Epilogue

EPILOGUE

C ecilia felt as though she were walking through a giant glittering bauble. Nothing as pure as an uncut diamond or other precious stone. This was a bauble made of gold, silver, ivory, and amber. Precious gems shone in tasteless abundance. Gold and silver were inlaid into richly shining wood, and the carpets were either purple or red. She looked around in wonder, trying not to appear so in awe. She knew that Lionel had not visited this particular palace before. He had been presented to the King, the old king , as a boy at Hampton Court. This was the newly refurbished Buckingham Palace in the heart of London. And she was here, on Lionel's arm, to be presented to the old king's son, George, the Prince Regent.

"Everything I have read about him is true," she whispered.

Lionel grunted, also looking around. "Hampton Court was very different. His father had taste and distinction. When I met him, he talked to me of his pigs for five whole minutes. I counted. But this…" He shook his head mutely.

The bandage was gone but a scar remained, scything through his dark hair, marring the pale skin of his forehead. To Cecilia, he was still inordinately beautiful. Still a god among men. The scar would serve to remind them both of the fragility of life. How it needed to be nurtured and protected.

"While there are beggars outside, just a few hundred yards away. And men, women, and children, going hungry all over this country. How can one man live in such over-indulgent luxury?" Cecilia murmured.

They were walking through room after room, following one of the Regent's equerries. They were young men resplendent in red and white military-style uniforms who served the royals. The young man escorting them had brown curly hair and bright, blue eyes. He had been polite and professional but cold and distant. To him, they were a commodity to be delivered from the man who greeted visitors at the door, into the court of the Prince. Turning a corner, they reached a set of double doors, beyond which came the sounds of merriment. The equerry turned to face them and delivered a series of instructions on how to behave in front of the Regent, how to address him and when, how to enter the room, and how to leave it. It was delivered with a solemn expression and a tone of contemptuous boredom. This was not the first time he had delivered such a speech and it would not be the last.

Then the doors were opened and they were finally announced. Cecilia and Lionel stepped into the room, arm in arm. The floor was carpeted in what seemed to be an antique Persian design. The walls were decorated with objects of gold and silver, all with a distinctly Oriental design concept. The men and women of the court were dressed as finely as the palace in which they sported. The light reflected from mirrors and gold sconces, bounced from tiaras and necklaces, rings and bracelets. Women wore their necklines low and the men all seemed to be wearing the very latest fashions. It was not a subject on which Lionel or Cecilia were well versed but a Savile Row tailor had educated them as he measured Lionel for his attire. Cecilia had a new wardrobe too, shunning the ostentatious display of wealth that she was told was the fashion, in favor of something fine but modest.

The jewel in the crown of the Regent's court was, of course, the Regent himself. Prince George sat on a high-backed wooden chair inlaid with gold and amber, elaborately carved. A purple, gold tasseled cushion softened it and it had been positioned atop a dais at the far end of the room.

A throne in all but name.

He was leaning from it, a jewel-encrusted goblet that would have impressed the Khan with its lavishness in one beringed hand. Cecilia was proud that she did not miss a step as she saw who the Regent was talking to.

Lord Thorpe had one arm in a sling of red silk. He wore a full dress uniform including a sheathed rapier on his hip. He pointed to the two newcomers as they stopped to be announced. The Regent's eyes slid to them and narrowed. He quaffed from his goblet and stood. The room was silenced instantly. All eyes swiveled to the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill, waiting expectantly. The Regent wore the red and white of an infantry officer, with a golden sash going from shoulder to waist where it joined with a gold waistband. In that, he wore a sword, though it was heavily decorated with precious stones about its hilt and pommel.

"Do you dare to show yourselves at my court after your infamy?" he called out in a querulous voice. "Yes, I speak to you, Thornhill , and your… wife, I suppose we must call her, though I do not see her as any more valid than my own."

"Your Royal Highness, what infamy do you speak of?" Lionel muttered between gritted teeth.

"What do I speak of? What do I speak of ? You dare to ask as though you do not know? Do you take us for fools?"

