Footsteps sounded on the corridor, and Flora pulled herself from his arms. “I suppose we should dress.”
“Right.”
Wolfe followed Flora’s gaze to the elaborate gown, now stained with mud and damp from snow.
A knock sounded on the door, and Wolfe stiffened. He then grabbed his robe and went to answer the door, opening it only a crack.
His sister stood before him
“Isla...” He broke off. Was she going to berate him? The ball had been intended to highlight the strengths of the McIntyre family, but it was possible that she might take a less romantic view of last night’s search party. Having one’s older brother publicly declare his affections for a servant and usher everyone outside for an impromptu search party when they were wearing their finest attire was perhaps not the best way to impress the ton.
He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
She raised her impeccably plucked eyebrows, and he braced himself for a tirade. Instead she said, “Whatever for?”
“I don’t think you selected a husband.”
“Well, that was perhaps your fault for inviting a brutal murderer to court me.”
His face must have fallen, for her eyes softened.
“It was a lovely ball, Wolfe, and it was sweet of you to hold it.”
“That’s what you came to tell me?”
“Well, I’m not nearly that polite,” she said. “I’d intended to mention it to you over breakfast. I came to give you this.” She handed him a dark, folded piece of fabric, and he stared at it.”
“It’s a dress, Wolfe. I assume Flora doesn’t want to wear last night’s dirtied gown.”
He blinked. “So you don’t mind?”
“Of course, I don’t,” she said. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”
“You know, I think I had it more correct when I was younger,” Wolfe mused. “My instinct then was that you should never marry, because no one will be good enough for you.”
“You really believe that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why have you been pressing me to marry?”
“I didn’t want your reputation to be ruined because of what happened with Callum. You don’t need to marry,” he said. “We’re not exactly poor.”
“Hmm... I thought I could be more involved in Hades’ Lair.”
“That’s a gaming hell,” he said. “You can’t be involved in that.”
“But it is most interesting. The decorating, the accounting...”
“Oh, you would say the decorating is interesting. Perhaps you could be some sort of liaison, but you’re not allowed to be at the tables. And you know, that does not help your reputation.”
“I do not want to marry a man who wants me to remain at home. There must be some advantages to having money.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “But I did think you desired to marry after the spectacle with dear Callum ended so poorly.”
“It’s in the past now.”
“IS THERE A CELEBRATION in here?” The duke’s voice sailed through the open door, and Flora scrambled up.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was in bed, with an earl.
But then she remembered that Wolfe had proposed, and that most everything in the world was good again.
Her father was no longer alive, but at least his murder would be avenged. His discovery on Mr. Warne’s unsavory method of building his wealth would ensure that Mr. Warne would no longer trouble her.
“I feel I must apologize to you,” Lady Isla said. “We were good friends once, and I want us to be friends again.”
Flora nodded, too astonished to say anything else.
“I would like to welcome you to our family,” Isla continued.
“That means so much,” Flora murmured.
“Oh, you needn’t look so shocked,” Isla said. “I am your sister after all.”
Flora beamed.
“I want everyone out of the room,” Wolfe declared. “We’ll join you in the breakfast room.”
Isla and the duke left the room, and Wolfe swept her into a long, deep and utterly delightful, kiss.
“I’m looking forward to the first of many, many mornings with you,” he said.
“What do you say to having a honeymoon in Paris?” Wolfe asked. “You can use your French skills.”
Flora did her best to scowl at him.
“Italy,” Wolfe said quickly. “I meant Italy. We can visit the Duke and Duchess of Alfriston. I think you’ll like the duchess. She has distinct bluestocking tendencies that you’ll approve of.”
“We can go to France,” she said. “Just don’t tell the inhabitants that—”
“—you were pretending to be French for four years?”
Flora flushed. “Yes. That would be something not to tell them.”
Wolfe laughed. “Very well, sweetheart. I’m so glad that you were my Christmas consultant.”
They had met twice before, but if it hadn’t been for Christmas, they wouldn’t be engaged now. Happiness soared through Flora.
EPILOGUE
A trumpet was playing the most wonderful music in the world. Well, it was almost the most wonderful music in the world.
No music equaled Wolfe’s bride’s music, but the musician was playing the Trumpet Voluntary as Flora marched down the aisle of St. George’s Church, and Wolfe would allow him many extra points.
Wolfe’s heart thrummed merrily, as his wife-to-be approached him. Curled locks lined the sides of her face. They swayed as she marched toward him.
Wolfe had elected to marry Flora in London. He wanted everyone to see just how lovely she was. He wasn’t going to allow her to be some item of gossip, the lady’s maid who’d become a countess. He’d wanted to give her a wedding befitting that of a countess.
“I love you,” he said, as she stepped toward him, and he offered her his hand.
The priest cleared his throat, as if reminding him that that particular line wasn’t scripted, but Wolfe could hardly care whether it was in the ceremony or not.
“I love you,” he repeated again, as Flora clasped his hand. “I love you.”
“Well,” the priest said, and then entered into his speech.
The ceremony was short, and yet every word seemed precious. There was no one in the world he would rather tie himself with than Flora.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.
Wolfe smiled. At one time the words would have horrified people. His bride might be somewhat unconventional. When he gazed into the rows of Wolfe’s family and friends, he saw only happiness in their gazes.
He pulled Flora toward him. His life wasn’t supposed to be in some elaborately decorated gaming hell with men who paid to be there. Soon his place would be in Scotland, playing piano with his wife in the evening.
Thank you for reading The Earl’s Christmas Consultant. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Flora and Wolfe. The other stories in the Wedding Trouble series are Don’t Tie the Knot and Dukes Prefer Bluestockings. How to Capture a Duke also takes place at Christmas and begins a new series set in the same regency world. Order it now.
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Matchmaking for Wallflowers
How to Capture a Duke
A Rogue to Avoid
Runaway Wallflower
Mad About the Baron
A Marquess for Convenience
The Wrong Heiress for Christmas
Wedding Trouble
Don’t Tie the Knot
Dukes Prefer Bluestockings
The Earl’s Christmas Consultant
The Sleuthing Starlet
Murder at the Manor House
Danger on the Downs – Coming soon!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BORN IN TEXAS, BIANCA Blythe spent four
years in England. She worked in a fifteenth century castle, though sadly that didn't actually involve spotting dukes and earls strutting about in Hessians.
She credits British weather for forcing her into a library, where she discovered her first Julia Quinn novel. Thank goodness for blustery downpours.
Bianca now lives in California with her husband.
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