by Nichole Van
The Lord Speaker pounded his gavel, shouting, “Order!” over and over.
Finally, Prinny rose, rapping his scepter again, both hands outstretched, demanding silence.
Slowly, quiet descended.
“Mainfeld.” Prinny fixed him with a shrewd eye. “This is a heavy accusation, indeed. I can appreciate why Kendall was quick to denounce it, if he suspected your words. Do you contest that this bigamous relationship occurred before or after Kendall’s current marriage?”
“Before, Your Highness.”
“Ah.” Prinny sat back, nodding slowing. “That is, indeed, unfortunate. This crime, if true, would result in Kendall’s current marriage being dissolved and his children, specifically his heir, being declared illegitimate. I assume you would not make such an accusation lightly. Have you adequate witnesses and testimony, as you say?”
“I do, Your Highness.”
Prinny nodded. “So be it. I command the Lord Chancellor and Lord Speaker to give this matter their utmost care and attention.” He fixed Kendall with a steely look. “Bigamy is not to be tolerated in this country. Given Kendall’s rather violent proclamation of his innocence, I should like us to examine the evidence forthwith.”
The rest of the day continued in organized chaos.
Mainfeld listed the bare facts before Lords. He described the evidence collected, the witnesses’ testimony, the words of Catharine Ross herself, and Kendall’s damning letters to her.
Mainfeld even named his wife as a witness.
“Lady Mainfeld,” her father said, “knew of the clandestine marriage. She had formed a friendship with Catharine Ross while in Naples, and the ladies corresponded regularly. Kendall, upon learning that Lady Mainfeld knew of his first marriage, threatened her in order to ensure her silence on the matter. As you all surely know, I overheard the slight and challenged Kendall to a duel because of it. We all know the outcome of that duel. Lady Mainfeld never clarified for me why Kendall had threatened her in the first place.”
The testimony went on.
Rafe leaned into Sophie. “Today has gone better than we could have hoped. Kendall is done for,” he murmured in her ear. “You can see it on their faces. Kendall doesn’t stand a chance. They will convict him and make an example of it. Lords will overlook many things, but they will not tolerate one of their own making a mockery of their laws of inheritance and primogeniture.”
Sophie could see it herself. Her father had presented the proof of Kendall’s crime as convincingly as any skilled barrister. Kendall attempted to rally support, but the evidence was too damning. The man’s second marriage was all but annulled.
Lords adjourned not long after.
Sophie, Rafe, and all their friends celebrated that night at Lord Hadley’s townhouse.
After a lengthy dinner and even lengthier conversation in the drawing room, Sophie managed to pull Rafe aside, drawing him into an alcove, partially covered by what else? A heavy curtain.
“We always seem to meet behind these.” He touched it with his fingers. “People will assume we are up to no good back here.”
Sophie smiled, tugging on his waistcoat, bringing him closer. “We are up to no good, Rafe Gilbert.”
She kissed him.
She adored kissing him. The feeling of his hands around her waist, the strength in his arms as he pulled her to tiptoes in order to reach her lips. The power in his shoulders under her hands. The rasp of his evening whiskers and the warmth of his mouth on hers.
They did not speak for a moment or two.
Rafe finally broke their kiss, leaning his forehead against hers.
“You are right,” he said, voice breathless. “We are up to no good.”
“Are you content then to live your life as Mr. Rafe Gilbert? No one will ever ‘my lord’ you again.”
“I am frighteningly content to be mere Mr. Rafe Gilbert.”
He smiled, those dimples she so loved popping in his cheeks.
“I love this smile.” She kissed each dimple. “I love that the shadows in your eyes are gone.”
“I cannot describe the relief—the elation—of no longer having that man in my life. It’s such freedom . . . I did not realize the pain of its weight until it was removed.”
“Do you still hate Kendall?” she asked, curious to know. He had told her about meeting Captain Cuthie, about the violence inherent in his rage, about the ocean of pain his hate had been covering.
