Eyeing his friend warily, Alex rubbed his jaw, then allowed Colin to pull him to his feet.
Colin pointed at Rothermere. “If you dare to break my sister’s heart, you’ll end up just like him,” Colin warned.
“You’ve no need to worry,” Alex assured his friend. “I love your sister more than life itself.”
“Then all is as it should be,” Colin pronounced, before pulling Alex into a brotherly embrace and clapping him on the back. “She loves you just as much. Welcome to the family, Alex!”
Epilogue
“Love either finds equality or makes it.”
—John Dryden, 1631-1700
The celebration of the christening of the newest members of the Abernathy-Avon and Weymouth families coincided with the celebration of the victory at the Battle of Waterloo and the defeat of the French and of Napoleon Bonaparte on the eighteenth of June, eighteen fifteen.
Twenty-two thousand allies and forty-one thousand Frenchmen died at Waterloo.
Many more would die of wounds suffered there.
For the Free Fellows League, the war ended in front of a townhouse on Royal Street in Edinburgh with the defeat of Rothermere and the shipment of the Gilpin A-1 rifles to Wellington in Brussels.
Their last mission to defeat Napoleon had been a rousing success. They had each played a vital role. And now the work of the League was done.
Alex stood in Griffin’s main parlor, his arms wrapped around Liana’s waist, her back resting against his broad chest, as he surveyed the guests gathered to celebrate—Colin and Gillian, Jarrod and Sarah, Jonathan and India, Daniel and Miranda, Lord and Lady Weymouth, and Lord Rob and Lady Mayhew.
His mother and her physician gentleman friend, Sir Kenneth Sheridan, were also in attendance. His mother was doing her best to make peace with the physician, who had been none too happy at her decision to risk her life in order to witness Felix Rothermere’s downfall.
All of the friends, family and staff, godmothers and godfathers, assembled at Abernathy Manor raised their glasses as Griffin, Duke of Avon, with Alyssa, his duchess, at his side, toasted their good fortune and the safe arrival of the trio: Lady Cicely, Lord Nolan, and Lord Nathan, and the end of the long, bloody war.
Alex tightened his hold on Liana and pressed a tender kiss to the nape of her neck. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back.
Alex sighed. He was a guest in his friend’s house, but he was home. Because home was wherever Liana was. He’d given his heart into her safekeeping. As she had given hers to him. He was happy and settled at last and looking forward to having a family of his own.
Now, he listened as his close friend and blood brother shared his happiness with all of them.
“War taught me many things,” Griff began. “It taught me that there will always be men like Bonaparte. It taught me that life goes on. And that love is what’s most important. Love of home. Love of friends. Love of family. Love of a woman.” Griff fastened his loving gaze on Alyssa.
Liana sighed and Alex brushed another kiss against her temple.
Griff continued. “Love is too precious to be discarded for people like Napoleon Bonaparte. Tyrants are going to live their lives and take what they want until someone stops them, but in the end, they will have lived their lives. If you waste your chance to build a life for yourself with the woman you love, you lose your life and if you do that, you’re already dead.” He paused to take a breath. “I have done my duty, served my country and given my loyalty to England. Now I’m going to serve my family and the future of England—my precious wife, my precious children, my precious brother and my friends—my blood brothers—who have loved me and mine as much as I have loved them.” He lifted his glass higher. “To Love and to Life and to the Free Fellows and the extraordinary women who taught them that true freedom can only be found by surrendering one’s heart to the love of one’s life. May you all have love, give love, and teach love!”
The End
* * *
Steal a Sneak Peek at Rebecca Hagan Lee’s delightful historical romance
Whisper Always
About the Author
After arming herself with a degree in fine arts and experience in radio, television, and film, Rebecca Hagan Lee wrote her first novel Golden Chances. Since then, she’s published numerous bestselling and award-winning novels and three novellas.
She’s won a Waldenbooks Award, a Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award, several Romantic Times awards, been nominated for an RWA Rita Award and has been published in nine languages.
She currently lives in Georgia with her husband, her two beloved Quarter Horses, and a miniature schnauzer named after literary icon Harper Lee.
