Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
“ W ell, Mr. Townley has won reelection to Parliament.” Keynsham clucked to the horses. “Not only that, but his name is being mentioned for a cabinet position. Being shot at Pomona’s ball was a great boost to his political career.”
He turned the gig off the main London road into a dusty country lane. “He gave all his campaign speeches with his arm in a sling, and whipped up public fears about the dreadful problem of crime in the nation.”
Celia sighed. “But I cannot help but feel that it is my fault that Wilkes was at the ball at all.”
“ Your fault?” Keynsham glanced over at her. “Of course it was not your fault! He is a madman! A madman who has confessed to two murders—though there are very likely more than that.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “You must stop blaming yourself. Wilkes went to the ball intending to kill me , without even knowing that you would be there.”
Celia smiled at her handsome husband. Somehow he always managed to make her feel better. “Well, I wish Mr. Townley at the devil. He has talked of the incident at the ball so much—and so publicly!—that your poor sister’s season has been ruined by the scandal. She was not even given vouchers for Almack’s.”
“Yes. It is most unfair. Of course, Lady Theodosia still feels that it will all blow over by next season—and that she will be able to persuade Countess Lieven to intervene in the, er… voucher situation. Ah. Here it is.”
“Here” was a pair of towering stone gateposts supporting a huge iron gate. Keynsham turned into the driveway that they marked, and in moments they were driving through the cool shade of a dense wood. “All that said, if Pomona wishes to return to Augsburg with Lady Theodosia, that is her decision alone.”
“She would also be most welcome to return to Alford House, of course.” Celia still felt shy about issuing invitations to her new home—especially so soon after Lady Alford’s contentious departure from it.
Keynsham squeezed her hand again. “She is very fond of you already—but now that Lady Theodosia is here, Pomona seems determined not to be parted from her again.”
Lady Theodosia’s return to London was yet another upheaval in the family. She’d shocked everyone when she’d walked into the family drawing room of Alford House only the day after the ruined ball.
“What on earth … ?” had been Lady Alford’s ungracious words on first seeing her mother-in-law’s sister. “How… how did you get here?”
“In my carriage, of course.” Lady Theodosia swept up to Lady Alford and kissed her on both cheeks in the Continental manner. “I had it put aboard ship in Ostend. You know how I abhor public conveyances.”
Celia curtseyed to her. She embraced Lady Sophronia and looked around the room. “Then I take it that my letters have not arrived?”
Even Lady Sophronia seemed at a loss for words. Lady Theodosia’s eyebrows went up. She was a tall lady with the same silver-streaked blonde hair as her sister, and wore a deep blue silk carriage gown of such stunning elegance that she appeared to have stepped straight from a Parisian modiste’s salon into Lady Alford’s drawing room—without an uncomfortable journey in the middle.
“I had intended to be here at least a week ago—in time for Pomona’s ball, of course—but the weather on the North Sea was so shocking that we could not put out from port.” She glanced around at the extra furniture that hadn’t yet been carried back downstairs. “But where is my darling girl?”
At that moment a disheveled and red-eyed Pomona rushed into the room, threw herself into her great aunt’s arms, and silently clung to her. “Good heavens! You are very pale.” Lady Theodosia patted her on the back. “Indeed, you are all rather pale. Tell me—how was the ball?”
Pomona burst into tears.
After this there was a family discussion that quickly grew heated Despite the presence of Celia, an outsider to the family, Lady Alford had a great many inappropriate things to say.
It turned out that Lady Theodosia had arranged to rent a house for the time of her visit to London. Pomona would have packed her things and left with her great aunt that very moment, but Lady Alford said that it was out of the question. She became shrill, and accused everyone of conspiring against her. Nothing was resolved. Pomona left the room in tears again.
And then, the next day, a miracle occurred—in the form of Mrs. Townley, Mr. Townley’s rich and influential mother. She happened to be shopping in Bond Street with two of her friends when they saw Lady Alford. All three cut her dead.
On her way home, Lady Alford had a sudden epiphany: She needed a long rest in the country. “ None of you appreciate anything I do. It is pointless for me to stay in town when Pomona has received not a single invitation since the ball! Well, let her go be unpopular with Theodosia—since that is what she wants. I wash my hands of her. And she had better not come crying to me when she fails to marry well—or at all!”
Had two months in the country improved her mother-in-law’s sharp tongue? As the gig drew up before Laversham Court, Celia looked nervously up at the pale stone front of the Alford’s country house.
Keynsham handed her down. “Well, here we are. At least we have the excuse of needing to continue our onward journey to keep our visit short.”
“It is most disagreeable that you have involved yourself in building houses . Whatever will people say?”