Cecilia nudged Lionel lightly out of his inexorable anger at the Regent for his subtle slight against her. "Forgive us, Your Royal Highness, we do not and would never take a man of your eminence for a fool but we are, ourselves, somewhat ignorant in this. Perhaps some gossip has overtaken us?" she said calmly.

The Regent's eyes darted to her. "Madam, it is not you that is to blame. I understand your predicament very well. I have been appraised of it by my trusted advisor, the Viscount of Thorpe. A man of the army, as I am. A man who has known the horrors of war, faced the dastardly French and won through," he glared at Lionel, advancing across the floor towards him.

The gathered courtiers parted before their liege like the Red Sea. Thorpe followed the Regent, keeping a step behind and to one side. His eyes darted from Cecilia to Lionel and back as though he feared an attack from either of them.

"What did you do to protect your country against the French?" the Regent demanded.

"Nothing, Your Royal Highness. I was crippled by a gunshot wound to my spine. It took me five years to learn how to walk again," Lionel replied smoothly. "I was no use as a soldier without that basic ability."

Cecilia's hand tightened on his arm. It felt like cords of steel, tense and unyielding. She could hear the control in his voice, keeping the anger in check.

"And how did you come to be so wounded? An accident at a hunt, was it not, Thorpe?" the Regent said, looking over his shoulder.

"I believe so, Your Royal Highness."

"That is precisely what happened," Lionel replied with a smile.

Cecilia felt a flash of pride at the self-control Lionel was demonstrating. Her heart thudded in her chest and with every venomous snipe from the Regent, she wanted to slap the rotund man's face. Wanted to tell the room the truth about Thorpe. But it would do no good. This was his territory. He had the ear and confidence of the Regent. It was up to Lionel and herself to try and at least dispel the negative views that Thorpe had put into the Regent's head concerning them. And maybe from there, seek justice in a more orthodox manner.

"Your Royal Highness, you say that I am not to blame. That you understand my predicament. I am happily married and quite content with my lot. To what do you allude?" Cecilia began.

"Madam, I allude to the fact that this rogue forced you into a false marriage to avoid scandal. I suspect he was trying to get his hands on your family's estates. The greed of the current Duke of Thornhill has been made known to me," the Regent intoned.

"Your Royal Highness…" Lionel began but was silenced when the Regent raised his hand and turned on his heel.

"I do not wish to hear anything from you. What is it with the Dukes throwing a ruckus at my court? First, that Valebridge Duke and his complicated family, now this. Pah ! I wanted you to come here so that I might look into your eyes, as I once looked into the eyes of the French. Of those blackguards Soult and Nee." At this, Cecilia noticed more than one of the courtiers hiding smiles behind their hands.

He spoke as if he had been present on the battlefield. As far as Cecilia had learned, he had never left England during the war with France. But this man seemed far from stable.

"Look into your eyes and tell you to your face that you are not welcome at this court. You are banished to your estates. Forthwith!"

At that, Thorpe moved closer to the Regent and whispered in his ear. The Regent looked to Cecilia and then nodded.

"But… not your wife. She shall remain and Lord Thorpe has most generously agreed to act as her guardian. Do not worry, my dear. We shall help you extricate yourself from this ruffian."

"You bloody great oaf!"

Lionel gaped. He had been in the act of drawing breath, face reddening with anger when Cecilia had stepped forward and snapped the insult. The Regent's mouth fell open. Thorpe stared, thunderstruck. Silence ruled the room.

"You think that Lord Thorpe has my best interests at heart? He murdered my brother, and two nights ago, tried to kill my husband!" Cecilia accused, pointing at Thorpe.

She knew nothing of the kind for certain, but rationally, that is what must have happened. Lionel stared at her in disbelief. Thorpe was recovering his wits now and the beginnings of a smile was appearing on his face. He glanced at the Regent, then back to Cecilia with the eyes of a wolf.

"I cannot believe what I am hearing!" the Regent exclaimed, "Lord Thorpe is…"

"A liar and a coward," Cecilia finished.

"Have a care, madam," Thorpe echoed. "I would call out a man who spoke thusly."

