Epilogue
A fortnight later
The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Nicholas and Beatrix Archer’s town house, cutting warm, golden paths across the breakfast table where the couple sat far too close for propriety and exactly close enough for happiness.
Bea still wasn’t entirely convinced any of it was real.
Married. By special license. In a whirlwind that had shocked half of London and delighted the other half.
Her father had refused to allow her home after the scandal.
The duke had sputtered so hard Bea sincerely worried for his circulation.
So, Nicholas had been forced to wake up his friend, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and procure a special license for them to be married that same night.
Then—after the reform bill was passed by a large margin the next morning—Nicholas had swept Bea away to Archer Abbey in Devon, where they’d stayed for a fortnight—long enough for the scandal to cool, and for their marriage to begin in earnest, far from curious eyes.
The rumors were waiting for them when they’d returned to London this morning, however. In addition to Bea’s father refusing to acknowledge their marriage, Nicholas’s father had refused to speak to him after the vote.
They were cast out by both important families. But none of it mattered.
Not when Bea woke every morning with Nicholas’s arm around her bare waist. Not when she heard him laugh, low and warm, as he watched her sketch. Not when she slipped her feet against his on the chaise, earning a wicked grin.
Nicholas glanced up from his newspaper—yet another one mentioning them—and smiled that lazy, devastating smile she was beginning to suspect he reserved only for her.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m admiring,” she corrected.
He leaned closer, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “As am I.”
She blushed. She, Beatrix “B. Adroit” Winslow—now Archer, blushed.
“You know,” she said, tapping the scandal sheet with one finger, “I think this is our fifth mention this week.”
Nicholas skimmed the headline with amusement.
LORD VANOVER: THE PEOPLE’S CHAMPION? Wife Once Closeted Satirist—Now London’s Favorite Marchioness.
He laughed softly. “I suppose that makes me the ‘darling of Parliament.’”
“You’ve always been a darling,” she said sweetly. “You just needed someone to tell you the truth from time to time.”
“And sharpen my spine?”
“That too.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m fortunate to have you.”
Bea’s heart warmed and softened like butter left too close to the stove. She traced a small circle on the back of his hand and sighed. “Only weeks ago, we were at war, you know?”
Nicholas’s bit his lip and smiled. “Oh, yes. I remember.”
“And now, here we are.”
He leaned in, his voice a velvet promise. “Truce?”
She tugged him closer. “A very happy one. Though if you misbehave…I reserve the right to declare war again.”
His laugh rumbled against her cheek. “Darling, I pray you do.”
A knock sounded at the door then, interrupting their banter, just before Georgie and Poppy swept into the room in a flurry of silk and certainty.
Poppy looked as though she’d dressed for maximum drama—a bright pink day dress with a daring ribbon at the neckline and a little bonnet tipped at a mischievous angle, her gloves half tugged off as if she’d been too impatient to arrive properly.
Georgie, by contrast, was sleek and deliberate in a fashionable violet-colored walking dress, the cut elegant and unfussy, with a perfectly tied hat and crisp gloves that made her look composed enough to manage any scandal in Mayfair—preferably before luncheon.
The moment she entered, Poppy threw her arms wide. “We’re here! Tell us everything! Are you blissfully happy? Overwhelmed by scandal? Already exhausted by the ton’s fascination with your marriage?”
Nicholas greeted his wife’s friends, kissed Bea’s cheek, murmured something about “important correspondence,” and stepped away to work in his study, though Bea caught the unmistakable sound of him chuckling as he went.
Bea motioned for her friends to sit. “We’re happy.”
Poppy sighed dramatically. “Ridiculously so, I imagine.”
Georgie flopped into a chair. “Honestly, Bea, I didn’t think anything could top Jason chasing me down with his horse and scooping me up after I ran away from the altar where I was to marry Lord Henderville.”
Bea winced and wrinkled her nose.
Georgie leaned forward. “But you, you have managed to shock the ton even more than that. I mean, honestly, Bea. Parliament? Announcing your secret identity in the middle of a vote? Marrying the man you once turned into a peacock-headed caricature? It’s—well—it’s magnificent.”
“I agree,” Poppy declared loyally.
Bea tried to look solemn, but her smile broke free. “Well,” she said lightly, “I’m just glad the reform bill passed. And I’m just getting started.”
Poppy’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, dear God.”
Georgie clapped her hands. “Are you going to influence Parliament through Nicholas? Because I truly think the nation should prepare itself.”
Bea took a sip of tea, eyes sparkling. “Influence? My dears, I intend to heavily direct it.”
Both friends gasped in delighted amusement.
“I’ve little doubt you’ll rule the country, Bea,” Georgie announced.
“Only a small portion of it,” Bea replied, shrugging one shoulder. “Perhaps just…all of Parliament.”
Poppy sighed happily. “It’s glorious. Terribly scandalous. And perfectly romantic.” But then her smile faded suddenly.
Bea’s brows knit. “Poppy? What’s wrong?”
Poppy slumped back in dramatic despair. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m entirely happy for you. It’s just that…it’s suddenly occurred to me…you two are happily married while my life is over.”
“Oh, dear.” Georgie sat up straighter. “Which catastrophe is this? Your mother? The bohemians? The wine merchants threatening to stop selling to her?”
“No,” Poppy moaned. “Worse.”
Bea’s eyes widened. “What could be worse?”
“My mother’s long-time solicitor is retiring.”
There was a beat of silence.
Bea blinked. “The one who’s been helping you manage her…disarray?”
Poppy nodded gravely. “The same. The only man who has ever understood how to untangle her finances, her invitations, her scandals, and her occasional disappearances to Spain. He is abandoning me.”
Bea sucked in her breath. “Did he say why?”
“Something ridiculous about ‘old age’ and ‘peace and quiet,’” Poppy said, waving a hand. “The traitor.”
Bea bit back a smile. “What happens now?”
Poppy flung her arms wide. “He’s sending a new solicitor.”
“And?” Bea prompted.
Georgie frowned. “What? You dislike him?”
Poppy shrugged. “I’ve yet to meet him. But he doesn’t know all the…intricacies of dealing with my mother.”
“Seems to me he’ll learn soon enough,” Georgie pointed out.
“I suppose,” Poppy replied, crossing her arms over her chest. Her mouth remained curved in a frown. “My first meeting with him is tomorrow morning. I just hope he doesn’t decide to sack us when he learns how difficult it is to keep Mama from scandal.”
Bea reached across the table and patted Poppy’s hand.
“Take heart. If there’s anything this Seasons has taught us…
” Bea grinned. “It’s that sometimes scandal can be the beginning of something quite extraordinary.
And I suspect, that when your moment comes, Poppy, yours will be the most extraordinary of them all. ”
Thank you for reading Bea and Nicholas’s story.