A long pause. “No. As I’ve told you, I stopped truly hating him before I even arrived back in London. I had decided, then and there with Cuthie in that alley, that I would not be that man. That I would not allow hate to have such a hold on me.”
“And now?”
“And now today, when I saw my father in Lords, I felt nothing more than vindication. A sense that a wrong and been righted. I haven’t forgiven him. That will take much longer, perhaps forever. But I have moved on. Kendall no longer has a hold on my thoughts and actions.”
Sophie wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in deep lungfuls of him.
“Still smelling me, I see.” His voice rumbled in her ear.
Sophie responded by taking another deep breath—sandalwood and spice and Rafe.
Heaven.
Emotion welled in her chest, pricking her eyes.
How could she not have seen, all those years ago, that underneath the Rakus lasciviosus persona, was this loyal, sincere, bookish man—a true Virum nobilis?
Her leannan.
Her beloved.
She instinctively knew that a life with him would be nothing like it had been with Jack. Rafe would treasure her heart, just as she would protect his.
She pulled back and looked up at him.
“I love you,” she whispered, popping up to kiss his lips. “I didn’t mean to give you my heart, and yet here we are.”
“Ah, mo leannan, you have owned mine for more years than I can quickly count. Are you sure you don’t mind associating with an illegitimate man?” He waggled his eyebrows.
She laughed. “I have contemplated the absurdity of our situation. I am illegitimate in truth, but legally not. You, my darling heart, are the exact opposite: legitimate in truth, but legally not. Regardless, I adore you just as you are, Rafe Gilbert—”
“Have I told you that I intend to change my surname?”
“You do?”
“Aye. I have no wish to carry about the name of that man. I most certainly don’t want my children to bear it. My mother’s maiden name is Gordon, and I quite like the idea of living my life in Scotland as Rafe Gordon. Besides, I shudder at the thought of referring to my wife as Mrs. Gilbert.”
“Wife, eh? Do you have someone in mind?”
He grinned. “I just might at that.” He kissed her nose. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Two days later, Sophie paused in the doorway of the breakfast room. Her family were already eating, a cacophony of sound and laughter.
Thomas and Robert were discussing a recent hunting trip and feeding snippets of bacon to the dogs, sending them into a typical frenzy.
Lord Mainfeld, with wee Henry on his knee, asked eager questions about the prospect of a fishing trip to Aberdeen the next summer.
Mary, Harriet, and Lady Mainfeld were discussing a possible visit to the haberdasher.
Sophie pondered the difference a couple months could make. How had she not seen this joyous ruckus as love? How had she not felt the energy and affection within her own family? How necessary they were to one another? They were not perfect, but they were dedicated and loyal. Case in point, her entire family had insisted she recount every last detail of her adventurous journey to Scotland, gasping and ahhing at all the right places.
She walked into the room, running a hand across her father’s shoulders. He turned and smiled up at her.
Bending down, she kissed his cheek.
“Thank you so much for all you have done, Papa,” she whispered. “You mean the world to me. I love
you.”
“’Twas nothing.” He winked at her. “And I love you, too, poppet.”
After giving her father another kiss, Sophie filled a plate from the sideboard and took a seat across from her brothers. She was halfway through her eggs and toast when Thomas snagged her attention.
“So it was the doctor in the end, eh?” Thomas leaned across the table, fixing her with a bemused look.
“Pardon?” Sophie smiled at her brother.
“Your natural father,” Thomas clarified. “It was the doctor.”
Robert reached for more sugar for his tea. “I had my money on Kendall, actually.”
“Pardon?!” Sophie repeated, nearly screeching. “Kendall?! What are you both on about?”
“I thought the Duke of Kendall was your natural father,” Robert said, face entirely too benign for such a ghastly statement.
Something that tasted like horror stuck in the back of Sophie’s throat. She darted a quick glance at their mother—who, thankfully, was fully engrossed in a conversation with Mary—and then looked back at her brothers with their innocent expressions.
