Epilogue
Wednesday morning, Arnaud helped load a wagon with the bankrupt gambler, his financier, and the murderous Perser. Sullen, they stayed silent as Hunt gave the driver orders to carry them to the prison where they’d await trial. No one waved them farewell.
In the new role of responsibility he meant to take on, Arnaud followed the carriage down the drive to the inn. Maids were bustling about, airing the corridors, scenting them with apples and lavender, ridding the place of the stink of not just ghosts, but the prior rotten inhabitants.
He helped Rafe and Humphries’ valet load the incapacitated, speechless American into a carriage heading for a hospital his family designated.
The ex-fighter watched his future roll away with a sigh. “Back to the ring for me, I suppose. Easy money never falls to the likes of us on the bottom, does it?”
Well, actually. . . Arnaud exchanged glances with Rafe. Money had fallen from the earl’s trees, but perhaps it hadn’t been easy.
“I need help about the place, if you’re interested. Not easy money, though.” The ginger-haired bailiff crossed his arms and waited for the valet to decide.
A rental carriage full of new arrivals rolled up. Rafe’s eyebrows soared.
“Weston has called a meeting to discuss the criminal and possibly traitorous activities of the miscreants we arrested,” Arnaud murmured, for the bailiff’s ears alone. “Hunt refused to house them all. He sent the overflow here.”
At Rafe’s signal, Jones leaped in to help carry baggage. A good thing, because a little later, merchants arrived to discuss purchasing the manor’s cider now that the trees had produced an abundance. The village meant to hold its cider festival on Hallow-e’en.
To Arnaud’s delight, a few later arrivals strolled into the art gallery, encouraged by Lord Grey’s articles in London periodicals—and quite possibly the gossip about assassinations and bankrupt lords and financiers.
If notoriety sold artwork, he didn’t mind, especially since it sent Thea into raptures.
“Pave the road to this quaint village, and you might see a steady stream of buyers,” one of the city gallery owners told Thea, as she wrapped his purchase.
“The macadam is on our agenda for the first council meeting.” Arnaud hefted the awkward package and handed it over. “We have only just obtained a charter.”
“A charter, so you’ll officially be on the map?” the buyer asked. “I know people up in Birmingham looking to start a cheese manufactory and shop. Fix up these Elizabethan buildings. . .”
“Also on the agenda.” Arnaud found it easier to be agreeable when people admired his work. “The bank owns many of the cottages, or so they say. We wish to reclaim them. Your friend must act quickly.”
With jewels in the vault, anything was possible.
He and Thea repeated that theme enough times over the next two days that by the time the cider had been dispensed and the festival goers had danced and sung to the last songs, Damien Sutter, their acting mayor, came around to pound Arnaud on the shoulder.
“We need to appoint you as the village’s commerce authority.
We’ve had three inquiries about property and acquired a handful of business cards from people who want to be kept abreast of our progress. ”
“Commerce authority.” Arnaud snorted. “One notch higher than trained ape. Glad to be of service.”
Thea laughed. “He does not understand how attractive is his surly French charm. Are ladies invited to tonight’s council meeting?”
“Is there any way they could be kept out?” The smooth-talking solicitor laughed. “The lot of you essentially own the place. But if you start twittering about draperies, as Bridey has been doing, we gentlemen reserve the right to hold a separate meeting.”
“You’ll be the only attendee, if you do, Sutter.
” Arnaud locked up the gallery and studied the lanterns lighting up and down the street.
Stray music drifted from the tavern, where the last of the party rolled on.
“The rest of us would rather hear about draperies than laws about who builds what where.”
“Buildings are not on the agenda,” Sutter assured him.
“You will remember my family now includes the Morgan sisters, who have lived here longer than most of us. Our first meeting is to discuss a town charter. First on the agenda is whether the ladies can legally vote and hold office, a fittingly scary event for the evening. We might wish to hide behind masks.”
Thea shouted with laughter.
Arnaud caught himself grinning. This was a revolution he might wholeheartedly embrace.
Circling Thea’s shoulders, he followed Damien into the street, where he greeted all the people he now knew and trusted.
He didn’t know what to expect of marriage and settling down with family, but with the help of friends, he might muddle along.
As Damien hurried to greet the other couples descending from the manor, Arnaud kissed Thea’s hair. In a few short weeks, they’d exchange vows in the chapel they approached. When she turned her expectant face up to him, he kissed her properly and whispered, “Look in the shrubbery.”
At the glimpse of Fort and Lavender holding hands and exchanging flirtatious gazes, Thea hugged him. “We will simply kill him if he hurts her,” she said in satisfaction.
Arnaud chuckled at his bloodthirsty fiancée. “Now that you no longer need kill your father, you look for new victims?”
“Not if we decide to change the name from Gravesyde to Riverside,” she said sweetly. “Can we count on your vote?”
“Oh, no, you don’t! It’s Priory Village!”
Laughing, she ran off to join the other ladies.
“Looks like that’s decided then.” Henri caught up with him, watching his wife join the other ladies. “We’ll never have to make another decision again.”
“They win because they communicate better?”
His brother shrugged. “Or maybe they just understand some things better than we do.”
“Besides, there are more of them than us. I should just stay home and paint.” Amazingly, Arnaud wasn’t feeling grumpy when he said it.
He trusted that their ladies had the village’s best interests in mind.
Just because he preferred history to banalities didn’t mean he knew better.
But Thea actually listened to the spirits who had lived that history. He’d trust her.
On their first anniversary a few weeks later, Rafe showered Verity with gifts. Over breakfast, he gave her a bonnet created by Lavender’s hatmakers with all the fashionable furbelows dear to his wife’s heart.
She donned it in delight, posing for his admiration. “I can wear it to the duke’s reception! Lord Fortescue means to introduce his father to Lavender and hopes we’ll all attend so he needn’t do all the talking.”
Rafe barked his laughter. Their beautiful modiste was running circles around the besotted young tutor with big plans. “If Fort can find good teachers and open that school, I’ll be glad not to send Daniel off. He’ll be happier here.”
At noon, he had to attend one of the village planning meetings Hunt and Damien insisted on.
In his place, Rafe left Verity another box on the kitchen table.
He’d had Lavender design a new gown to match his wife’s new hat, so she might wear them to Arnaud and Thea’s wedding on Sunday.
Lavender had added all the frills so dear to his wife’s desires.
After dinner, he arranged for Damien’s wife to take their wards with her, so he might woo Verity in private. The inn was starting to pay enough to cover their needs. For his bailiff’s salary, Rafe had requested one of the estate’s tiny diamonds in lieu of coin.
Over his wife’s favorite meal of pot pie, he produced a ring he’d had designed with the diamond. He didn’t have adequate words to tell her how very much she meant to him. He hoped the ring would speak for him.
She gasped as he slipped it on her finger, then flung her arms around him—a reaction he’d dearly hoped for.
Before he could carry her off to bed, she murmured, “I have something for you too. Come spring, we’ll have a child of our own. You said you wanted a large family, did you not?”
They had feared it might never happen. Their tears of joy mingled with their kisses.
The new Riverside Village was growing already.