“That we are solvent. And no one is likely to complain about that.”
Lady Alford scowled at the wide lawn below the terrace. Where it ended, the sparkling curve of the river glinted in the afternoon sun. “You may be quite certain that your poor father never spoke to a bricklayer in his life!”
Now that fifth viscount had been dead and buried for over a year, Lady Alford had begun referring to him as “my poor late husband” and “your poor father.” Anyone who didn’t know how much she’d hated him could easily have mistaken her for a grieving widow.
Keynsham caught Celia’s eye. “As I have explained, ma’am, it is not uncommon for gentlemen to involve themselves in land development. Indeed, it is the very means by which a number of our leading families became wealthy.”
“Well then, they ought to be ashamed of themselves.” Lady Alford fanned herself irritably. “Martin? Martin! Bring some orangeade. And adjust the umbrella at once. The sun is in my eyes.”
The footman, sweating in powdered wig and gilt lace-encrusted livery, hurried to obey.
“And that still does not explain why you are returning to town now . Nobody who is anybody is in London at the end of August.” Her jealous eyes rested on Celia’s pretty new bonnet. “But then, I suppose that you do not mind.”
Celia and Keynsham exchanged a look.
“I have set several meetings regarding Lady Alford’s property,” said Keynsham. “My foreman is in Hampshire going over the house, and we must discuss its condition and sale with Lady Alford’s solicitor.”
The dowager viscountess jerked upright and frowned. “ Property ? What property ?”
“Why, Talbot Hall, of course, ma’am.”
Before Lady Alford could ask the questions that she was all too obviously longing to ask, a parade of footmen began to lay out trays full of iced cakes, plain cakes, lacy rolled ginger biscuits filled with cream, orangeade, ratafia and tea.
A fathomless blue sky hung overhead. Bees buzzed in the lavender and roses that edged the terrace. The fragrance of new-mown grass was thick in the air. Somewhere deep in the trees a pheasant croaked.
“I have had a letter from Theodosia.” Lady Alford motioned for the footman to refill her glass of ratafia. “She says that she is intending to stay on in England for some time. I really cannot think why!”
“She has been alone for the better part of five years, since the count was killed at Leipzig.” Keynsham set his teacup down. “It is only natural that she wishes to renew old acquaintances in London, and visit with her sister—and of course, Pomona.”
The dowager viscountess narrowed her eyes. “Renew acquaintances! If what I hear is true, she and Pomona go nowhere—except to lectures and literary salons. And now everyone is saying that Pomona is a bluestocking and will never get a husband. I told you how it would be. But no one listens to me. ”
Keynsham cleared his throat. “My sister has been suffering from a lack of invitations, ma’am—as you must be aware.”
“Oh, surely people are not still being tiresome about the ball.” Lady Alford tossed her head. “Why, that was two months ago! And it is not as though anyone but Mr. Townley were shot!”
“Indeed, ma’am.” Keynsham rose, held out his hand to Celia, and made his mother a bow. “A ball at which only one person was shot must certainly be accounted a success.”
“Well, perhaps she will go to Bath, as she has been saying that she intends to do.” Keynsham turned back onto the London road. “And perhaps the next time we spend time in the country, we will stay at Laversham Court ourselves.”
She smiled up at him. “I was very happy to honeymoon in Devonshire.”
He squeezed her hand. “And so was I.”
In another hour, fields dotted with sheep and cows began to give way to strips of market gardens. For the first time, as she approached the ragged edges of the growing city, Celia felt almost as though she might be coming… home.
Wilkes was in prison awaiting trial. Mrs. Ellesmere had allowed Celia to collect her few possessions. Of course, she’d also made it clear that she didn’t believe that Celia was really going to be a viscountess… so the call had ended awkwardly.
And finally, they’d gone on honeymoon, and at last Celia began to let go of the fears that had ruled her thoughts for so long. There were still times when she couldn’t quite trust that that painful, uncertain, frightening era of her life was over. But gradually, she was learning to believe in a happy future.
And she was learning more pleasurable things, too. She glanced over at Keynsham again, thinking of what they’d been doing only the previous night. Her mind went to the way he’d…
“You are rather quiet.” He glanced across at her. “What are you thinking about?”
Her face heated. “Oh, nothing.”
“I hope that my mother has not upset you.”
“Not at all.” She met his eyes. “I am too happy to mind her ridiculous comments.”
“ Really !” His smile broadened into a grin. “I should like to hear more about why you are so happy, Lady Alford. Perhaps you could… describe some of the specific… er, activities that you have been enjoying since we married. In detail.”
