Chapter 24 The Aftermath
THE AFTERMATH
The next morning, Battle and I walked into the breakfast room hand in hand to see Prue at the table, which was covered with sketchpads.
“Oh my God!” I nearly shouted, letting Battle go and rushing in. “Is this your work?”
I reached for a sketchpad as Prue answered, “Some of it. These are the roughs of the stories and illustrations. I like to hand draw my ideas before I get down to it. Most of it is digital.”
With a sketchpad in my hands and Battle’s hands on me, he guided me into a chair and went to the sideboard.
“With all of this out on the table, can I assume I can look at it?” I asked enthusiastically.
Prue smiled happily at me. “Yes.”
I eagerly started flipping.
Okay, I immediately saw what she meant about “early” work when referring to what she’d previously given me.
What she gave me was stellar.
This was off the charts. I’d frame any of these for my wall.
“Holy shit, honey, this is…wow.”
“Even I’m kinda proud of that one,” she mumbled.
Proud?
The English and their understatements.
Yeesh.
I kept flipping even after Battle put a plate full of food in front of me, one in front of him and seated himself beside me.
He then reached to the coffeepot to pour us both a cup.
Eventually, the bacon called to me, not to mention caffeine, and I set the sketchpad carefully away from anything that might mar it.
“You say you have that on digital?” I asked.
Prue gestured to the pads with her fork. “All of it.”
“Perfect,” I replied while spreading lime marmalade on my toast. “I can look through them and we can strategize which ones to send my agent.”
While I was saying this, Chassie roamed in sporting a pair of cute pajama bottoms with little pink and peach polka dots on them, a peach babydoll tee and a frizzy head of hair that was exponentially frizzier after sleeping on it.
I’d never seen someone come to the breakfast table at The Downs like it was what it was, the breakfast table of a family.
I loved it.
Especially coming from Chassie.
“Coffee, sweetheart?” Battle asked as Chassie roamed right up to the sideboard.
“Please,” she answered, lifting a lid and peering inside. “You need to teach Patsy how to make your pancakes, Vivi.”
“Whenever you want them, I can make them for you,” I replied.
“Or you could teach me how to make them,” she said while spooning scrambled eggs on her plate.
“I’d love that,” I returned.
Prue clapped. “And me. Teach me. I also want to learn how to make toast and oatmeal.”
“We’ll have some cooking lessons next Sunday when Emily is gone,” I decided.
“You’ll have them whenever you feel like you’re up for a break from your book,” Battle butted in. “You’re being lovely as usual, darling,” he purred to me. “But don’t let anything take away from your process.”
I’d warned him about my process since I was starting the book tomorrow, and I didn’t want him to be caught off guard by the obsessive nature of my work.
“What process?” Chassie asked, folding a leg under her as she took her seat by Battle and put her plate on the table.
“I get obsessive when I write,” I explained. “I usually write at home, so it’s going to be interesting, having a space just for writing that’s away from everything. But it’s good Battle brought it up, because you guys should know, I’ll probably hole up in the studio for long periods of time.”
“We don’t want to mess with your process, Vivi, so whatever you need,” Prue said.
“And don’t forget, just buzz to the house if you need anything,” Chassie added.
“Thanks, guys,” I replied. Then, “Listen, speaking of the book,” I turned to Prue, “when you were searching for Charlie’s letters, did you look in all the bedrooms?”
Prue was confused. “Bedrooms?”
“Like yours and Tempie’s…and Chassie’s?”
This was the way I decided to play it rather than share about what happened the evening before with the cats.
I was falling for their brother; I didn’t need to give them reasons to move me out of The Downs and into an asylum.
“I would notice some letters hanging around,” Chassie remarked and took a bite of toast.
“I would too, as would Tempie,” Prue said. “Especially since I’ve been looking for them for months.”
“A journal? Something tucked in books? Anything?” I asked.
They both stared kindly, but ruefully at me while shaking their heads.
It was Battle who spoke.
“All the family bedrooms have been redecorated in the last few years, love. And except me, we’ve all been in the same rooms since we were children. They would have noticed something like that after several decades, and definitely when things were moved out so the redecorating could happen.”
I frowned and forked into some eggs.
“The letters will turn up when you most need them, Vivi,” Prue said. “Ravenna never lies. They’re here. We just have to happen on them when the time is right.”
I hoped so.
It was then, wearing smart red capris, a white sleeveless top and white Versace pumps with the flat bow on the toe, Tempie strolled in.
Her expression was bland when she did, but it shifted instantly to cross when she looked at Battle.
So I looked at Battle.
