon they were surrounded, exchanging greetings and receiving congratulations and thanking people for their gifts. Under Matteo’s supervision, footmen circulated, bearing drinks, and all sorts of delicious-looking dishes.

“Oh, lovey, what a beautiful, beautiful wedding.”

Clarissa turned and embraced her beloved old nanny.

Nanny continued, “I could hardly believe it when you walked down the aisle, looking so much like your dear mama.”

Clarissa felt a pang at Nanny’s words, but Race came up beside her and took her hand, saying, “Her mother must have been a lovely woman, then.”

“Oh, she was, she was,” Nanny agreed. “I raised her, you know, my lord, and then raised Clarissa and Isobel.”

“You did an excellent job then, Mrs. Best.” Nanny beamed up at him.

Clarissa was amazed that Race had remembered her old nanny’s name, and she could tell Nanny was flattered by his attention.

After a short conversation, Race excused himself and strolled off. “What a handsome and charming man, Clarissa,” Nanny declared, watching him chatting with the guests. “I must say, both you girls have done extremely well with your husbands. Lord Salcott has been so very kind to me. Do you know, he sent his own carriage to bring me to London, and oh my, he spared no expense! Every comfort provided along the way.”

Izzy joined them, and it transpired that she was going to show Nanny some of the sights of London, and then she and Leo would take her back to the cottage where she lived on Leo’s estate.

A short time later, Nanny retired inside to a guest room in Izzy’s house. The excitement, she told Clarissa, was wonderful but exhausting and she needed a nap.

Matteo had set up a special reception area for Lady Scattergood and some of her cronies in the summerhouse, and the old lady sat in state there, receiving guests. By now she’d removed her veil, but her mysterious attendant had not.

“Who’s the veiled girl with the old lady?” Race asked Clarissa when they had a private moment.

Clarissa laughed and rolled her eyes. “Can’t you guess? It’s Zo?, of course. She and Lord and Lady Thornton delayed their departure so they could attend the wedding. I wanted her to be a bridal attendant along with Izzy, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Such a stubborn little sister I have. She said she hadn’t kept out of sight of the ton all this time only to bring disgrace on me and Izzy at my wedding.”

Race eyed her thoughtfully. “She’s very protective of you both, isn’t she? You know, I think we should do something for her.”

“What sort of something?”

“She’s going to France, isn’t she, for a couple of years with Lord and Lady Thornton? I think we should make her an allowance.”

“I did that,” Clarissa said. “I gave her part of mine, every quarter, just as I did with Izzy before she was married.”

“Very generous of you, love, but I’m talking about a permanent arrangement, something where she won’t feel she’s dependent on you, or Lord Thornton, for that matter. She’s an independent little creature, and she has her pride. I’ll tell her it’s a normal part of the marriage settlements: an arrangement for a bride’s unmarried sisters.”

Clarissa hugged him. “That’s a brilliant idea. I did wonder what would happen to my inheritance once I was married. I suppose it all goes to you now.”

“It does, but I thought we’d put it in trust for our children,” he said casually. “What do you think?”

“I like the idea…But could we think about it for a while? While I do want any children we have to be well provided for, I wouldn’t want any of them to be hunted for their inheritance.” As she had been.

“Good point.” He glanced over her shoulder and stiffened. “Oh lord, I’ve just remembered, I have an urgent appointment.”

She frowned. “An urgent appointment? On your wedding day?” She turned to follow the direction of his gaze and let out a gurgle of laughter. Two very frilly and determined-looking females were approaching. Mrs. Harrington and Milly. “We’re going to have to thank them for that hideous epergne they gave us.”

“Ah. You know what a terrible liar I am,” Race said earnestly.

“Hence your urgent appointment,” she said dryly. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with them.”

“I knew you’d be the perfect wife,” he said, and disappeared into the shrubbery.

The wedding feast had been devoured, the toasts were drunk, the speeches made and the wedding cake had been cut: it was time for the bride and groom to depart.

“Couldn’t we just slip away?” Clarissa asked Race. “I’m dreading having to say goodbye to everyone. I’ll be sure to cry, and I look dreadful when I cry, all red and blotchy.”

“You look nothing of the sort,” Race told her. “You’ve been in tears half a dozen times already today and trust me, you looked beautiful every time.”

She gave him a misty smile. “You are such a lovely liar.”

“Beautiful,” he reiterated firmly, and sealed it with a swift kiss.

They said their goodbyes—she managed not to cry—and a mixed crowd made up of invited guests, local curiosity seekers and street urchins gathered on the footpath outside Leo’s house to wave them off and wish them well.

Race tossed a few handfuls of coins into the crowd. The urchins and some of the curious onlookers scrambled to collect them as their carriage drove off.

“That’s done then,” Clarissa said, leaning back against the seat. She was tired, but so happy. “Where are we going now?”