She would swear that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
“I am—I meant… Well.” Now her face was burning. Changing the subject seemed the safest course. “What did Downey write to you about the condition of Talbot Hall?”
“Ah.” He clucked to the horses as the London-bound traffic grew heavier and they had to slow their pace. “The fire damage to the stable block was relatively minor. He has hired a a local man to replace the floor and rafters. And the solicitor thinks that the sale of the property should realize perhaps four thousand pounds. You are still certain that you wish to sell it?”
“Yes.” Even saying it lifted a weight from her. “Yes, I am certain. I never wish to see the place again, after… after…” She shuddered, and tried not to think of her father’s end. “Well, you already know. Although of course I would like to visit Mrs. Ryder. And I would like to pay all the former servants proper annuities. My father made no provision for them.”
“You are quite right to do so, of course. Indeed, you are a paragon. My paragon.” He squeezed her hand again. “And a rather rich one, too. It will be interesting to see how my mother behaves when she discovers that I have married an heiress after all.”
Ominous clouds were piling higher and higher in the sky over the city as they crossed Putney Bridge. But Celia’s mood was lifting. “Some might say that you have a certain history of compromising ladies with money.”
He shot her a swift sideways smile. “And some might say that you are more witty than a dull fellow like me has any right to expect his wife to be.”
“Dull! Surely nobody who gets into as many fist fights as you do can be called dull . But I must admit that I should prefer it if our life together could be very dull from now on.”
“Should you?” He squeezed her hand again. “Well. I will do my best.”
As they drove past the southern boundary of Hyde Park a gust of wind roared through the trees, tossing the branches up and sending a few loose leaves skittering down Rotten Row.
Riders, carriages, and pedestrians looked at the threatening skies and hurried for the park exit. Lady Alford was correct that the end of August wasn’t a fashionable time of year to be in London. Even so, the bottleneck that developed at Piccadilly left them waiting in traffic.
A few fat drops of rain spattered out of the darkening sky, and the hood of the gig provided little protection. They had not far to go now, but just as they drew up before Alford House the skies opened.
Keynsham’s tiger leapt down to take the horses, and they hurried up the steps together. Just as they reached the door it was thrown open by a footman, who was so out of breath that it was plain that he had run to meet them. “Lord and Lady Alford! I do apologize! We did not expect you until tomorrow!”
“Good afternoon, Quentin. If you will bring up the trunks from the gig, we shall manage perfectly well.” Keynsham turned to Celia. “We must have beat the luggage back to town after all.”
Celia’s maid and Keynsham’s valet were accompanying the luggage in the big traveling carriage. They stepped into a very quiet entry hall. The dowager viscountess had poached a number of the servants and taken them with her to Laversham Court. Many others had given notice after the shooting. For now, the house was unusually empty.
“Ordinarily everyone would have assembled here to greet us.” Keynsham tossed his hat and gloves onto a table. “But I am just as happy that they have not. All of that pomp can wait until later.”
Celia looked up at the lofty ceiling of the entrance hall. “It is intimidating enough as it is. I still cannot quite manage to feel that this is my home.”
“Intimidating?” Keynsham looked about. “Well, you will soon grow used to it.” His cheekbones had the glow of their honeymoon by the sea, and his hair had acquired some golden streaks that it hadn’t had before a month of salt water bathing. Surely it could not be normal for one’s husband to set one’s heart pounding and one’s thoughts racing ahead to…
He caught her eye and his eyebrows went up a little. “Well, I must go through to my study. I asked for any letters of business that arrived in my absence to be left upon my desk. I must check to see if there is anything that appears to be urgent.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She was suddenly and ridiculously disappointed that they could not go upstairs, where they could be alone… But then, she reminded herself, there was always later. After all, two of the many qualities that she appreciated about her husband were his practical nature and his attention to duty.
“Come with me a moment.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, escorted her down the corridor past the library, and unlocked a door.
“ This is your study? It is not as bleak as I expected, based upon your descriptions.” He’d told her about the late nights he’d spent despairing over the estate’s books. “Why, I pictured you shivering in a garret.”
His eyes glinted. “I am certain that it was bleaker in those days.”
“Indeed?” She eyed the thick carpet, carved desk, mahogany shelves, and gilt-framed Romney portrait of the fourth viscount. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Well, it seemed so to me, combing through the ledgers at one o’clock in the morning—when I thought that I had no hope of seeing you ever again.” He returned to the door, looked both ways up and down the hall, and closed it.
“Now then, Lady Alford.” He traced a tender finger along her jawline. “Here we are at last. Home. Together.” He pulled her closer. His mouth found hers. “And I hope that our life here will not be entirely dull—despite what you said on the drive here. The long, long drive. During which I could not do this .”