“You wagered on who my natural father would be?” she asked.
“Aye,” Robert nodded, matter-of-factly. “Lost me a full canary, it did.”
“None of us had money on the doctor,” Thomas added, mournfully.
Far too many thoughts crowded Sophie’s brain.
First, ewww. Thank heaven, Kendall was not her father.
Second, there was a record somewhere—likely the betting book at White’s—where men had wagered as to the identity of her natural father?
And third—
“But if Kendall had been my father, that would have made Rafe and myself—”
“Brother and sister?” Robert snickered.
Thomas kicked him. “Well, thank goodness it was the doctor, in the end. Otherwise, poor Sophie would have been faced with a rather unsavory decision—”
Now it was Robert’s turn to kick Thomas into silence.
Before Sophie could reply, a footman entered the room, silver platter held high, skillfully dodging the rowdy dogs. He paused before Sophie, presenting a solitary letter to her.
Thoughts of her brothers abandoned, she lifted the letter with a nod of thanks and broke the seal.
It was a proposal, written in the style of those submitted to the Transactions of the Linnean Society of London.
Proposed: A change to the genus and species of one specific Rakus lasciviosus.
Reasons for proposed changes: The behavior of this particular Rakus lasciviosus does not match that of others of the species. Specifically, the Rakus in question does not, nor ever had, displayed truly lascivious behavior. Previous reassignment to Rakus falsus is also inaccurate.
Reassigned genus: It is put forth that this particular member of Rakus be reassigned to genus Matrimonius, species, sophronia. He will be the only species in the genus, but we feel that this is the preferred state of this particular specimen.
Sophie’s hands were shaking by the end.
Oh, the glorious man!
Trust Rafe to make her feel everything . . .
. . . as in, all the things.
And the wretch wasn’t even here to receive her reply—
A sudden drop in noise caught her attention.
Sophie lifted her head from the note.
Rafe was on a knee before her, in front of her entire family.
Lady Mainfeld wiped a tear from her cheek. Her sisters watched, wide-eyed. Her father smiled with his good-natured bonhomie. Her brothers grinned, elbowing one another. Even the dogs were behaving.
Rafe met her gaze, those beloved dimples popping. “Lady Sophronia, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
What else was she to say?
Sophie gasped out a “Yes!”
With that, cacophony returned.
Her brothers whooped, making some ribald comment about “definitely not brother and sister.” The dogs barked and ran in circles, startling wee Henry. Her sisters instantly began giving advice on wedding clothes and the venue.
Sophie, of course, hardly noticed.
She was too busy kissing her rake.
Epilogue
After spending so many years apart, Rafe had no intention of waiting through a lingering betrothal with Lady Sophie.
Three weeks to the day after his proposal, Rafe and Sophie were wed in St. George’s Church in Hanover Square, just four days before Christmas.
The church was packed to the rafters with friends and relatives. Sophie’s large family—Lord and Lady Mainfeld’s Sorrowful Miscellany—were all present. Their grinning faces and bumping elbows attesting to their affection. Lady Mainfeld sat in the midst of them. Rafe was quite sure he would never understand Sophie’s parents’ odd marriage, but it appeared to work for them.
As for Rafe’s family, his mother had been most prominently seated on the first row, a radiant smile on her face. Just a week prior, her marriage to the Duke of Kendall had been officially invalidated by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Cousin Frank had been named his father’s heir presumptive. Rafe was quite sure his father was apoplectic at the thought of Frank inheriting the dukedom. But laws of primogeniture being what they were, there was nothing Kendall could do aside from marrying legally and siring another son.
To that end, Kendall had already begun the process of divorcing Catharine officially, as Scotland’s marriage laws were more accommodating than those in England. In his more fanciful moments, Rafe imagined his father sitting alone in the ash of his own life, scrambling ineffectually to reconstruct it.
As for his mother . . .
The former Duchess of Kendall had followed Dr. Ross’s suggestions, and though Rafe knew his mother still had much healing to do, her dark days were already less dark. An enormous weight had clearly been lifted from her.
