Tory sat up then, her head spinning. She clutched at her belly and closed her eyes.
“My God, Tory,” he said, coming to her side. “Are you all right?”
She took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. She seemed herself once more. The room had ceased its spinning and her stomach settled.
“I’m quite all right,” she assured him. “The sickness never lasts for long, thank goodness.”
Patrick breathed a sigh of relief and came to his feet once more.
“Shall I ring for some biscuits, love?” he offered. “And some tea?”
Her stomach gave a rumble and he smiled in response.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Biscuits would be lovely. With honey.”
Patrick grinned and went to do her bidding.
“And some sweet rolls, Patrick?” Tory called. “And some eggs, perhaps with ham. Oh, and some of those lovely roasted potatoes.”
Patrick looked at her incredulously.
She grinned and shrugged her slight shoulders. “I’ve come to accept the fact that my stomach’s appetite is in no way affected by its queasiness.”
Patrick voiced his amazement at that and saw to the lady’s demands.
Soon after concluding their breakfast at the small table in the sitting room, Patrick sat back and related the story of his reconciliation with his father and Susan. The hurt that Tory had glimpsed in Lady Stafford’s eyes made sense to her now. The lady obviously longed for her husband and his son to mend the breach between them. If Patrick had gone to his father for assistance to see to her freedom, that was surely a sign that such a reconciliation was well on its way to becoming a reality.
“They’ve given me strict orders to bring you to visit directly,” Patrick said. “They don’t know that I have you with me at long last. My father and I were turned away from Millbank with nothing to show for our efforts. We must pay a call on them today, love.”
Tory nodded her assent. “I’m eager to meet your little sister, too. I only hope your family will accept me as your wife.”
Patrick smiled brightly at her. “I’m afraid they have already accepted you, Tory.”
She dabbed her napkin on her lips and set it down beside her empty plate.
“I was put in jail, Patrick,” she said, her voice low. “I was accused of being a thief.”
He laughed at that and Tory glared at him.
“How dare you make light of my . . .”
Patrick silenced her outrage with a kiss.
“Susan has declared that you are indeed a thief, love,” he informed her. Tory opened her mouth to protest and he gently placed his fingers over her lips. “She declared that you’ve stolen my heart. And I believe she’s right.”
Tory blushed and rose, bound for his dressing room.
“One moment, love,” he said, crossing to the sideboard.
He opened one narrow drawer and withdrew a small object wrapped in a familiar length of blue silk. Her heart gave a little flip as recognition settled on her.
“Before you don one of your pretty dresses, I believe you’re sorely in need of this one adornment.”
Patrick unwrapped the object and Tory saw that he did indeed hold the exquisite brooch in his hand. She took it from him, a rush of tender feelings overcoming her.
“Oh, Patrick!” she sighed. “How I’ve missed this,” she said, her throat tight.
She clutched the piece of jewelry to her breast and gazed at him through her lashes. “Thank you, husband,” she said softly.
Patrick’s smile widened and he hugged her tightly.
“Tell me again,” he whispered into her ear.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she whispered back.
“I will never tire of hearing that,” he said tenderly and kissed his wife.
“Now, you tell me.” She looked at him with an impish grin, her cheeks dimpling.
“I love you.” He kissed one dimple. “I love you.” He kissed the other dimple. “I love you.”
Her eyes filled with tears as her smile grew tender and she knew that as long as she lived, she would never tire of hearing those words.
EPILOGUE
June 1824
Patrick strolled down Bond Street, nodding greetings to those he passed on the busy thoroughfare. The day was warm and bright and he whistled to himself as he approached Elliot’s Fineries. He stopped before the store, staring up at the elegantly-scrolled letters dressing the sign above the entry. The letters were freshly painted, as was the entire storefront. Nodding to the stout, deep-bosomed society matron who emerged from the doorway, he entered the bustling shop.
“Good afternoon, Lord Latham,” Mrs. Floss said with a smile.
Patrick nodded at her and made his way among the display tables. Voices filled the air, extolling the fine goods within. A familiar scent assailed his senses, reminiscent of the incredible perfume he’d first encountered on Tory’s delicate wrist three years earlier. That afternoon seemed like almost yesterday.
“Latham,” a man’s voice called, halting his nostalgic musings.
He turned to see J. B. Elliot approaching him. Patrick ran a practiced eye over Tory’s uncle, noting once more the changes that the man had undergone in the two years of his imprisonment. He seemed much older to Patrick than those few years should have allowed. His hair was almost completely gray, his face gaunt.
The man had indeed used poor judgment in several of his business dealings, a fact that couldn’t be denied before the Court of Exchequer. But after serving his sentence, and paying a hefty fine for his misdeeds, Tory’s uncle was released.
Miller had shared in none of the large fine collected. Patrick had seen to it that the bastard was brought to task for his own illegal business dealings, and he liked to think of him and the jailer Simms as being bosom chums by now, since that odious man was confined to the male side of the prison.
“Elliot,” Patrick said in greeting. “How does this day find you?”
Elliot gave him a wan smile and waved one thin hand in a sweeping gesture. Patrick followed his gaze, noting that although it seemed to his unpracticed eye that several shelves were yet empty, the quality of the goods available was as fine as it had been before the man’s incarceration. In the six months since his release he’d done much to restore the shop to its former condition, on his way to replacing the goods that had been confiscated. Seeing the number of well-heeled patrons shopping was surely gratifying.
“I have no complaints,” Elliot said with a nod. “My shop is doing well under the circumstances and my niece has forgiven me for involving her in Miller’s machinations.”
