Epilogue
Ten months later
Anna blinked and studied her friend’s bold expression. This was either going to be brilliant … or a disaster. She set her teacup down and folded her hands, bracing.
“Rakes,” Pere declared, “make the best husbands.”
Anna paused. “That’s … a statement. Not necessarily a true one.” Anna drew out the words, curious.
“It is both a statement and a theory.” Pere lifted her chin.
“You burst in here like you had an announcement.”
“I suppose I do.” Pere tapped her notebook.
“Is there more than rakes make the best husbands, or was that the entire proclamation?” Anna’s lips twitched as she lifted her teacup again.
“You sound like my brother.”
“Oh? You’ve already told him this?”
“No. I thought he’d be with you. You two are so rarely apart.”
“We’re apart now.”
“What are we?” Henley entered, pressing a kiss to Anna’s head before stealing a biscuit and taking a seat beside her. “What did I miss?”
“Rakes make the best husbands,” Anna said, with a nod toward Pere.
“Bollocks,” Henley replied flatly.
“Would you both just—not—talk?” Pere waved her hands like she was fending off flies. “It’s my second season. I refuse to end up on the shelf, and I absolutely will not settle for some dreadfully proper, mind-numbingly dull gentleman. So…”
“Good Lord help us all,” Henley muttered.
“I’ve decided,” Pere went on, now pacing like a general on campaign, “that rakes—real, charming, infuriating rakes—make the best husbands. They’ve sowed their oats, they know how to flirt, and if caught at just the right moment—ripe for reform—they can be utterly devoted.
” She turned with a satisfied smirk. “I’ve made a list.”
“With Edwin out of the country, I’m your guardian. I’ll not have you—”
“If you sincerely think you’ll be able to tell me what to do—”
“I do sincerely believe I can,” Henley said, rising to his full height and striding toward her.
He towered over Pere, but to her credit, she didn’t budge an inch.
“I never said I was going to let one compromise me.”
“Oh, good Lord, she said that out loud,” Anna muttered into her teacup, trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh.
“If I said it in my head, my brother wouldn’t have heard it, would he? For pity’s sake, what kind of lady do you think I am?”
“Not … that kind,” Henley allowed, eyeing her warily.
But beneath his exasperation, Anna could see it—curiosity. And something dangerously close to concern.
Henley stared at her, dismayed.
Anna sipped her tea, amused.
Peregrine merely lifted her chin, smug and utterly unbothered.
“This will certainly be a season to remember,” Anna added, watching as the siblings both turned to her.
“Just you watch.”
The End