Visit Rebecca’s website http://www.rhaganlee.com
Join Rebecca on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/rebeccahaganleeauthor
Books by Rebecca Hagan Lee
Free Fellows League Series
Barely a Bride
Merely the Groom
Hardly a Husband
Truly a Wife
A Bachelor Still
Mistresses of the Marquess Series
Once a Mistress
Always a Lady
Ever a Princess
Borrowed Brides Series
Golden Chances
Harvest Moon
Something Borrowed
The Counterfeit Bride
Twice Blessed: A Borrowed Brides Novella
A Hint of Heather
Whisper Always
Sneak Peek
Whisper Always
by Rebecca Hagan Lee
Chapter One
Spring 1878
London
“Is it true?” the tall blonde matron leaned over and whispered to the woman standing next to her.
“Is what true?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Patricia.” The blonde nodded toward the line of young women awaiting presentation to the queen. “The town’s been whispering about the wager for weeks. And I couldn’t help but notice poor Cristina’s dress.”
“Oh?” Patricia laughed.
The sound grated on the nerves of the man who stood directly behind them.
“Of course it’s true,” Patricia replied. “I wagered Cristina could catch the eye of the crown prince dressed in sack cloth and ashes.”
“Do you really believe she can?” The words were annoying, spoken as they were in a malicious, conspiratorial whine.
“But of course.” Patricia smiled. “If I could have presented her in sack cloth. I’d have done so.” She shrugged her sleek, white shoulders. “As it was, her dress was the best I could do. Not that it will matter. The crown prince will notice her. That’s to be expected. He’s a connoisseur of beautiful women and Cristina is made in my image.”
Lord Blake Ashford, ninth earl of Lawrence, shook his head. When you were younger, perhaps, he thought uncharitably, but not now. He glanced from mother to daughter. The girl waiting in line was exquisite—even dressed in that abominable creation.
The evening gown she wore ranked high among the most unbecoming garments Blake had ever seen on a woman. The dress was lavishly decorated. Overdecorated. The delicate silk was burdened with ruffles, bows, yards of wide Belgian lace, and a multitude of hideous white satin rosettes. The rosettes clung to the bustle like lichen attaching itself to a rock, then extended in sweeping tendrils to cover the formal train. It was a horticulturist’s nightmare in white silk and satin.
Blake gritted his teeth, remembering Patricia Fairfax’s words. The deliberate fussiness of the gown made Cristina Fairfax look like an awkward child—a child caught playing dress-up with her mother’s clothes. And judging from the set of her jaw and the belligerent thrust of her pointed chin, the young woman knew it.
“How much did you wager?” The eager question drew Blake’s attention.
“I didn’t wager money,” Patricia replied.
“Then what?”
“You’ll fin
d out,” Patricia said. “Once I’ve won the bet.”
Blake scowled and focused his gaze on the daughter. Cristina. God, he hated women like Patricia! He pitied her absent husband and the young woman awaiting her formal debut. Women like Patricia Fairfax were Machiavellis in satin skirts. Beautiful, ambitious, and immoral. He knew the type all too well. He had spent a lifetime in their midst.
Disgusted by the women’s talk, Blake moved away. He didn’t want to hear the details. He didn’t need to hear them. He understood society. He had learned the rules of the game years ago and he knew enough about those rules to realize that beautiful Cristina Fairfax was a pawn in her mother’s nasty little schemes. Blake glanced at the young woman’s profile. He wondered, suddenly, if she realized her mother was using her for amusement.
Or if she cared.
Blake studied the girl, noting her proud carriage and the set expression on her face. She knew. Apparently she was powerless to do anything about her mother’s scheming, but she knew and she cared. Cristina Fairfax seemed too proud, too innocent, and too aloof to be part of her mother’s little wager. Blake took an involuntary step backward. The direction of his thoughts alarmed him. What did he know of innocence? His judgment was suspect where women were concerned, his instincts flawed. He had played the chivalrous knight once. And once was enough. He had learned from his mistake and vowed never to repeat it.
His instincts warned him to leave the reception while he had a chance, to forget what he had seen and overheard, but Blake didn’t leave. He stood quietly and watched Cristina make her curtsey and felt an unwelcome surge of pride when the queen pronounced her, “a truly sweet and lovely girl.”
