by Burke, Darcy
Barrett, Eastleigh, Cole, Tom, and Langford, who’d also just arrived, all took a step toward the marquess, their expressions unified in determination and enmity.
The marchioness touched her husband’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He scoffed and shook her away so that she stumbled to the side. She recovered herself before she fell, but the truth was clear—Bramber was a brute. Not that Hugh had needed to see him mishandle his wife to know that.
Hugh squeezed Pen’s hand, then let her go before advancing on her father. “I’m inviting you politely to leave my church.” He almost wished the man would refuse so that Hugh could toss him bodily through the gate.
Though Hugh hadn’t been speaking to Findon, the man departed with alacrity. In fact, it was astonishing to see him move so fast.
The marquess, however, took a step toward the bishop, his gaze imploring. “Please, Bishop Howley, you must do something. My daughter cannot marry a rector.”
Bishop Howley frowned deeply. It was perhaps the most emotion Hugh had ever seen on the man’s face. “A rector may become a bishop, as I am. I sit in the House of Lords. One day, I may even be archbishop. To denigrate Mr. Tarleton is to insult our entire occupation and the Church of England. I must support Mr. Tarleton’s request and ask that you leave.”
Satisfaction burst like a firework inside Hugh. He retreated to Pen’s side and took her hand once more.
Bramber took a step toward Pen, and Hugh instinctively angled himself in front of her. “I will speak with my daughter,” the marquess said haughtily.
“If she’ll allow it.” Hugh looked at his bride in question.
She nodded and directed a glacial stare at her father. “Make it good, because I doubt I will speak with you again.”
“If you marry Tarleton, you will be dead to us,” he said coldly. “There will be no dowry, no support of any kind. Do you understand?”
Her lips curled into a smile, and Hugh nearly swept her into his arms and kissed her. “Perfectly. I can’t imagine we’ll have any reason to see each other at all.” She peered around him at the marchioness. “Goodbye, Mother.”
The marchioness sniffed, then came forward, passing her husband so that she stood before Pen. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, casting a wary glance up at Hugh. “You don’t have to marry Findon. I promise. I’ll make sure you’re allowed to choose your husband next Season. You can’t marry so far beneath you.” She cast a disparaging glance toward Hugh.
Pen’s gaze turned sad. She was simply done with being angry at them. There was no point. “Hugh is an exemplary gentleman and possesses the kindest, noblest soul I’ve ever met. He’s someone I admire, and you should too.” She slid her arm around Hugh, who felt as if his heart might burst with joy. “I love Hugh. I choose Hugh.”
Eastleigh cleared his throat. “Well, I think that’s all there is to say on the matter. Shall we proceed?”
Bishop Howley looked at Hugh. “Since I am here, I would be pleased to perform the ceremony.”
Hugh would have preferred Tom do it, but one did not refuse the Bishop of London. Hugh exchanged a look with Pen and could tell she felt the same. It was very strange to think he knew her so well, but it was as if they’d just been waiting to meet the other and the rest had fallen into place.
“Thank you, Bishop Howley,” Hugh said. “Let us prepare.”
The marquess let out a sound akin to a ferocious growl, then glared at the bishop before taking his wife’s arm and stalking from the church. They weren’t even out the door before a chorus of “Huzzah!” sounded in the vestibule.
“Do you mind if we stay?” one of the Runners asked. “I like a good wedding.”
“Please do.” Hugh couldn’t help but grin as he felt Pen giggle beside him. He squeezed her close and brushed a kiss to her temple. “Ready?”
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with love. “Let’s get married.”
Epilogue
Their wedding at St. Giles had exceeded every expectation Penelope had ever had. For so long, she’d imagined a ceremony during which she felt sick and prayed for a meteor to fall from the sky to disrupt the event so she could run away. Then, when her parents had pronounced she would marry Findon, she’d hoped a hole in the earth would open and swallow him whole.
But this was so much better. She had everything she needed and wanted. And she felt, for the first time, truly alive. It helped that the atmosphere inside the Wicked Duke was boisterous and cheerful, exactly what a celebration should be. It was full of her new friends and many parishioners from St. Giles who’d come to the wedding.
