Epilogue
Three weeks later…
Charlotte rose earlier than she ever had before—far earlier than was proper for a lady on her wedding day.
But sleep had been impossible. Not even the melody of birds chirping merrily outside her window could soothe the flutter of nerves in her chest. No, her mind had been far too full—of Luca, of vows, of everything that was to come.
She pressed a trembling hand to her middle as she descended the staircase.
He loves me. He truly loves me. It still astonished her.
Luca Dexter—stubborn, infuriating, wonderful Luca—had gone down on one knee and asked her, again, to be his wife.
And this time, she had been ready to say yes with her whole heart.
Her booted steps carried her into the dining room, where Alistair sat at the head of the table, reading the newssheets. The familiar rustle of paper filled the air, and the comforting scent of chocolate and toast greeted her.
When he noticed her, he made to rise, but she waved him back down with a smile. “Good morning, Brother.”
He glanced towards the long clock in the corner. “Do you realize what hour it is?”
“I do,” she replied. “But I found I could not sleep. And I must eat before we depart for the chapel.”
“That you must,” Alistair said, folding the newssheets. “I have discovered something rather interesting in the newssheets. It appears that Mr. Fairchild now writes for The London Gazette.”
“It is true.”
He lifted his brow. “I thought you wished to pursue more serious subjects?”
“I do,” she said, reaching for her cup of chocolate. “But I intend to write those under my own name.”
“Are you sure that is wise?”
She met his gaze. “Yes. Luca supports the idea,” she replied. “Besides, I am rather done with hiding who I am.”
Alistair set the newssheets aside and studied her. “I cannot believe I was so blind to it all—your secret writings, your investigations—happening under my own roof.”
“Do not fault yourself,” she said. “I am quite talented at keeping secrets.”
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I simply wish you had told me sooner.”
Charlotte felt a pinch of guilt, but she managed a small smile. “I know. And I am truly sorry.”
“You need not apologize again.” His voice gentled. “I want you to know, Charlotte, that I am proud of you. Of all you’ve accomplished.”
Her throat tightened, and tears welled unbidden. “Thank you, Alistair.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “You deserve to be happy.”
“I am,” she replied. “It is rather freeing, not pretending anymore.”
A grin curved his mouth. “Happiness suits you.”
Before she could reply, Malone entered the room and announced, “Lord Luca, my lord. Miss.”
Charlotte’s heart gave a flutter as Luca appeared in the doorway, sunlight glinting off his dark hair. He crossed the room in that confident stride of his and bent to kiss her cheek. “Good morning, my love.”
She beamed up at him. “Not that I am complaining, but why are you here? I thought we were meeting at the chapel in an hour.”
“I found I could not wait to see you,” he confessed, pulling out the chair beside her. “Besides, I hoped to be the one to escort you there.”
Alistair lowered his cup with an unimpressed look. “Is that truly necessary?”
“Perhaps not,” Luca said easily, “but I find myself quite anxious to marry your sister.” He added a playful wink in Charlotte’s direction.
Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek to hide her grin and returned to her breakfast, though she hardly tasted a bite. She was far too anxious to get married.
Luca leaned forward conspiratorially. “I did come bearing news. Rather interesting news, in fact.”
Setting down her fork and knife, Charlotte gave him her full attention. “You have piqued my curiosity.”
“All those involved with The Chelmsford Asylum are behind bars,” he said, his voice taking on that crisp, journalistic cadence she knew so well. “Even the Duke of Brackenford.”
Charlotte gasped, her hand flying to her throat. “The duke is in prison?”
“That he is,” Luca confirmed. “Parliament is already moving to strip him of his title. His so-called allies abandoned him the moment we published the article exposing his dealings.”
“Serves him right,” Alistair said, his tone edged with satisfaction. “You should also know that Parliament is reviewing Lord Coldwyck’s standing. He was no innocent either.”
“No,” Luca agreed. “Miss Dawlish and her son will face the gallows, I suspect. The rest will be transported.”
“And Lady Matthew?” Charlotte asked.
Luca’s expression softened. “She is petitioning for a divorce through Parliament. It will be difficult, but…”
“She has my support,” Alistair interjected firmly. “And many of our peers are rallying behind her. She stands a good chance.”
“I am glad. She deserves her freedom,” Charlotte said.
Luca smiled at her, that mischievous glint she loved flickering in his eyes. “Not everyone can be as fortunate as you—to marry a man both handsome and brilliant.”
Charlotte feigned a glare. “Do you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?”
“Never,” he replied cheerfully. “I cannot seem to help myself when I am around you.” He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “I love you most ardently.”
Her lips curved, and she intertwined her fingers with his. “And I… tolerate you.”
He leaned in close enough to whisper in her ear, “I promise, you will more than tolerate me after our wedding night.”
Her cheeks flamed scarlet. “Luca!” she chided under her breath. “You ought not to say such things.”
A pointed cough interrupted them. “You do realize I am sitting right here?” Alistair asked.
Luca leaned back, utterly unrepentant, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “My apologies, Alcott,” he said in the least convincing tone imaginable.
Alistair shoved back his chair and rose with a long-suffering sigh. “Since you two are bound to be married within the hour, I will give you a moment alone.” He fixed Luca with a warning look. “Do not make me regret it.”
When the door clicked shut behind her brother, she turned back to Luca—her Luca—whose eyes already held that familiar warmth that made her pulse quicken.
He shifted in his chair to face her fully. “I find I keep looking at my watch,” he admitted, pulling it from his pocket and flipping it open. “As though willing time itself to hasten, so that we might finally be wed.”
“Patience is a virtue,” Charlotte said, tilting her head playfully.
Luca leaned closer, his eyes glinting. “I do believe I have been patient enough.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You? Patient? That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet, I waited patiently for you to agree to marry me.”
She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief but full of promise. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb tracing her skin as though memorizing it. When she pulled back, breathless, his gaze lingered on her lips.
“I rather like kissing you whenever I want,” she admitted.
“As do I,” he responded. “Though I fear I will never tire of it. Every second I spend in your company, I find I love you more than the one before.”
Charlotte’s heart swelled. “That makes sense,” she teased. “I recently discovered that I am, indeed, quite lovable.”
Luca chuckled—a low, warm sound that filled the quiet room. “Yes, you are. And I intend to spend my entire lifetime proving that to you,” he said. “You are truly my everything, Charlotte.”
The words stole her breath. She looked at him—really looked—and saw not only the man who had rescued her, challenged her, and infuriated her in equal measure, but the man who saw her exactly as she was. No pretenses. No masks. Just Charlotte.
Emotions welled in her chest. “You have changed my world entirely,” she said. “When I look at you, I don’t just see the man I love—I see my future. A future I never believed I deserved until now.”
“Then it is well that I never stopped believing you did.”
She smiled through the blur of tears that gathered in her eyes. “I love you, Luca.”
Luca’s expression gentled, his gaze steady and sure. “And I you,” he replied, his voice rich with feeling. “Nothing will ever change that.”
The End