Patrick gave him a nod and turned to settle his gaze on the man’s lovely niece. She was in exquisite profile, dressed in a style befitting the wife of a baron despite her insistence that she continue to work at least a few days a week at the store. He had to laugh when he thought of the gentry begging to be assisted by a baroness, but it made her happy. She had good friends here at Elliot’s, and the shop girls were like sisters, really.
The elegantly dressed woman before him—her auburn locks upswept and crowned by a cunning little burgundy hat, a matching spencer topping her pretty rose day dress—seemed at odds with the uninhibited woman who had graced his bed the previous night.
He marveled as love flooded him, more than grateful that she could still set his heart to pounding after almost three years of marriage. She turned then, her lovely silver eyes piercing his soul. A smile curved her lips, and he drew in a breath as he read in her smile that she also recalled last night’s ardor.
“Papa!” a voice squealed, breaking through his mind’s pleasant wanderings.
Patrick bent down to lift the bundle of frothy white lace and auburn curls from the floor.
“Hello, little love,” Patrick grinned, shifting to cradle the child in the crook of his arm.
Elizabeth Victoria Stafford, a very big name for a very small girl, pressed her lips on her father�
�s cheek and planted a noisy kiss there.
“Missed you, Papa,” she said, wrapping her plump little arms tightly around his neck.
“Have you given your Mama any trouble today, Lizzie?” he asked her, tickling her beneath her chin.
The little girl’s round hazel eyes sparkled as she shook her head, her curls swaying from the motion. “No! I was helping. I’m a shop girl, you know.”
Patrick tickled her again and was rewarded with a burst of giggles. He laughed and set her on her feet. Taking Lizzie’s small hand in his, he walked to where Tory stood. She turned her face up to his, greeting him with a smile.
“Hello, love,” he said, dropping a kiss on her lips.
“Hello, darling,” she returned softly.
Patrick turned to the woman who stood beside Tory, offering her a wide smile.
She grinned in return, her blonde curls framing her rosy cheeks.
Emmy and his wife had formed an unlikely friendship that seemed to grow stronger with each passing year. The fact that Emmy had all but given up life on the stage and was working part-time at Elliot’s helped in that effort, no doubt.
“Good day, Emmy,” he grinned.
“Latham,” Emmy returned.
“How have you been keeping yourself?”
Emmy laughed. “Just as you see. Helping the Quality treat themselves to something from the best shop on Bond Street.”
He turned to catch Tory’s gaze. Something twinkling in her silver eyes brought to mind a secret he would no doubt take great pleasure in discovering.
“Patrick has come to take Lizzie and me home, Emmy,” she said. “Will you think about what I said?”
Emmy shook her head. “I like things the way they are,” she replied. “Tony has his life and I have mine.”
“That’s a good thing,” Mrs. Floss put in with a grin from where she stood at the sales counter. “We profit when her many admirers come into the store. Isn’t that true, Nan?”
Nan blushed as she laughed. “True.”
Still, Tory didn’t look convinced with Emmy’s flip explanation. Patrick had had the exact same conversation with Tony when the man was deep in his cups just last week. They were both stubborn. That was certain.
“Come then, husband,” Tory said to Patrick. “We’re expected at your father’s for dinner this evening. Lizzie protested that she won’t get to see her Aunt Emily tonight. You know she won’t permit our desertion until you have read her no less than three stories.”
“Four stories!” Lizzie held up four chubby fingers.
The adults all laughed at that.
“All right, poppet.” He swung his daughter up into his arms and glanced at his wife. “I don’t know how she came to be such a determined little thing.”
Tory shook her head, her cheeks dimpling.
Patrick knew she spoke the truth, though. Lizzie had both her father and her mother wrapped around her little finger, and neither of them begrudged her that circumstance. The precarious labor through which their little darling was brought into the world assured as much. And did Tory’s secret smile mean that another precious bundle was on the way?
“Do you have something else to tell me, wife?” he asked.
Her eyes lit. “Yes! I’m happy to say that Daisy will be coming to work at the store next week.”
“Daisy? The girl from—” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “The girl you met in Millbank?”
“Yes. She’s been staying with the Somerton family since her release last autumn, helping with the foster children. She’s eager to start anew, though. Where better than at Elliot’s?”
“Where indeed,” he said.
They’d been able to see Daisy’s fines paid, which hurried her release somewhat. Patrick’s father now sat on the board of the penitentiary as well, and Patrick and Tory hoped that no other woman would have to endure what Daisy and the others had at the hands of abusive jailers.
Tory dropped a kiss on Emmy’s pink cheek and took her place beside her husband. Patrick bent his head toward her, finding the lure of those lush lips most compelling.
He felt an insistent tugging on his collar and turned to find his daughter grinning at him, her cheeks dimpling.
“It’s story time soon, Mama said so.”
“Yes, poppet, Mama is right.”
With a passing nod of farewell given to Tory’s uncle, Patrick held the door open for his wife.
The sign above the doorway caught his eye, the store’s remarkable promise in elegant script.
“Where you can find your heart’s desire,” he read aloud, a smile teasing his lips.
Tory tilted her head to one side, her silver eyes dancing. He had indeed found his heart’s desire three years ago, he mused. Tory’s love had made his life more than he’d ever hoped it could be.
And his heart would desire nothing more for the rest of his days.
ABOUT JOMARIE DEGIOIA
JoMarie DeGioia is a bestselling author of Historical and Contemporary Romance. She’s known Mickey Mouse from the “inside,” has been a copyeditor for her tiny town’s newspaper, and a bookseller. A hybrid author, she also writes Young Adult Fantasy/Adventure stories and Paranormal Romance. She gets lost in DIY projects around the house and works out plot ideas during long runs. She divides her time between Central Florida and New England.
Connect with JoMarie online:
website: www.jomariedegioia.com
e-mail: [email protected]
Twitter: @JoMarieDeGioia
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