Epilogue
The social event of the season, the wedding of the Blacksmith Duke to Lady Cordelia Nichols has come and gone without much tradition, but plenty of aplomb.
Your author can now reveal that the pair met this past spring when, by a series of strange occurrences, the manor house and title fell into the lap of one Mr. Justin Wright, formerly of Strauss, Gilroy, and Wright.
This author reported that the two were seen all over the estate together unchaperoned, and that a source close to the couple confirmed that they disappeared together for a rainy afternoon, their time being unaccounted for.
However, this marriage shall lay to rest all the scandals that preceded it, including the rejection of the Earl of H.
, who was actually in attendance for the wedding.
Now that he is brokenhearted and back on the marriage mart, this author believes that he may be the most eligible bachelor next season.
And what are we to do about that roguish Mr. P?
The famed rake has also reportedly been spending an awful lot of time at Hollyhead House and stood as best man at the wedding, many a lady vying for his attentions, which this author has heard, are quite something.
One should not make insinuations when there is a lack of evidence, of course, but perhaps the beautiful, silent Lady P.N.
may prove to be challenging enough for him!
Portia refolded the brochure and slammed it down on the dining room table, rattling the fine china.
“Careful with that. I was wanting to read it after you,” Justin said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice as he peered over the newspaper, raising a dark eyebrow at her. She could not hear him, nor read his lips.
“Ridiculous!” she shouted, attacking her toast with a butter knife. “Utterly preposterous! I cannot believe that polite society regards this woman as a respectable chronicler of truth!”
Hermione and Bea’s reaction to Portia’s tirade amounted to nothing more than collective indifference.
Justin flicked his gaze over to Cordelia, who was hiding a smile behind her teacup.
When they locked eyes, Justin tipped his head in Portia’s direction, silently praying Cordelia would lead the charge to calm her sister down.
“Oh, dearest,” Cordelia began, nonchalantly. “You know that driven is only read by…”
“Bored housewives and toffs,” came the chorus from the rest of the sisters, Portia’s voice growing ever-more exasperated. Justin hoped his fingers weren’t shaking as he chuckled to himself, clutching the paper to conceal his mirth.
“Justin,” Portia said. “Look at me. This is serious.”
Sucking in a deep lungful of air, Justin folded the paper and laid it beside his coffee cup. “I’m listening, Portia,” he said, taking his time to enunciate.
“I do not want Mr. Peverill and me to be seen together at all. Do you understand me? It’s difficult enough that you have him visiting us all the time,” she said, tripping over her speech from talking so fast. Her cheeks had grown red.
Justin held up a hand. “Really, Portia, he was only here these past few days because of the wedding.”
Cordelia was laughing, so he decided it was okay to throw her into Portia’s war path instead. “Besides, talk to your sister about it. I only hold the title; she owns all of the lands.”
As soon as he spoke her name, Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, technically speaking I own and run the lands in your name. You still have a stake in some of the operations, not to mention the vineyard that is being planted next week—”
Justin did not wait to finish before adding, “Operations which I have put my faith in you to run—”
“Oh, stop it!” Portia said, pushing back from her chair and standing up. “I will not have my name be dragged through the mud alongside a rake, no matter how exceptional his attentions might be.”
Justin felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. “His attentions? What do you know of his attentions?”
Everyone in the dining room became silent. Bea’s fork clattered in her oatmeal dish. Portia’s eyes widened. “I-I know nothing, of course!” she ground out.
“Good,” Justin said. “He may be my friend, but so help me if I catch him—”
Cordelia reached over the table and squeezed his hand, stopping the diatribe before it began. “Portia, Henry has been called on business in Portugal. He has taken a fleet of ships there on His Majesty’s orders and will not be due back in London until Christmas, at the least.”
Portia’s shoulders seemed to drop. “Good,” she said. “That’s very good. That is more than enough time… well, it should be, shouldn’t it? For people to lose interest, I mean?”
Cordelia nodded her head vehemently. “Oh, very much.”
“Very well,” Justin grumbled. “But I don’t like this one bit. If he so much as…”
But Portia was already hurrying out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Justin looked around at the sisters, all of whom had taken a very intense interest in their breakfast.
“What is no one telling me?” he said, his mouth turning down in a frown.
Hermione was the first to stand up and mumble out an excuse, Bea following close behind. All that was left was a footman, who stared out the windows with a neutral look. Justin shook his head, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger.
Cordelia was laughing to herself now, dabbing at her full lips with a napkin.
“Care to tell me what’s that all about?” he asked.
“Hermione caught Henry stealing a kiss from Portia,” she replied, her brown eyes shining.
Justin scraped his chair back, suddenly full of enraged energy, ready to swim to Portugal so he could have the pleasure of decking the man in the face himself.
When they were four maids searching for treasure, it was one thing, but now…
now the Nichols girls were truly family, and Justin did not take kindly to any affronts against them.
“Justin,” Cordelia chided lightly, pulling him back down to his chair.
“I’ll kill him,” he said.
“Your cockney accent always comes out when you’re distressed like this,” she replied. “I find it very attractive.”
“Are you not worried about this?” he asked, throwing his arm in the direction of the door Portia had sprinted out. “She left the room in a huff.”
“She’s always leaving rooms in huffs,” Cordelia said, flippant.
“Lia,” Justin said, his voice lowering. “Peverill is my friend, but make no mistake, his reputation…” He trailed off, not sure how to characterize it without being impolite. “His reputation leaves quite a lot to be desired.”
Cordelia was being infuriatingly glib. “I wonder if you haven’t learned anything since we met? It’s best to leave these things be. Besides, he’s taken a ship halfway around Europe. I’d wager they’ll forget it even happened by winter.”
“Or absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Justin grumbled, taking a sip of coffee. Cordelia watched him, a wide smile plastered on her face. “Do I have something on my chin?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.
“No,” she sighed, “it’s just good, I guess. Seeing you like this, being paternal.”
Justin raised an eyebrow at her, feeling himself smile. “I love people immeasurably,” he replied, “as you well know.”
“Yes, but I think it a rather excellent quality, given the circumstances,” Cordelia said, reaching forward to caress his cheek.
“What are you on about?”
“I wanted to wait to tell you. It’s better to be sure about such things… you’ll see.”
“When?”
“I’d say in about six months.”