Epilogue
Twelfth Night
The farewell ball was underway, and the ballroom overflowed with revelers.
A few mothers and daughters had departed the festivities early, but the rest of the party stayed to enjoy Christmastide. This had certainly become one to remember.
Once news broke of Cynthia and Alexander’s betrothal, the poor butler had been forced to prop the front door open to allow in the endless streams of gawkers and well-wishers.
Alexander had appeared in a gossip column!
The Duke of Nottingvale was scandalously in love with his new betrothed, and it was simply not done.
All of their friends in the village of Cressmouth delighted in their obvious affection for one another, and toasted the new couple at every opportunity.
The dowager duchess would have to make her peace with the new arrangement, as would Gertie’s father.
Alexander had declared himself Gertie’s new sponsor.
He had no legal claim to his new relative, but he outranked her father and was putting all of his influence behind Gertie to give her not only as much time as she desired to choose her future husband when she was ready, but also was arranging for the best music tutors in Europe, as well as opportunities for her to perform her pieces professionally.
Gertie was ecstatic at her new fortune, and could not be pried away from the pianoforte even by the bouncing, barking antics of a newly healed, boisterous Max.
Max, for his part, thrilled to be cooed over and played with by hundreds of new friends, both inside the house and out. One of the guests had apparently invented a new game, involving a dozen lords leaping through the rear garden, tossing sticks for Max to fetch.
“What is he going to do tomorrow?” Cynthia asked her soon-to-be husband. “When all of the guests leave?”
Alexander wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “A better question is, what are we going to do tomorrow, once all of our guests leave?”
“Rock climbing?” she suggested innocently. “I thought we could toss a rope out of the castle’s topmost tower, and descend the stones from the outside using our fingers. And then, after breakfast—”
“Mm, how I would love to risk my neck for no reason at all. Unfortunately, the doctor was very clear, darling. You must rest. In bed.”
“That was last week,” she reminded him. “My stitches are gone.”
“Try it my way once,” he suggested. “And then if you still prefer to jump out of a tower attached to a rope, I’ll go with you.”
“Excellent parry. I accept your offer of bedchamber adventures.”
“I’ll make certain you don’t regret it.”
They never did return to the castle tower.