Chapter Thirty-Four
It was Friday evening, and the wind off the sea carried the scent of salt and coming dusk.
Mary-Ann arrived at Sommer Chase just as the lamps along the drive were being lit, her gloves still in hand and the hem of her cloak lifting with each step.
The house rose ahead of her in warm silhouette, its windows glowing, not with grandeur, but with welcome.
She paused at the threshold, her hand resting lightly against the frame. This place had once belonged only to Barrington. To the Brigade. To causes larger than herself. But now it welcomed her too—not as an outsider, but as someone who had earned her place within its walls.
Inside, she found Quinton and Barrington in the study. The lamps had been extinguished, and the tall windows stood open to the soft spring air. The men sat comfortably but alert, the weight of unfinished business still resting between them.
No words were spoken at first. The folio had been reviewed. Agreements, quiet and firm, had been made. There was nothing more to explain.
Then, without warning, the front door opened, and Mrs. Bainbridge breezed in as though summoned by fate itself.
“I’ve done it,” she declared, sailing into the room with a folded invitation in one hand and a triumphant expression on her face. “We’ve settled on a date. Barrington and I are to be married in September, the Saturday following The Masked Ball at Ravenshade.”
Quinton blinked. Barrington looked up slowly from his chair.
“You’ve chosen a date,” he repeated flatly.
Mrs. Bainbridge dropped a kiss onto his brow. “It was either that or let your mother do it, and frankly, I prefer civil war to ducal meddling.”
Mary-Ann, still seated near the window, let out a breath of laughter. “Does this mean the list is final?”
“Heavens, no,” Mrs. Bainbridge replied. “But the date is. And I’ve only told your father, the duchess, my aunt, the bishop, and three out of four of your groomsmen.”
Barrington sighed. “I assume I’ll be informed of the venue at some point.”
“If you behave,” she said sweetly, then turned to Mary-Ann. “Darling, will you help me choose the fourth groomsman?” Barrington keeps suggesting men who’ve been shot at.”
“And survived,” Barrington added mildly.
Mary-Ann smiled as their banter carried through the room. It was absurd and lovely, and for the first time in weeks, the air didn’t feel heavy with decisions. It felt full of life again.
*
Later, after the house had quieted and the last bit of light slipped from the horizon, Mary-Ann stepped out into the gardens behind Sommer Chase.
The air was still, sweet with the scent of early spring blossoms and the faint tang of the tide. She wandered the path slowly, her hands bare now, the ache in her chest finally quiet. The roses had not yet bloomed, but new shoots were pushing through the soil, stubborn and sure.
A month ago, she would have doubted everything, her instincts, her courage, her worth. Now, she moved with certainty. Not because the danger had passed, but because she had endured it.
Footsteps approached behind her, soft but deliberate. She smiled, knowing it was Quinton.
He said nothing at first. He simply joined her, his coat unbuttoned, his expression open. The fading light softened the lines at his brow and warmed the curve of his jaw.
“How is your father?” he asked quietly.
“He’s recovering,” she replied. “He is a proud man. Rodney really fooled him about the business and about me. He knows the truth now. And he sees me. Really sees me. I’m even getting better at asking for help.
Even Professor Tresham was helpful in the end,” she added with a soft laugh.
“Though I’m not certain he meant to be.”
He nodded. “And Lydia?”
“She’s gone. To some extent, she was just as much a tool of the Order as I was,” she said. “Lydia left a few bruises, but no scars I can’t live with.”
They stood together, the hush between them no longer filled with uncertainty.
“I’ve been wondering something. The folio, why was it left behind? It seems too valuable for carelessness.”
Mary-Ann reached into her pocket and drew out a folded scrap of paper. She didn’t hand it to him. She read it aloud with a steady voice.
“I knew you would find this. Keep it safe. — H.”
Quinton’s breath caught. “Hamish.”
She nodded. “I think he was trying to tell me on the docks. I didn’t understand at the time.”
Quinton closed his eyes for a moment. “He saved your life twice, didn’t he? Once when he pulled you out of the way. And again with that folio.”
She looked down at the note, a whisper of a tear slipping free.
“He would always hide sweets for me in the old warehouse when I was a girl.” He used to say, ‘ink on your nose’ when I got close to finding it, just to tease me.
” She smiled faintly. “That day…” she hesitated, her voice catching slightly.
Then she went on. “I thought he said ‘pity London.’ But it was ‘PT London.’ He was trying to lead me to it.”
Quinton took her hand, his fingers folding gently around hers. “He trusted you to finish what he couldn’t.”
“I was angry,” she said softly. “At you. For not telling me what you knew. But I’m more angry at myself… for thinking you didn’t believe in me.”
“I believed in you,” he said. “I always did.”
She looked up, her gaze fierce and shining. “Then let’s never let anyone do that to us again. Let’s never let the world come between us.”
He cupped her face with one hand, reverent. “I vow to never doubt you again. Never stand to stand beside you in silence when I should stand with truth. I vow to love you fiercely, and without condition.”
She reached for him, pressing her hand over his heart. “And I vow to love you. Not as I once did. But as I do now, fully, and with eyes wide open.”
Their kiss was quiet. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just two souls meeting where the wounds had once been and finding something stronger in their place.
When they pulled apart, Mary-Ann rested her forehead against his. “You came back changed,” she said softly. “But so did I.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll learn each other again.”
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in stillness. No audience. No vows witnessed. Just the truth.
He took her hand once more, his fingers strong and steady. Not anchoring her. Standing beside her.
And when they turned back toward the house, it wasn’t the past they carried.
It was the future they had reclaimed, together.
The End