Epilogue
Seven months later…
Jack returned to London from his journey, which had taken him first to Ireland to view the place where he had been born, thence to deliver Lady Erina’s parcel to her cousin in Naas.
After tea and freshly baked Irish soda bread dripping with jam and cream, he’d toured Mrs. Leahy and her new husband’s small farm, admiring her pigs, then, with the woman’s bulky package to Lady Erina—a knitted shawl, he was told—in his portmanteau, he’d left Ireland to visit his businesses, first to northern England and thence to Dover.
And though he had enjoyed special moments of quiet pleasure and meeting interesting people along the way, all the while, Jack had been pulled home, in his heart and mind.
But what would he find? His businesses had taken him away for longer than he had wished.
Among the correspondence awaiting him was one on fine paper bearing His Majesty’s embossed crown. It was an official letter from King George’s secretary. With a sharp intake of breath, he sat down in his library to read it.
It stated that King George IV had learned of Jack’s vanquishing of the French agent. Jack rubbed his jaw. Who had told him? He smiled. It must have been Bascombe. A ceremony would be held on the twenty-fourth of next month, where the king would bestow a knighthood on Jack.
Jack threw back his head and laughed. “If only you could be here to see that, Father,” he said aloud.
“I’ve finally become a gentleman.” He sobered.
This meant a great deal to him for one very special reason.
And he couldn’t wait another day to ride north to Althea.
But was she still free? Or had some lucky noble, with an ancestry that stretched back to the signing of the Magna Carta, snatched her up?
As Harry and Lady Erina were still away on the Continent, Jack kept the parcel for their return.
Devon returned from Albany to work for him and considered Jack’s beard a worthy challenge, which he dealt with efficiently.
“You’ll feel a good deal lighter, Captain,” he observed as he neatened Jack’s side whiskers and cut inches from his hair, leaving it short and wavy.
Dressed as a gentleman again, Jack left the city and drove his phaeton to Burford in Oxfordshire.
He was nervous, uncomfortably like an eager youth, when he finally guided his horses along the drive leading to the Elizabethan manor house built of Cotswold stone.
Jack tossed the reins to a footman, who had rushed out to greet him. “Tell a groom to see to the horses. There’s a good fellow.” He walked over to speak to the butler, who waited at the open door.
“Captain Ryder. To see Lady Althea.” Jack handed the dour fellow his card.
“Peel, sir.” The butler’s eyes visibly warmed, and he bowed. “Yes, Captain Ryder, we have been expecting you. Her ladyship told me you were expected.”
“Oh, and when was that?”
He raised scraggy, gray eyebrows. “That would have been a month or two ago, and several times since.”
Jack grinned. “Then I’m late. Am I in trouble?”
A smile flickered across Peel’s somber face as he took Jack’s hat and surcoat from him. “I shouldn’t like to say, Captain Ryder.” He gestured to a chair. “If you will take a seat, I shall inform her ladyship of your arrival.”
Jack smoothed his hair with a hand. He wasn’t inclined to wait. “Where is her ladyship?”
The butler looked taken aback. “I believe Lady Althea is at present in the orangery.”
“Please direct me there.”
The butler hesitated and then, with a sigh, straightened his shoulders. “Very well, Captain. Please come this way.”
Jack followed the straight-backed fellow along a long corridor toward the rear.
They exited the house and crossed a terrace toward the glassed-in orangery.
As the servant and Jack approached, two dogs rushed out to greet them with joyful barks.
The liver-spotted spaniel held back, but the frisky whippet danced around Jack’s legs.
“Max, Brandy, come here!” came a recognizable voice from the orangery.
The butler discreetly coughed.
“Is that you, Peel? What are those dogs up to now? Is it another rabbit?” Althea emerged through the doorway, pulling off gardening gloves.
Jack noted she had cast off her blacks and was dressed in a gray- and violet-striped gown.
She gasped, her eyes alight when she saw Jack, but she turned to the butler.
“Thank you, Peel. We’ll take tea on the terrace. It’s such a pleasant day.”
“Very well, my lady.”
At Peel’s exit, Althea ran lightly across the tiles and flung herself into Jack’s arms. “Where have you been? I feared you wouldn’t come.”
Jack caught her up. With a hand on her soft hair, he kissed her into silence.
Then he reluctantly broke the kiss, taking in every feature of her lovely face, the image of which he had carried with him on his travels, as if written on his heart.
He tried to stay calm while his heart drummed in his chest.
The whippet chose this time to join in, barking and jumping up at Jack.
Jack fended off the dog’s enthusiastic greeting. “Have you been well-behaved, Brandy? He’s grown!” His gaze returned to Althea, struck all over again by her exquisite beauty and most especially the welcome in her gray eyes. “Have you been well, my love?”
“Yes,” she said in a breathy voice as she reached up to trace a finger over Jack’s jaw. “You look every bit your handsome self. You’ve forgiven me, then?”
“What is there to forgive? Your love for your family is commendable, Althea.” He smiled down at her. “Have you missed me?” His fear returned that she might have found someone else in his absence. Someone eminently more suitable.
She sighed. “Oh, Jack. You don’t know how much. Kiss me again.” She drew her arms around his neck. Parting her lips, she raised her face to meet his kiss.
Jack’s hands framed her slim waist, and, hungry for her mouth, he kissed her deeply. He wanted to draw her away somewhere they could be alone. But, fighting his emotions, he reluctantly stepped back. “We need to talk, Althea.”
“You will stay awhile, won’t you?” She looped her arm through his. “I want to hear all about your journey.”
“I plan to.” Jack wondered whether to tell her about her uncle coming so close to death. Possibly later, but not now. “I shan’t travel again for a while.” His trip had rid him of the restlessness in his soul, and he now wanted nothing more than to be with her.
“I intend to hold you to that, dearest Jack.”
“You may hold me any way you like, my love.” An indefinable feeling of rightness flooded through him. “I have important news. We might discuss it over our tea.”
“Oh?” She smiled, and her lovely, gray eyes brightened. “Tell me now!”
He laughed. Then told her.
She gasped. “Sir Jack Ryder! How wonderful! And how fitting! You deserve every bit of it.”
He suddenly felt like a nervous youth and braced himself for her answer. “I am a little less disreputable now. Will you be my wife, Althea?”
She sighed, with a trembling smile. “Oh, Jack, I would have married you without the knighthood, and yes, my darling. Yes, of course, I want to be beside you for the rest of our days.”
“My love.” He pulled her slim body against him, wondering how soon they could be alone.
“Tea is served, my lady.”
They broke apart, smiling at each other, at the butler’s appearance with a maid carrying a tray. Althea took Jack’s hand and led him over the sunny terrace to where, beneath a leafy bower, their afternoon tea awaited them. “We can plan the wedding over our tea. How long must we wait?”
With a wry smile, Jack drew out her chair. “I shall get a special license. Is two days hence too soon?”
“No, my darling.” Althea laughed as Jack attempted to stop the two excited dogs from leaping up between them.