The Duke of Colehaven approached her, grinning, with his wife at his side. “If we’d known about your wedding soon enough, we would have brewed a special non-bitter ale.”
Penelope glanced toward her husband—her husband—who’d arranged this breakfast. “Hugh told you about my preferences?”
“He did,” Diana said. “I’m still working on a recipe. We will create a beer you like.” She nodded with determination.
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Kindness was all around her. Before the ceremony, Diana and the other women present—Isabelle, the Duchess of Eastleigh, Lady Viola Barrett, Lady Felicity Langford, and Priscilla, Mrs. Thaddeus Middleton—had helped Penelope prepare. She’d already befriended Viola and Felicity at the park, and the others had gleefully declared they were her friends too. Right after they’d urged her to call them all by their first names, so yes, they were friends already.
“It’s necessary,” Cole responded. “We always take care of our own. We also have cream cheese.” He winked at her before they continued on.
Isabelle and her husband came forward and asked if she wanted a tour of the tavern.
“I would, actually.” Penelope looked around the primary salon where they were currently gathered. “I still can’t believe I’m inside the Wicked Duke.”
“You are welcome any time,” Eastleigh said.
Isabelle cocked her head to the side. “I think we need a ladies’ night. One night a week when we encourage ladies to come. We can play cards or discuss books.” Her eyes lit as she mentioned books.
“Or embroider?” Penelope asked.
Eastleigh laughed. “I’m afraid you just mentioned my wife’s Achilles’ heel.”
A faint blush colored Isabelle’s cheeks. “I’ve tried, but I’m afraid I’m a lost cause.”
“It isn’t for everyone, though I do enjoy it,” Penelope said. “I also like to paint, and I’ve recently developed a passion for cards.” She slid a look toward Hugh, who stood a few feet away. He was engaged in conversation with Giles Langford, the racer and Felicity’s husband, and Tom.
“Then we shall definitely play cards,” Isabelle said. She turned to her husband. “What say you about a ladies’ night?”
“I think we’ll do whatever your heart desires.” Eastleigh kissed her cheek, and Penelope marveled at just how much warmth and love there was in the room.
“Breakfast is served!” a maid announced from the doorway into what Penelope had learned was the private salon.
“I suppose our tour will have to wait,” Eastleigh said.
“Actually, Hugh said he was keen to show me around.” As she said his name, he turned toward her and moved in her direction.
Eastleigh clapped Hugh on the bicep. “Then I shall leave him to it.”
As Eastleigh and Isabelle went into the private salon, Hugh offered his arm to Penelope. “Leave me to what?”
“Giving me a tour of the tavern.”
“Ah yes, I am quite looking forward to that.” He lowered his voice. “Mostly, I was looking for an excuse to get you alone.” He kissed her cheek.
She took his arm. “Can we take the tour now?”
He laughed, a dark, seductive sound deep in his throat. “We should probably eat first.”
“I suppose.” She smiled. “I’m looking forward to the breakfast, even though we ate earlier. Everyone has gone to so
much effort on our behalf. There’s even cream cheese.”
“They were happy to do it,” Hugh said.
She shook her head, still not quite used to her change in fortune. “I expected to be wed to Lord Findon. I’ve never had friends. And I’ve certainly never experienced kindness or love.”
Hugh took her in his arms, and she realized they were quite alone in the salon. His brow creased with concern, and his eyes shone with love. “Is it overwhelming?”
“Maybe, but in the best way possible. When we arrived at the church and my parents were there with the bishop…” She shuddered. “I was so afraid they would stop the wedding.”
“They had no right to do so. Still, I’m glad Barrett was there to set them straight. Not that I think Bishop Howley would have allowed your father to do anything untoward.”
“It’s a little strange celebrating my wedding without any family present.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “But your family isn’t here either.”
Hugh cupped her cheek. “Yes, it is. You’re my family. And Tom and the others.”
