Epilogue

Two Months Later

Dear Readers, it is not often a pleasure to be wrong, but only the hardest of hearts would not melt at the spectacle that is the Ice Queen and the Rake, forming the marriage of the Season.

This author will throw up her hands and admit that she never believed they would make a match of it – after all, just because a lady pursues a man does not mean she will get him, and vice versa – but here we are. The betrothal announcement certainly came as a surprise to some of us – especially since there was a whisper of a rumour that in fact the Ice Queen was briefly engaged to Lord Raisin, who has of course since been arrested for non-payment of debts and locked up in the debtor's prison – but we accept it, nevertheless.

There are some people who claim that the viscount ought to have waited longer for his wedding, as his father is only two months dead, and their mourning continues. However, this author has known the late Earl of Wrenwood personally, and it is possible he is not as well-deserving of a lengthy mourning period as some other, nobler patriarchs.

The ceremony was a remarkable event, and only the blindest of fools could believe that the match between the Viscount Henley and Lady Isolde Belford was anything other than a love-match. Yes, a love-match, the rarest of things in our cynical, mercenary Society.

And so this author wishes the newlyweds a lifetime of happiness, and hopes that they can let bygones be bygones, and find whatever it is they seek in each other.

On a slightly less romantic note, rumour has it that Mr. Simon Dudley has replaced the viscount as the Rake of London, and recently collapsed in a state of intoxication in the middle of a rather well-known park, in the middle of the day. No doubt he is discovering that his hard-won reputation as a Great Rake is rather troublesome to keep up.

Good luck, Mr. Dudley. Good luck.

***

The wedding had gone perfectly. Isolde glanced briefly over one of the scandal sheets – it mentioned Clayton and her, as she had known it would, and tossed it away.

"It seems silly that we hang on such things," she observed to her fiancé.

No, husband.

That word still sounded strange in her head.

"It is silly," Clayton acknowledged, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "I'm glad you're leaving them behind."

"Well, I didn't say I wouldn't read them. You know how I love to read."

The wedding breakfast was held at the Belford house. Lady Wrenwood – she'd begged Isolde to call her Eliza – had wanted to host it, but as they were not out of mourning yet, they decided she could not..

Eliza was inching out of mourning, though, slowly but surely. There were no fresh bruises on her face, her hair was glossy again, and her skin glowed. In short, she looked entirely happy.

Amelia and Edward came prancing up, both dressed in their wedding finery, and began begging Clayton to dance with them both at the same time. Laughing, he glanced over his shoulder.

"I need my wife's permission, first!"

Isolde smiled. "Of course you have it. Off you go, then!"

The children towed their older brother away towards the dance floor, where there were already several couples dancing a merry little jig. Isolde took the opportunity to glance around the great ballroom of her home – not her home anymore, she would go to live with Clayton in his house soon – at her guests.

Her parents were twirling together, chuckling merrily and capering about like a pair half their age. They had been surprised and understandably suspicious when Clayton asked for their blessing to marry Isolde, but gradually he had overcome their poor opinion of him, and now they loved him almost as much as Isolde did.

Almost.

Eliza was holding court at one of the tables. She was beautiful, clever, and now rich, and the older gentlemen were all very eager to get her favour. She seemed to be enjoying herself but had privately confided to Isolde that she had no intention to get married again. She was quite content as a widow, and Isolde was more than happy for her.

She had also opened a library in their house, and Isolde had it on good authority that the first book on the shelves was the Vampyre. Followed closely by Pride and Prejudice, of course.

There were plenty of familiar faces in the crowd. Isolde saw Lady Maria Bell and her husband, talking excitedly about their library to anyone who would listen and handing out book recommendations with enthusiasm. James was sitting in the corner, reading a book that looked suspiciously like the Vampyre. He looked vaguely terrified.

Viola was there, of course, speaking to a friend of Clayton's, a man whose name Isolde could not remember. It was Lucas something-or-other, she thought.

On the dance floor, Clayton laughingly disentangled himself from his siblings, and came over to sit beside Isolde again.

"Not dancing, my love?" he asked, taking her hand and pressing to her lips. "It's our wedding, we ought to dance."

"We have danced just about every dance but this one. My feet are sore – perhaps we should rest? Besides, I quite enjoy watching the others."

He grinned. "I will not complain. By the way, Edward wants to dance with you if a waltz comes up. He was most insistent. I told him he would have to ask you himself, so be prepared for that."

"He really is a little dear. I love your family, you know."

"You wouldn't have liked my father."

"No, I suppose not." She paused, glancing at him. "Do you miss him at all? Even a little?"

Clayton sighed. "He was my father. There is… there is some filial feeling left in me, although he knocked most of it out. I see how happy my siblings and stepmother are now that he's gone, and I can't bring myself to be sorry that he's dead. Does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," she responded, squeezing his hand.

There was a brief, comfortable pause, during which Lucas got up and led Viola to the dance floor. Isolde was surprised, since Viola did not much like dancing.

"Have you noticed them?" Clayton asked, following her gaze. "I reckon they'll make a match of it."

Isolde gave a short laugh. "No, I don't think so."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You're so sure!"

"Well, she is my closest friend. I love Viola, and I know her well. She wants to stay a spinster."

"What if she falls in love?"

"I don't think she intends to fall in love."

He snorted at that. "Nobody intends to fall in love. We just do. Besides, Lucas is handsome, and charming, and he can be determined when he wants to be. Your friend seems to like him well enough."

"That's because she's sweet and polite. No, Viola would never marry him."

Clayton eyed her for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Isolde steadfastly stared back, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"We're at an impasse, then," he said at last. "You believe your friend would never fall in love, and I believe that my friend is already falling in love."

"Only time will tell if they'll make a match of it."

He leaned forward, holding up his champagne flute with a grin. "How about we start our marriage together the way this whole thing began?"

"Oh? How so?"

The grin widened. "With a wager, of course."

Isolde grinned back, lifting her glass of champagne to clink against his.

"Indeed, I accept your challenge, my love."

The End