“Not far.”

The carriage turned at the first corner, then turned again at the next, and pulled up outside the house Race had recently renovated. “I thought you’d prefer to spend our first night as a married couple in our new home,” he said. “And tomorrow, if you feel like it, we’ll travel down to my country home. What do you think?”

She sighed with happiness. “It’s perfect. I thought we might be going to one of those big hotels, but this is so much nicer. I always feel a little intimidated in those places.”

He helped her down from the carriage. “In that case, Lady Randall—”

“Lord Randall! Clarissa! What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

They turned to see Milly hurrying toward them, her face alive with concern. “Clarissa Studley, you’re not—you can’t possibly be going to visit that dreadful vulgar pickled pig trotter fellow, can you?” She gasped on a sudden thought. “Oh! You didn’t invite him to the wedding, did you? Mama would just die if he was there, too.” She looked at Race. “Mama is second cousin to a duke, you know.”

“My condolences,” Race said.

Milly frowned. “Condolences? But—”

Anxious to get on with her wedding night, Clarissa cut her off. “Milly, this is Lord Randall’s house. He bought it.”

Milly’s jaw dropped. “Lord Randall bought it?”

“Yes,” Race said. “The house belongs to me. Now, if you don’t mind—”

Milly rushed up to him and clasped his arm. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Lord Randall. Mama will be soooo relieved. And thrilled. And so very grateful. I’m sure she’ll take back every unkind—I mean every mistaken thing she ever said about you, now that you’ve saved us from having that dreadful vulgar pig trotter man as a neighbor. She was considering moving, you know.”

“What unkind things?” Clarissa demanded.

“You and your mother are most welcome, Miss…um,” Race said briskly. “Now, if you don’t mind.” He hurried Clarissa through the front door and shut it firmly behind them.

“I want to know what unkind things they’ve been saying about you,” Clarissa said crossly. “How dare they? I won’t have anyone saying unkind things about you, especially Milly and her mother!”

“They won’t, my little firebrand, now that I’ve rescued them from being neighbors with the dreaded Lord Pig Trotters—or should it be Sir Pigly Trotters? No, I think he must be Sir Pigly Trotter-Pickles. Yes, he married well, a rich Miss Pickles, and then was knighted for services to pig trotters. Though,” he added thoughtfully, “the pigs might not agree.”

“Sir Pigly Trotter-Pickles?” She snorted, then collapsed into giggles. “You truly are wicked, Race.”

“I know. And now, my love, let me show you some of the many delightful ways we can be wicked together, now that we’re married.” He swept her up into his arms and ignoring her protests that she was too heavy, he carried her upstairs and into their bedchamber.

“There,” he said, laying her gently on the bed. He took a moment to—quite unnecessarily—close the new curtains; he was a little out of breath and trying not to show it, the dear, sweet man.

He turned. “Now, where were we?”

“You were going to show me some delicious ways we could be wicked together. Or do I mean delightful?”

“Both,” he said firmly, and prowled toward her.

It wasn’t anything like wickedness, she decided much later, lying boneless and euphoric on the bed. It was pure bliss.

He’d started by simply flipping up her skirt and petticoat and introducing her to what he called the deliciousness.

It had shocked her a little at first—his putting his mouth on her, there. But she was soon dissolving in waves of pleasure and deciding—when she could think at all—that she had no objection to this at all, except that it was wrong to call it wicked.

Slowly she came back to awareness. Her eyes fluttered open and she found him stripping himself naked. She lay, still luxuriating in the last echoes of the sensations he’d aroused, and admired his strong body, his broad shoulders, his long firm thighs, and the small crimson heart high on his left buttock, with her name enclosed in tiny elegant script. It made her smile every time. Along with a small surge of happy possessiveness.

He turned, caught her watching and with a smile, proceeded to undress her, layer by layer, caressing her all the time with lips and hands. And when they were both naked, they moved on to delightful, which began rather like their first time, but oh, it was so much more.

Izzy was right: it did get even better.

They dozed for a while, then she felt him stir and get out of bed. She opened her eyes to see him at the window, naked and magnificent, pulling the curtains back and opening the window, letting in the late sunlight and the gorgeous greens and textures and scents of the garden.

She was so lucky—no, she was blessed—to have found this wonderful man. Why had she ever hesitated so long? He made her feel…everything. She didn’t feel plain and unattractive anymore: he made her feel beautiful. She didn’t even feel fat: she felt…luscious—his word for her. He respected her, he listened to her. He loved her.

And she loved him, so very, very much.

He turned, saw her expression and hurried to her side. “What is it, love? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head; her heart was so full she was unable to muster a word. She reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek.

His face softened. “Happy?”

“More than happy,” she managed as she raised her face for his kiss.