“I do want to thank Tom for dashing out to gather some of your parishioners before the ceremony. That was quite lovely.” In fact, word of the rector’s marriage had spread like news of free bread and people had continued to file in during the ceremony. They’d spent quite a bit of time greeting everyone afterward.
Hugh pivoted toward the door. “Shall we go in? They are surely waiting for us.”
“In a moment. What you said before—about family. I’ve always had a family, but today is the first time I truly understand what that means.”
“The Wicked Duke and my parish have done that for me. Family is what we make it.”
She put her arms around his waist and gazed up into his beloved face. “I shall always be grateful you saved me that day in St. Giles.”
“And I shall always be grateful you had the courage and fortitude to change your fortune.” Hugh lowered his head and kissed her.
“Ahem.” The sound reluctantly forced them apart. Eastleigh stood in the doorway. “We’re waiting for you so we can make a toast.”
“We’re coming.” Hugh offered Penelope his arm once more, and they hurried to the private salon.
“Tarleton! Lady Penelope!” Everyone called as they entered.
“It’s a Wicked Duke tradition,” Hugh said next to her ear. “When one enters the tavern, everyone in attendance calls out their name.”
“How wonderful. What about the first person who arrives?”
Hugh lifted a broad shoulder. “The staff join in, so I imagine one of them calls the arrival’s name.”
“We have seats of honor for you here.” Cole indicated two chairs in the middle of one side of a large rectangle of tables that had been pushed together.
When Hugh and Penelope were seated, Eastleigh and Cole raised their tankards.
“To the bride and groom,” Cole said. “May you share a lifetime of love and laughter.”
“To family,” Eastleigh said. “We may not all be related here, but the Wicked Duke is a family, and Lady Penelope, we are very glad to count you in our number. To Hugh and Penelope!”
“Hear, hear!” came the chorus as Penelope turned her head, laughing, toward Hugh.
He tapped his tankard to her glass, and she drank to laughter and family and a love that would last until the end of time.
The end
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Also by Darcy Burke
Historical Romance
Wicked Dukes Club
One Night for Seduction by Erica Ridley
One Night of Surrender by Darcy Burke
One Night of Passion by Erica Ridley
One Night of Scandal by Darcy Burke
One Night to Remember by Erica Ridley
One Night of Temptation by Darcy Burke
The Spitfire Society
Never Have I Ever With a Duke
A Duke is Never Enough
A Duke Will Never Do
The Untouchables
The Forbidden Duke
The Duke of Daring
The Duke of Deception
The Duke of Desire
The Duke of Defiance
The Duke of Danger
The Duke of Ice
The Duke of Ruin
The Duke of Lies
The Duke of Seduction
The Duke of Kisses
The Duke of Distraction
Secrets and Scandals
Her Wicked Ways
His Wicked Heart
To Seduce a Scoundrel
To Love a Thief (a novella)
Never Love a Scoundrel
Scoundrel Ever After
Legendary Rogues
Lady of Desire
Romancing the Earl
Lord of Fortune
Captivating the Scoundrel
Contemporary Romance
Ribbon Ridge
Where the Heart Is (a prequel novella)
Only in My Dreams
Yours to Hold
When Love Happens
The Idea of You
When We Kiss
You’re Still the One
Ribbon Ridge: So Hot
So Good
So Right
So Wrong
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About the Author
Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestsel
ling Author of sexy, emotional historical and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her Reader Club at http://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub.
A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the writing gene. They’re a crazy cat family with two Bengal cats, a small, fame-seeking cat named after a fruit, and an older rescue Maine Coon who is the master of chill and five a.m. serenading. In her “spare” time Darcy is a serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say “no,” but she keeps having to start over. Her happy places are Disneyland and Labor Day weekend at the Gorge. Visit Darcy online at http://www.darcyburke.com and follow her social media: Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/darcyburkefans, Twitter @darcyburke at http://www.twitter.com/darcyburke, Instagram at http://www.instagram/darcyburkeauthor, and Pinterest at http://www.pinterest.com/darcyburkewrite.