He told himself he watched because he had a genuine respect for true courage. But he suspected the truth went far deeper than that. Blake pushed the bothersome thoughts aside. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into unexplainable emotions. He didn’t want to learn the results of Patricia Fairfax’s wager or care what happened to her daughter. Cristina wasn’t his concern and neither was her mother. So he waited for Cristina to back away from the queen, waited until she had rejoined her fellow debs, before he made his way to the opposite side of the room—as far away from the receiving line as possible. He had work to do.
Carefully blending into the crush of people, Blake mingled among his peers. He smiled to acquaintances, stopping here and there to exchange pleasantries, as his mind rapidly catalogued the faces in the crowd, searching for the unfamiliar.
Half an hour later, he nodded to his Austrian counterpart, then waited as the man answered his signal. Blake exhaled, relieved. The guests were all recognizable. There were no unknowns. He signaled to the Austrian once again, then slipped quietly out of the reception. He could relax in one of the small adjoining chambers until the dancing began. It was going to be a long night. He needed to rest while he could.
* * *
“Perdition!” The muffled oath greeted him as Blake opened the door to one of the anterooms. He paused in the doorway and frowned.
Cristina Fairfax stood inside the door with the train of her gown clutched in her hand. He had spent the past half hour avoiding her only to find she had slipped away from the crowd to find a quiet private place to… Blake shrugged, not really sure what she was doing. Or attempting to do. He watched her as she twisted her body at an unbelievable angle and single-mindedly cut the threads anchoring the mass of rosettes on her bustle.
Blake thought about keeping quiet and silently retreating from the little room, but impulsively decided to speak his mind. “I think it might be easier if you removed the dress.”
Cristina whirled around to face the man leaning against the doorjamb, nearly tumbling in her haste. A guilty flush stained her cheeks as the gold embroidery scissors and a handful of artificial roses fell to the floor. Her green eyes widened in horror. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. She stood silent, clearly embarrassed.
He smiled at her predicament. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “I agree. Something needs to be done about that god-awful dress. And I know desperate times require desperate measures, but taking a pair of scissors to a ballgown while wearing it seems—well”—he shrugged once again—“a bit dangerous.”
Cristina remained perfectly still and speechless as he closed and locked the door behind him before walking toward her.
“Turn around,” he commanded. “It will take you all night to do it by yourself.”
“Stop! Don’t come any closer. I’ll scream.” Cristina had obviously recovered her power of speech.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He spoke softly, but his deep voice held a note of warning. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m simply going to help you finish whatever it is you’re doing to your dress.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Perhaps not, but you cannot go back into the ballroom without someone’s help, and I’m the only one available.”
“But you can’t—”
“Of course I can.” He smiled down at her. “Now, be a good girl and turn around. Your roses need pruning. They’re straggling down your bustle.”
The corners of Cristina’s mouth turned up in a smile, and she obediently turned her back to him.
Blake bent down to retrieve the scissors and began diligently cutting the remaining rosettes from her bustle and train. Stepping back to review his handiwork, Blake shook his head in dismay.
“I’m afraid the bows and ruffles will have to go, too.”
Cristina twisted around to see what he’d done. “Are you certain?”
“Trust me,” he said, as he knelt behind her once again.
Minutes later, the remains of white satin bows, ruffles, and rosettes littered the floor around Cristina’s feet. The only adornment left on her gown was the wide, Belgian lace stretched across her abdomen and the row of pearl buttons that fastened the back of the dress.
Blake levered himself up from his knees then circled Cristina, slowly viewing the dress from all angles.
“Well?” Cristina demanded anxiously.
“Perfection,” he said solemnly. “Simple, elegant perfection.”
Cristina sighed in relief. “I don’t know how to thank you for your help,” she began.
“Seeing you this way is thanks enough. I was happy to relieve you of that monstrosity.” He bowed slightly. “Now you can run along to your ball and enjoy yourself.”
Cristina nearly blinded him with the brilliance of her smile. She took a step forward and found herself tangled in the mound of white at her feet.
“What should we do with all this?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he assured her. “This will be our secret. No one else need know.”
Cristina smiled once more as she quietly slipped out the door.
Blake watched her go, then bent to pick up the refuse. He slipped a rosette into his jacket pocket. A memento of the unusual evening, he told himself, a memento of a unique situation—and a very lovely young woman. He smiled at the thought, then carefully stuffed the rest of the white satin decorations between the cushions of the sofas.
A Bachelor Still Page 31
