Epilogue
LIZZY
Six months later…
“Gosh. What are you wearing?” I asked Darcy as he emerged from our bedroom.
I scanned him from head to toe. Wow.
He usually wore a dark suit and white shirt to a smart restaurant. But for some reason, tonight, he’d chosen a completely different outfit—a long, dark jacket, ruffled white shirt, and high boots, all of which I’d never seen on him before.
His outfit seemed from another era. Had our plans changed?
We were in my—our—cottage, and I thought we were preparing to leave for my birthday dinner. We were celebrating with our families tomorrow night. Tonight, Darcy had booked a romantic new restaurant in the forest that allowed pets.
The dogs bounded between us, barking playfully, and I smiled.
This cottage had been right for me and Oodles, but it had shrunk a bit with the addition of Darcy, Max, and Topaz six months ago, though I loved the chaos of the five of us squashed together.
I opened the door and let the doggy commotion out onto the front lawn.
Darcy held the lapels of his new jacket. “You don’t like my outfit?”
“I like what I can see, but give me a better look.” Not only did his jacket seem like it was from the era that was illustrated on the covers of my novels, but so did his shirt. “Are you dressed as…Regency?” I asked. Amused and confused at the same time, I didn’t know whether to bite my lip or grin.
“Yes, I had this outfit made up.” He fingered the ruffled cuffs of his shirt. “Thought I could wear it when I’m being a fanboy at your readings too.”
I grinned. He’d caused a stir when he turned up to my readings of Scowly at First Sight.
Which was, as anyone who knew us guessed, a retelling of our meeting, but written as Victoria’s story.
Darcy joked that he was owed some credit for lobbying for Victoria’s story as next, but truthfully, he was owed much of the credit as the inspiration for my novel and the reason I was inspired to write again. Because I had hope.
Which brought me back to his outfit. The man was going to cause an absolute stampede at my readings.
“And those trousers…” I tapped my finger on my lips.
“Do they look ridiculous?” he said. “I borrowed a pair of Regency trousers from a friend, who had them in the museum part of his house, and had them copied.”
He didn’t seem that worried about being ridiculous, to be honest. Another change since I’d met him.
The pants were in a stretchy pale-gray material, which emphasized the bulk of his thighs, and, oh God, my mouth went dry. A warmth flushed through my body. Goose bumps prickled on my arms.
And what about…
“Lift up your jacket and let me see the back?” I asked.
He did as I bid with a bit of a flourish. Whoa. His arse looked unbelievable in those trousers, every muscle and dip emphasized.
I sighed. “You dressed in Regency for me?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to face me.
My heart warmed at how out of his comfort zone this was for him.
“Oh, Darcy. That was a lot of planning.”
A slow smile lifted his lips, and I could tell he was pleased with himself about something else.
“I was aiming for the gray sweatpants of the Regency times,” he said.
I laughed, then examined his pants again and blinked hard. “The man has learned his tropes. And I, for one, appreciate this.”
If I’d ever questioned why romance readers loved gray sweatpants, there was not a sliver of doubt left. Like sweatpants, the thin gray fabric clung to his thick, strong thighs and narrow waist, outlining his muscles, and…anatomy. It wasn’t like he was naked, more like romance catnip.
“They are suggestive in that gray sweatpants way,” I said.
He looked a bit worried. “That’s what I realized after I put them on. Can I go out in them? You won’t be able to touch me until the end of the evening when we’re back in the car. What do you think?”
I crossed my arms over the green silk slip dress I’d worn the second night we met at Amor Inn. He’d loved it then and, from his burning gaze, seemed to love it now.
I raised my eyebrows. “I love them. Who wouldn’t?”
We locked eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“If you’re going to look at me like that, I’ll have to change—and put on a full-length coat.”
“No, I insist on you wearing them,” I said firmly, taking a step closer. I tilted my head. “What inspired all this?”
“Like I said, being a good fanboy for my favorite author.”
“Darcy.” I wound my hands around his neck and stood on my toes.
My grandfather clock struck seven p.m. I jumped.
“Shoot, we do have to go,” he said. “We were supposed to be there at seven.”
He patted my bum and hustled me and the dogs out the door and into the car. But instead of heading to the new animal-friendly restaurant in the woods, he drove in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Surprise! But I think you’re going to like it.”
I did like surprises and he knew that, but I’d also looked forward to dinner in the forest with the dogs.
However, I didn’t want to discourage his initiative.
When we’d met, he’d said he didn’t like surprises.
He liked routine and certainty and knowing the risks.
Despite that, every day, something else emerged about his personality that amazed me.
Eventually, we pulled up at Amor Inn. Surely we weren’t having dinner here?
I felt a little let down. I loved seeing Trystan and the Balfours, but they must already have a new batch of people attending “Must Love Animals” for pet-loving singles looking for their soul mates. But a tingle of curiosity took over.