"Then call me out if you dare. I call you a liar and coward. I name you murderer," Cecilia spat, "and I stand ready to back my claim with blood."

"Are you mad, woman?" Thorpe demanded. "Sir, control your wife," he said to Lionel.

Lionel shrugged indifferently.

"No one controls me. Are you afraid, Lord Thorpe? Afraid of a woman?" Cecilia demanded.

"Madam, it is simply not done," the Regent said with a cavalier wave, "women do not fight duels with men."

Lionel stepped up beside his wife, his brows furrowed as he regarded her. She returned the look and he must have sensed her resolve and determination. This was her moment. After years of being ignored, neglected, and wronged, this was her chance at justice. She could never bring back her deceased brother, reclaim her stolen inheritance, or restore Penrose—her family's burned-down lands. But this… this was something she could seize. Civic justice. Against all those who wronged her. And it all culminated with this despicable man.

The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Your Royal Highness, I was grievously wounded two nights ago accompanying a group of excisemen aboard a ship smuggling slaves through British waters. I would challenge this man myself but my injury prevents it." He put a hand to the scar on his temple and winced theatrically.

"But I learned swordplay from two of the very best," Cecilia said with confidence, "draw blood from me and I will accept all allegations as true and place myself as ward to Lord Thorpe. My husband will immediately return to Thornhill in disgrace."

Thorpe scoffed. "Your Royal Highness, this is an insult to yourself and the court…"

But a speculative look had come across the face of the Regent. He stroked his chin with a secretive smile.

"Well, well, well, there shall be no drawing blood, but this is quite the turn-up. A challenge from a woman to a man. What can you possibly be afraid of, Thorpe? A man who distinguished himself at Salamanca and Badajoz against a mere woman? This is fine sport! I was growing quite bored. Very well!"

He clapped his hands together and then began making shooing motions at the surrounding courtiers.

"Back, get back! Make room there I say!" he shouted. " Ha! Another glorious addition to my legacy, we shall make history this very evening! Thorpe, you are already armed. And my own sword shall be used by the Duchess. Madam, this sword killed many a Frenchie in Spain. It will do you honor." He drew the slender rapier and presented it to Cecilia, hilt first. "It is equipped with a foil tip, I won't have my exquisite carpets stained with blood."

"This is ludicrous!" Thorpe blurted. "If I will fight anyone, it should be the Duke. He is the one who has offered me insult!"

"No, he has not," the Regent shook his head, "he has said very little, in fact. His wife has called you coward and liar."

"At his urging no doubt. Because he knows I would not accept the challenge of a woman," Thorpe accused.

"Your Royal Highness. In the sight of my sovereign and my heavenly Lord, I swear that my husband has not commanded me to insult or challenge Lord Thorpe. The ghost of my brother Arthur drives me to seek this revenge."

"Stop fussing, Thorpe," the Regent bellowed. "It is hardly a life-threatening duel. Now, arm yourself, man!"

Cecilia felt light-headed. This was indeed reckless madness. But she knew that she could beat Thorpe. Had done so already. She was the reason his arm rested in a sling. She was conscious of the vulnerability at her stomach, though little damage could be done by a stray blade with a blunt tip. But, she was gambling that the novelty of this situation would appeal to the vain, feckless Regent. And if she beat Thorpe, she stood a chance of convincing the Regent that he was lying. That her victory was divine judgment. She had prayed that Lionel would not overrule her, would not step in himself. His head injury had left him prone to dizzy spells and even blackouts over the last few days, most recently an hour ago. Attending the court today was the result of a supreme effort of self-control.

Reaching down, she gathered her skirts, thankfully not as full or extravagant as the other ladies of the court. She noted the golden sash which the Regent wore across his chest and around his waist.

"Your Royal Highness, may I?" she asked.

The Regent's eyes bulged, then he laughed like a child at this latest novelty. He stripped off the sash and handed it to Cecilia who used it to tie up her skirts around the knee, leaving her feet free to move. Shocked whispers echoed around the court and Lionel glared at the men who were staring at his wife's legs. Cecilia ignored them, swinging the blade to gain the measure of its flexibility and balance. Despite the useless ornamentation, it felt a good weapon, supple and light. Thorpe was shaking his head, folding his arms.

