Epilogue
The Devil's Den
Saffron Hill, London
"Your food is growing cold," Isadore warned him as she came to stand next to his desk. "Cook will be heartbroken if you don't send back a clean tray."
"Between your servants and my men," Ban replied, putting down the letter he'd been reading. "I'm beginning to wonder who is actually in charge of this enterprise."
"They are," she replied. "You must become accustomed to it. Is that Jeremy's latest letter?"
"Yes," he leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to admire Isadore's figure in the low-cut, close fitting red kerseymere gown she wore. "I miss him."
"You miss your playmate," she said, as he reached out and dragged her into his lap. "He'll be home before Christmas."
"Why does he need to go off to Oxford? There have to be plenty of decent schools here in London.
" Ban and Jeremy had become quite close in the past few months.
Ban was helping him learn how to manage his estates and his money.
He and Isadore had moved into the Devil's Den, though they kept the London townhouse open as a school for servants in training.
Missus Kamish, Marianne, Beatrice, and Isadore selected some of the more promising young people in the Dials to live and train in the Grosvenor Street House. When they were ready, Lady Camilla and the Duchess of Chelmsford helped find them suitable positions.
Isadore ran her banks with ruthless efficiency. Con, Fam, Warrick, and Ban had handed most of their funds into her hands, held in accounts in their wives' or Lord Ethan's names, just in case.
Maggie Church, or rather Elizabeth Dyer, had been hanged right after Guy Fawkes Day.
She'd been buried in a common grave in St. Giles Cemetery, likely the same one where her mother lay as Ma Dyer had died in Bow Street Gaol at the beginning of October.
The Four Horsemen and Archer Colwyn had attended both funerals, but not out of respect.
More likely out of a need to ensure those two lives were truly at an end.
A number of families of missing and dead children had attended as well.
Ban had learned that making peace with death was a step in learning to live.
"Tell me, Missus Fitz-Wilton," he said as he cupped her breast and pulled her head down for his kiss. "What are your plans for this afternoon?"
Her breath quickened in that little way she had. She moaned softly into his mouth. "Marianne, Beatrice, and Ethan are coming to visit in a few hours. We have things to discuss." He continued to massage her breast. With his free hand, he worked at the ties at the back of her gown.
"I hope they are coming to discuss a wedding so you might make an honest man of me."
"It will take more than a wedding to do that," she rasped, as he freed her breast from her bodice and ran his thumb around her nipple. "You know my conditions for our wedding."
"How can I reconcile with my sister when I don't know where she is?"
"That is precisely why we are meeting. And Marianne is bringing some drawings for me to look over to see if I remember seeing them anywhere."
"Her and her fucking malachite box," he murmured, his lips pressed to the side of Isadore's naked breast.
"Your language, Mister Dyer." She wiggled around in his lap until she was straddling him. "You are a wicked, wicked man." She sighed when he reached between them and found her bare cunny beneath her skirts.
"Let me remind you how wicked I truly am, my love," he said.
"Promise?" she sighed.
"Promise. Being wicked with you is what I live for."