Lights, loud music, and whooping blasted from the front windows. How did this fit into our restaurant evening?
“Are we picking up someone?” I asked. But he’d already swung out of the car and let the dogs loose.
“Come on.” He hurried to open my car door, took my hand, and led me to the front entry.
I glanced at him. “That sounds like a full-on party.”
“Mm-hm,” Darcy said.
At the door, I knocked. No one answered. No wonder—the music was too loud. I knocked again.
“I think it’s fine to go in,” Darcy said as he turned the handle.
The door was unlocked. Were they expecting us? Or more people? The roar of people whooping and the music grew louder. Darcy was leading me into a…party? He was dressed in Regency and taking me to a party? Upside-down day.
Velvet capes, heavy and floor-length, were draped on the pegs inside the door. It must be a Regency party. I supposed that wasn’t such a shock, as Amor Inn held many themed gatherings. Without a word, Darcy took my hand and led me toward the door to the kitchen and opened it.
The open kitchen and living area were bursting with people.
Jane and Wills, Mary and Charlie, Emma and Knightley, Tabitha and Tim, the Balfours, Trystan, friends from London, and locals.
All in Regency costumes. Dancing…hip-hop.
Led by my mother, who was in a full frock and wearing a tall white wig bobbing on her head, threatening to slip with every shoulder waggle.
And—what? There was Dad in full regalia sitting on the side.
I stood in the doorway, stock-still, shocked.
“Pretty much everyone we know is here. It’s… What is this?” I asked
“They’re holding a Regency weekend,” he said. “Thought you might like it if we joined?”
I laughed. A themed party and Darcy seemed excited about it.
“When we met, you said themed should not be a word,” I reminded him.
He arched an eyebrow. “The bigger man admits when he is wrong.”
But how did everyone but me know about this party? I’d been busy with my writing, but that didn’t explain how I’d missed this invite. I spotted Jane and Wills dancing in the front row.
“Jane! Wills!” I called from the doorway. They both looked around but didn’t stop dancing or even greet me.
Odd.
“Mum?” I waved at her up on her little stage. “Dad?”
Mum gave me a little wave but didn’t stop her hip-popping routine.
Dad stayed in his seat. A few others looked around and waved, probably noting her gesture, but kept on dancing too.
This was a huge party. And everyone’s costumes were incredible.
Satin dresses, long white gloves, pinned-up Grecian hair for the women, men in long coats and ruffled shirts like Darcy.
Someone must have been planning this for a while.
Which took me back to that same glaring question.
“Darcy—”
“It’s the air walk.” Darcy raised a finger to indicate he’d be back in a minute. “The kids at the clubhouse taught me this dance.”
He hurried out onto the floor—right to the front—and did this athletic changing of feet thing. Then the whole group moved around the room, doing the same step. Back in their places, Mum led them into another dance, which Darcy seemed to know as well.
The man could move.
I’d seen that in another way and I’d seen him waltzing, but I didn’t realize he could dance like this too.
And he was laughing with my mother. Over the past months, he’d thawed to her, and now often only discreetly rolled his eyes and took deep breaths when her back was turned.
But tonight, they were actually laughing together.
A rustle at my side made me turn. Poppy from hair and makeup was in a long blue dress.
“Shall we?” she said. “I have a dressing and makeup room set up.”
Still completely confused, I followed her up the stairs.
“Why didn’t I hear about this?” I asked her the question I’d wanted to ask Darcy before he’d disappeared off to dance.
She shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not too sure. I think it was last minute, maybe? They got me in to supply the costumes. Darcy told me you’d be turning up after the others.”
She led me into an unoccupied bedroom. Makeup and hair appliances were set up in front of the full-length mirror. The rest of the room was filled with racks of colorful men’s and women’s costumes.
I loved all this. I wished I’d known sooner. “But what—”
She held up a green Regency gown, cutting me short. I looked down and plucked at the dress I was wearing. “That Regency dress is the same material as the one I’m wearing,” I said.
“Ha! Similar—you’re right. Try it on and see if it fits.”
She hustled me behind a screen, and I quickly disrobed and pulled the gown over my head. I looked in the full-length mirror. The dress had a low, scooped neckline with an empire waist, puffed sleeves, and dropped all the way to my ankles. It was lovely. It was—
“Where did you get this dress? I mean, it’s like it was made for me.” I ran my hands over my hips. The fit was beautiful.
“Isn’t it?” She stuck hairpins in her mouth, her hands dropped onto my shoulders, and she led me to a chair in front of a wall mirror and gently sat me down.
In a blur of fingers, she arranged my hair in a modern version of an 1800s do. After a few more jabs, she checked her phone.
“All done. They’re waiting for you,” she said.
I hopped down the stairs in gold ballet flats Poppy had supplied, the music and hooting getting louder with every step.
I strode into the kitchen living area.
The music stopped, the lights dimmed.
Everyone raised their phones.
What was happening?