"I will not. It is unseemly. Ungodly. Un-English!"

"You will meet the challenge or admit the right of it," the Regent said sternly.

"Come on, Thorpe! What are you afraid of?" said a slightly drunken voice from somewhere in the crowd. A woman shushed the voice.

Cecilia took a few dancing steps forward, lashed out with the tip of her blade, and drew a neat line across the sleeve of Thorpe's uniform. The Regent clapped and laughed in delight. Thorpe looked at the mocking crowds, face darkening.

"Very well. Let us end this farce!" he snarled, drawing his foil-tipped blade.

He did not assume a guard position but stood, sword by his side. He was complacent and arrogant, Cecilia could see that, not thinking he needed to raise his guard despite his previous experience of her swordsmanship. The Regent raised a silk handkerchief high and then let it fall. Thorpe strode forward, sword flicking up only to be deflected by a flick of Cecilia's wrist. He tried again and again. Each probe was met and riposted by Cecilia. Thorpe's look became more intent, he began to settle into a fencing stance, recognizing the skill of his adversary. Perhaps he had thought his earlier humiliation had been beginner's luck?

Cecilia fell back, defending with ease but never trying to counterattack. She saw the moment that Thorpe became complacent once more. Saw the shadow of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Then she attacked. His blade whipped out and severed the epaulet on his right shoulder. Deflected even as she advanced. Block, parry, counter. She removed a button from his tunic. Naked alarm was on Thorpe's face now as he frantically tried to block lightning-fast strokes from Cecilia.

Finally, with a double feint and a block that became an attack, she tangled her blade with his and flung her arm wide, removing the sword from his grasp and sending it rattling to the floor. Then she lunged, attacking with the blunt point. Point beats the edge, Arthur had told her as he taught her fencing.

Point always beats the edge.

In a practiced maneuver, she flicked off the loose foil tip, before her sword nipped between the buttons on Thorpe's tunic and sank an inch into his chest. Not deep enough to cause anything but a minor flesh wound. But deep enough that none could be in any doubt that blood had been drawn. Red seeped onto the pristine white of Thorpe's shirt.

As the pain and shock hit him, he staggered and Cecilia delivered the coup de grace, placing the point of her sword beneath his chin. A movement from her, a breath of pressure, and the sword would prick his artery. Thorpe became suddenly still, eyes wide and staring.

"Do you yield?" Cecilia asked.

Thorpe swallowed, the movement enough to scrape the needle-sharp point against his skin and draw a trickle of blood.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Not good enough. Do you admit to lying to your sovereign about my brother and my husband?" Cecilia challenged.

"Yes!" Thorpe cried as another swallow brought the blade a fraction of an inch further into his neck.

"Do you admit to…" Cecilia began.

The doors to the court opened once more and a voice rang out.

"Colonel Winston Winters of His Majesty's Customs and Excise!" bellowed the footman responsible for announcing newcomers.

All eyes swiveled to a tall man with graying hair and a saturnine countenance. Dark brows gathered over darker eyes like thunderclouds. His jaw was set and fleshy lips parted into a sneer as he laid eyes on Thorpe. At his back were three excisemen bearing muskets with fixed bayonets.

"What is the meaning of this outrage!" the Regent bellowed, starting forward.

At the same time, Thorpe dodged to the side and aimed a blow at Cecilia's wrist. She barely had time to react before her hand moved of its own accord, parrying Thorpe's sword. Surprised, she glanced at Lionel, realizing he had taken her wrist and guided the movement. Thorpe staggered back, unbalanced by the unexpected defense. As Cecilia regained her composure, Lionel thrust her to the side, placing himself between her and Thorpe. He stood unarmed as Thorpe assumed a defensive stance, blade pointed unwaveringly at him.

Leaning closer, Lionel whispered, "My dearest, what did I say about never lowering your guard?"

