Epilogue
Wes tossed the lines to a grinning Hayward, jumped down from the gig he’d hired a few days ago, then reached for the bundle that was a shivering Sybil.
Shivering from the late October chill or were her nerves thrumming like his?
He lifted her down and set her on her feet and dropped a quick kiss. A longer one was in order except that the Haywards were present, Ruth looking on expectantly from the front step of Devil’s Dyke Grange.
“How was the ball, dear ones?” Mrs. Hayward asked, opening the door for them.
They’d left the ball at Normanton House early, abandoning the Picard boys to find beds for the night elsewhere.
“Eventful,” Sybil said. “A duke attended wearing a footman’s livery, Foreign Office men arrested a spy, a Bow Street runner accused a guest of being Captain Moonlight, and more than one betrothal was announced.”
“And did anyone mention your marriage?” the housekeeper asked.
Wes grinned and handed the housekeeper Sybil’s blanket. “We didn’t stay long enough for an announcement.”
They’d discussed calling banns, but when the Kellborns changed their plans about staying longer, Wes fetched a common license from Chichester. He and Sybil had been married that very morning in the village church by the local curate, Mr. Pendleton.
At the threshold, Wes hoisted his new bride, evoking a protest. “You did this part already.”
“With so many blasted people around, we didn’t get to proceed to—”
She set a finger to his lips, while the housekeeper turned away chuckling.
“Left some of those meat pies you liked so well, Sir Westcott,” she said. “’Spect you’ll be hungry in a bit.”
“Best let these young people get on with it, Ruth,” Hayward called. “They’ll be wanting to get to bed.”
The chuckling servants led the gig around to the back of the house.
“Finally,” Wes said. “We’re alone.”
He eased her to her feet in the small hall and pushed back her heavy mantle.
The pale blue ballgown was the same color as her bridal gown, but this one, with its low neckline and shimmering trim, showed off her creamy skin and the diamond-framed sapphire nestling above her breasts, his wedding gift to her.
“You were, truly, the most beautiful lady there tonight.” He blinked, suddenly overcome that a girl so fine should throw in her lot with a fellow like him.
“It’s the gown. How kind of your mother to help me decide on the color.”
“It’s not the gown making you beautiful. In fact…” A hot rush of desire had him easing in a breath. They hadn’t had more than a moment’s privacy since they’d said their vows. “In fact, let me get you out of it and check whether I’m right.”
* * *
Sybil heard rustling at the grate and her eyes flew open to bright daylight. For one startled moment, her gaze filled with the backside of a man bent over the hearth.
A very tall, very naked man with a very well-muscled backside.
She closed her eyes tightly as the big body sank onto the mattress making the bed ropes creak and her insides heat with anticipation.
Her wedding night had been a revelation.
A shivery cold finger traced a line down her cheek, and she bit back a smile.
“You’re not asleep,” Wes said. “Thought I’d feed the fire before we get up. It’s well past dawn.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Should we get up?”
A chuckle escaped her, and she turned toward him.
“We’re to call at Highcross Keep this afternoon.
” Gus and Honoria had decided to set out the next day for home, traveling by easy stages.
Lord Greely would leave as well for Southampton, bringing along Cass to join his crew, and Lang, whom he promised to introduce to a friend with a shipping company. Paul would return to school.
He nuzzled her neck. “That’s hours away.”
“And we need to settle a few things with Reggie.”
Reggie’s mother, brother, and his brother’s surprise new bride had unexpectedly arrived in time for the Somerville ball.
The new mistress of Highcross Keep was a starchy earl’s daughter.
When Wes and Sybil suggested he lease Devil’s Dyke Grange, Reggie jumped at the chance. And of course, Quinton was joining him.
“Reggie’s not really a rattlepate,” Wes said. “Devil’s Dyke Grange will be fine in his care.” He trailed kisses along her jaw and murmured, “I adore you, you know.”
“Oh.” A surge of moisture made her sniff.
It had taken some convincing, and a well-written marriage settlement leaving the farm in her ownership, but she’d finally seen that Wes genuinely understood her.
In her experience that was a rare and very dear quality. She wiped away a tear and smiled. “I rather like you, as well.”
He lifted his head. “Like?”
“Very well, love. I love you, Sir Westcott Twisden. You’ve stolen my heart.”
A sly grin curved his lips. “My darling girl. We’d best stay in bed longer. We have plenty of time until the afternoon,” he said, and then set about proving it.
THE END
* * *
If you enjoyed Wes and Sybil’s story, check out the sweet romance of Wes’s stepmother, Honoria:
After years of tolerating her late husband, Honoria Twisden has escaped to York to enjoy her new freedom. Then her stepson unexpectedly appears with a long-lost relation in tow. Find Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match here