His lips, surrounded by light stubble, traced along her jawline to the hollow beneath her ear. His voice was suddenly low and intimate. “Do you know how difficult it was to refrain from kissing you? Kissing you properly, I mean. Like this.”
She did know. His mouth recaptured hers and her lips parted and his tongue was playing with hers, stoking the desire that she’d had to repress all day. She gasped and pulled back. “Perhaps… perhaps we ought to go upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Why?” A smile was beginning to play about the corners of his mouth.
Something low in her belly did a slow flip. “I—I meant…”
His smile widened into a wicked grin. “Perhaps I should tell you—or better yet, show you—how I kept up my spirits… and certain other parts of my body during those bleak hours.” He backed her up against the desk until the wooden edge of it was against the back of her thighs. His hands tightened, and he lifted her easily onto the desk.
“I spent a good deal of time thinking about doing this.” He reached down to her ankle, took a handful of the fine cambric of her gown, and began to ruck it up. “And also this.”
She glanced involuntarily at the door. “But not here in the…”
“Oh, yes.” He kissed her again. He kissed her until she was weak. His lips traveled down her neck. An involuntary sound came out of her throat.
His hand roamed over the stiffening peak of her breast, teasing it through the fine muslin. He pulled away her fichu and pushed his fingers under the neckline of her gown, teasing her nipple, then freeing it from the fabric and sucking it into his mouth until she had to stifle a cry. Shocks of pleasure flew across her skin. Already, everything was tightening inside her in anticipation…
He pushed the skirts of her gown up still further. His fingers caressed the bare skin along the top of her stocking, slid higher to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and then making her gasp when he ran them unexpectedly and lightly along her cleft. She pushed against him with an inarticulate cry. His fingers found the taut bud there and began to circle.
It was all happening quickly… and yet not quickly enough. He unbuttoned the fall of his trousers. They slid to the floor. She heard papers falling from the top of the desk behind her as he pushed her farther back.
His fingers were still playing over the tight bundle of nerves between her legs. She was already poised helplessly on the edge of climax. “ Please .” They were in his study. A servant might open the door.
He stroked her once… twice… and she gasped his name as every muscle fiber in her body pulled taut. As the first shudders of her release racked her, he pushed inside. Her spasming channel stretched around his member and she moaned.
As he began to move he seemed to be reaching a place inside her sensitized body that she hadn’t known existed. Within moments she was aching for a deeper release.
He cupped her face against the palm of his hand and held her gaze in his with an intensity that she’d never seen before. His unhurried, deliberate thrusts seemed to hit every secret and sensitive place inside her. As many times as they’d made love on their honeymoon, this felt different. Her nerves wound tighter and tighter as his pace quickened.
Another climax was building inside her. Her channel tightened around him. “ Celia ,” he groaned. He reached down and touched her, and she broke apart. Deep shudders racked her and she couldn’t stifle her cries as her inner muscles gripped him. She felt him jerk inside her as she imploded into ecstasy.
Much later, it seemed, they were sprawled, still panting, on the desk. Celia drifted back to reality. Her gloves were on the floor, in two different places. Her skirts were up around her waist. She blinked. Her brain, still wrapped in a warm haze, didn’t seem to be working properly.
Keynsham brushed his thumb over her cheek and as her eyes came back into focus she realized that he was smiling tenderly. “Well, Lady Alford, I hope that you did not find that dull .”
“Dull, Lord Alford?”
He helped her gently off the desk, checked her gown for stray papers and straightened the back of her skirts. Then he drew her close against him. She took a long, contented breath. Outside the rainstorm was continuing. Inside, she could stand here, encircled in his arms, forever.
“Well, you did say that you wished that our lives together from now on could be dull.”
“Oh. That. Yes. I suppose that I did.”
He kissed the hollow beneath her ear. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
“Hmm. I cannot recall.”
“Well, in case I did not—I love you.” He kissed the place on her temple that he so often kissed. “Indeed I adore you. And the more I think about it, the more I fear that while I may be able to be a little dull, I cannot promise to be very dull.”
She thought that her heart might actually burst with love. “Can you not?”
“Well, I think that I can safely promise not to be chased through Grosvenor Square by gangsters. Just for instance. But beyond that—well, it will be difficult to feel dull, now that I am married to you.” He dropped another kiss on her temple.
“I see.” She was struggling to keep a straight face. “Well.”
“In fact, Lady Alford, at this very moment I am feeling… how shall I put this? Not at all dull.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Almost extraordinarily not dull. In fact, I am wondering if you should like to go upstairs—where we may continue not being dull together.”
“Do you know, Lord Alford… I think I might.”