She smiled sheepishly for a moment. Then yelled, "Don't just stand there! Protect the Regent. Protect him with your bodies!"

Two sounds dominated the room. The sound of men scrambling to make a wall of their bodies between the Regent and Thorpe, and the sound of three muskets being cocked, followed by the lesser sound of their officer's pistol. Thorpe looked around the room.

"Your Majesty, you are deceived! I am not a threat to you…"

"Your Majesty. I have a warrant for this man's arrest on charges of slave trading and treason!" Colonel Winters said in a sonorous voice.

"Treason?!" the Regent bellowed from the safety of his human shields.

Cecilia thought that it spoke volumes of the man's character that it was the treason charge that most caught his attention.

"Treason!" Thorpe echoed. "I have never…"

"A ship owned by yourself was found at anchor in the estuary of the river Lea at Wanstead. Slaves taken in Africa were found aboard, as was a representative of the government of the Republic of Haiti. He was hiding amongst the slaves and has admitted to being aboard in order to ferment insurrection among slaves held in His Majesty's dominions and colonies. Sir Gerald Knightley has admitted knowledge of the man and has implicated you, Lord Thorpe, as his accomplice."

Thorpe's face was ashen. He looked at Winters in astonishment. "I did not know a revolutionary was hiding among those men. They were supposed to be bloody plantation workers for the Americans!"

The sword clattered to the floor as Thorpe realized what he had just confessed. The excisemen moved in, shouldering their muskets and seizing Thorpe's arms. Cecilia turned as the Regent bravely pushed through the wall of courtiers, now that the danger had passed.

"Lord Thorpe. I hereby strip you of all titles and lands. You are a traitor to the Crown and I will see you hung!"

"Your Majesty," Lionel spoke up, "I find that I must speak in defense of a man who shared my blood."

Cecilia's head whipped around to Lionel. A gasp went around the room. The Regent looked from one to the other.

"You cannot seek to defend a traitor and a slaver!" he said, incredulously.

"I ask, as a Duke of England, of a long-standing and respected family, that you show clemency," Lionel continued.

"Lionel…" Cecilia began.

Lionel held up a hand and stepped closer to Thorpe, looking into his eyes.

"He is my brother. We have the same father, Charles Grisham ," Lionel stated. "I fear the only distance between us was built of circumstance, not malice."

What he said next was audible to Cecilia and the Regent, but most of the court would not have been able to hear.

"I will vouch for you. See that your life is spared. You can go to America, take your wealth, and leave these shores. Begin anew. Just admit that which lies between us," Lionel whispered.

Thorpe glared at him. Then he looked to the Regent whose face was almost purple with anger. He glanced back at Lionel.

"I admit that I tried to kill you to take your Dukedom. It should have been mine. I served my country. Fought for my King. I deserved it!" he hissed.

Lionel nodded sadly and took a deep breath. "In another life, we could have been more, brother ." Then he turned away, took Cecilia's hands, and kissed them softly.

"Then it is finally over," he muttered. "Your Majesty, allow this man to be deported, never to return to British shores. I ask it as a boon for my half-brother."

"As do I," Cecilia supported.

She knew something that Lionel didn't. Thorpe was not a wealthy man. He was selling his possessions to pay off his debts. When he was exiled, it would not be to a life of privilege and power in America or anywhere else. He would find himself beginning anew and with nothing. But he would at least keep that life.

"I grant mercy in honor of the two people who protected my person against a traitor and would-be assassin," the Regent said, already fantasizing the situation into something it had not been. "You are banished from Great Britain and all her dominions. You will be held under house arrest until you can liquidate your assets, and then you will be put on a ship to… America. Yes, let the Americans have you. Shame on you!"

His diatribe went on but Cecilia did not hear it. The trial was over. The adventure was done. Lionel was looking at her as though she was a goddess. There was naked worship in his eyes. She looked back at the man for whom she had fought, figuratively and physically. Once she had lived as a servant in the home of her aunt and uncle. Then forced into marriage with the man she believed had killed her brother. Now, that mystery was solved and the guilty punished.

And she was finally free to be Duchess of Thornhill.

The End?