He was gazing at her with a smug expression so extreme, it turned me on as much as it confused me.
“Don’t start,” she warned, melting into a chair and reaching for the coffeepot.
“I said nothing,” Battle purred, and even his purr was smug.
“Let me see,” Prue began. “We all heard Battie’s door slam at…what? Eleven o’clock on a Friday night? And we didn’t see Battie and Vivi until Sunday morning. So that makes it…” She started counting on her fingers.
“Yes, dear,” Tempie drawled. “But I just left a Scotsman immobile on his stomach in my bed.”
“I still win,” Battle said into his coffee cup.
Good Lord.
Were they competing about who was the bigger sex god?
“Thirty-four hours!” Prue crowed after she stopped counting.
Battle smirked.
“You’re at only fourteen hours, Tempie,” Chassie rubbed it in. “Battie beat you by a whole twenty hours.”
“They took a break to go to the pub,” Tempie pointed out.
“Maybe so,” I chimed in. “But it was a miracle that happened considering Battle induced a lot of immobility in me. This meant he was forced to do quite a bit of the work, also forced to take me to fuel so I could move.”
Prue’s giggle peeled through the room.
But Battle turned his head and gave me a look so magnificent, I knew I’d never forget it.
Not all my life.
And it didn’t make my nipples tingle.
It made my heart skip a beat.
It said both I was officially one of them…
And he was falling in love with me too.
I already knew that last part.
But the first part felt nearly as amazing.
“A warning,” Tempie broke into our moment and fluttered a disparaging hand Battle’s and my way, “that will never happen with Hamish and me.”
“What won’t happen?” Chassie asked.
“Being gooey-eyed at the breakfast table.” Tempie paused. “Or anywhere, for that matter.”
“We’ll see,” Battle murmured.
“Are you and Hamish all right?” Chassie asked, her words threaded with worry.
“Although I’ll never forgive you, dearest,” Tempie stated, and Battle got stiff beside me, “I’ll also never be able to find the words to thank you.”
Battle relaxed.
Chassie grinned.
Tempie sipped coffee.
I shoved bacon in my mouth.
Fifteen minutes later Hamish sauntered in.
And with a light kiss on Tempie’s upturned lips, she belatedly introduced him to everyone.
And he joined the family.
* * *
I leaned my weight against the handle of my mallet, stating, “All right, this is a shade too far.”
Prue, standing next to me, asked, “What?”
I looked down at her. “We’re playing croquet.”
“And?” she inquired, openly perplexed.
“Do you play croquet often?” I asked in return.
“Yes, in the summer. Why?”
“My darling!” Tempie cried before I could say word one about the Bridgertons, and we both turned that way to see her planting a lavish kiss on Hamish’s beard.
Battle was frowning.
“Oops. I think Hamish just got in a good shot,” Prue mumbled.
“My turn!” Chassie yelled and bellied up to her ball.
I watched as everyone watched, a good deal of my attention on Hamish, who—new to all this drama and being introduced to it rather dramatically—had a keen and concerned eye on Chassie even as he slid an arm around Tempie’s shoulders.
Yeah.
He was a good guy.
Chassie’s hit connected with my ball and sent it flying.
She twirled to me. “Oh no, Vivi! I’m sorry!”
“Honey, that’s the game,” I said as I trudged to my ball.
I had to get it back on the appropriate trajectory.
My hit failed and it went too far the other way.
“Revolting luck, darling,” Battle cooed, coming to me, curling his arm around my shoulders and tucking me into his side.
“Luck has nothing to do with it. I suck at this,” I replied.
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
Maybe I would.
But even if I never did, when the croquet set came out, I’d be there.
Because the sun shone, the flowers bloomed, spring was in the air, croquet was fun (no matter how bad I was at it), and I was happy.
I leaned my weight into Battle and whispered, “I wish Mom could be here.”
His arm tightened and he kissed the side of my head.
He didn’t need to say anything.
That was perfect.
In the end, Hamish won, and I thought Battle would pitch a low-key aristocratic fit (one could say my guy was competitive).
But he just said to Hamish, “Shall we set up the thrower and shoot?”
Hamish’s strong white teeth emerged from his bushy red beard. “Works for me.”
But me?
I knew Battle’s game.
Hamish was an outdoorsman.
And here we were, doing a bunch of shit outdoors.
He was doing his bit to help his sister win Hamish to The Downs.
So falling for my fucking guy.
And with his suggestion, people scattered.
Then we reunited in the south parkland (for your information, Tempie had a pair of shiny red, short shaft wellies that she was so cool wearing them, she made them look hot).