He had long suspected that the horror of her marriage had contributed to his mother’s melancholy, but its dissolution confirmed it in spades. She laughed more frequently and no longer got lost for hours staring into the fire. Bit by bit, the woman he knew as a child emerged. He had hope that, with time, his mother would continue to blossom.
In addition to his mother, the entire Brotherhood of the Black Tartan were in attendance. Rafe stood in front of the altar, Andrew as best man at his side. Alex and Ewan sat with Jane beside Rafe’s mother. Kieran had rushed from the London docks to attend, sneaking into the back row of the church just before the ceremony began.
But everyone had faded into the background once Sophie appeared at the end of the nave. Rafe saw only his bride as she walked down the aisle, her hand loosely resting on Lord Mainfeld’s arm. Sophie had kissed her father’s cheek, both their eyes overly bright, before turning her radiant gaze to Rafe.
He remembered little of the ceremony afterward. Just that he had pledged to adore this woman for the rest of his life—a promise he couldn’t wait to keep.
Several hours later, after a raucous wedding breakfast at Andrew’s London townhouse, the Brotherhood and their wives gathered in the library. The wedding guests had all departed, racing to reach home before the weather turned truly foul.
Snow fell lightly outside, but the fire roaring in the hearth sent a cheery warmth through the room. A bottle of aged Scottish whisky and a tea tray laden with biscuits and sandwiches helped as well.
“I haven’t found a trace of Cuthie,” Andrew said, sipping from his tumbler. “The man has surely gone to ground, now that we know he lives.”
“Eejit,” Kieran spat, gaze hooded. “We’ll find him. I’ll make it ma life’s purpose to bring that monster tae justice.”
“There may be others who lived, too,” Rafe said. “Cuthie said that he sent the letters but knew nothing about the notice in the Advertiser. So it could be that others survived. We simply don’t know at this point.”
“Aye,” Andrew agreed. “Did ye ever track down who was responsible for the highwaymen who fired upon ye in Yorkshire?”
Rafe shook his head. “As far as I can tell, they were simply highwaymen, unrelated to all this. But we would have to investigate further to be sure.”
“Winter isnae helping our efforts, either,” Alex agreed, accepting a cup of tea from Jane. “Getting north right now is a true challenge. We will need tae wait for fairer weather.”
Ewan shifted his large body, adding several sliced-beef sandwiches to his plate. “Aye. I am away for Aberdeen in February. I can make inquiries while I am there and have a report for ye when we meet on the anniversary of Jamie’s death on the nineteenth of March.”
“That would be excellent, Ewan,” Rafe said. “Sophie and I intend to go tae my estate outside Perth as soon as we’re able. We can remain in contact and help, if ye need.”
“Aye,” Andrew nodded. “I’d also like to hire a Runner or two from Bow Street. See what they can uncover about the demise of The Minerva. I know we have been hesitant to open up old wounds—” he paused, shooting a look at Kieran, “—but Jamie would want us tae know what happened.”
“I agree,” Rafe said. “We shouldn’t shy away from the truth.”
Kieran sipped his whisky, eyes staring sightlessly into the fire.
“What if Jamie lived—” Kieran’s voice broke on a pained gasp. He blinked his eyes too quickly. “What if we’ve been remembering that day of death and going onward with our lives and yet—” Kieran drifted off. He swallowed, chest heaving. “I couldnae forgive myself for giving up hope, for leaving Jamie alone tae—” He bit his lip and looked away.
Sophie leaned over from her seat beside Rafe, placing a comforting hand on Kieran’s shoulder.
“Kieran, I am so sorry,” Alex’s tone carried the weight of his regret. “But ye know that Jamie didnae survive. Cuthie himself said so. If anything, as we’ve been saying, Jamie’s silence is proof enough of this. Dinnae allow yerself to hope, my friend. Dinnae do it. Jamie is gone.”
Kieran nodded, wiping at his eyes.
