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Epilogue

My initial confusion about hearing the thoughts of others was nothing compared to the day when the voices stopped.

~from the secret journal of Pierce Langdon, Viscount Westfall

The sun dropped below a blanket of clouds and shot a parting shaft of mellow light across Westphalia on its way to its westerly bed. Pierce leaned on the parapet of his family’s country manor and surveyed his viscountcy with a satisfied heart.

He missed hearing the voices of other minds in his head, missed the way they washed over him, bathing him in a jumbled up sea of emotions and cogitations. He never would have guessed that he’d become attached to the droning tide that had formed the background for his own thoughts, but somehow he had.

“It’s the perversity of human nature to want what we don’t have,” he said to himself with a shake of his head.

In the stable yard below, a hostler was putting a new trotter through its paces, growling out commands to the horse. Pierce hadn’t erected his mental shields since he escaped from Bedlam a second time, but he still couldn’t hear what the working man was thinking.

One of the housemaids came out to lean on the fence. The hostler stopped work to speak with her in low tones. Then the maid gave him a resounding slap, turned on her heel, and flounced back inside. Shoulders slumping, the hostler hung his head. Pierce stared at him fixedly.

Trollop. Just when I was about ready to plight my trough, too.

Pierce jerked in surprise. He’d heard the man’s thought as clearly as if he’d spoken the words in his ear. What had changed to make it possible?

After a bit, he reasoned that his gift wasn’t completely gone. It had simply undergone a change. It was no longer passive. Instead of having thoughts roll over him, Pierce had to go get this one by concentrating on the fellow.

Elation flooded his chest. If he was right, his gift was finally going to be both manageable and of great use. He’d be able to pick and choose which mind he invaded, like his friend Stanstead did. He’d be of use to the Order once more. He’d—

“I thought I’d find you up here,” Honora said as she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.

“I never grow tired of looking at it.” He never thought he’d be back in his rightful place, either. But once he’d convinced the magistrate who’d ruled him unfit that he no longer believed he heard the thoughts of others, he was able to take the reins of the estate and send his uncle and aunt packing. While he and Honora had honeymooned in Scotland, his man of business had moved the Hobarths into the caretaker’s cottage with Mr. Hobarth as the new steward of the estate. Hobarth quickly replaced all the staff loyal to Pierce’s uncle and set the place humming. Mrs. Hobarth came on as head housekeeper, and Emilia was given full run of the manor house.

The child was an affectionate sort with all the adults on the estate, giving out hugs whenever she felt they were needed. The day Honora finally got to hold her daughter in her arms was one of the happiest days of Pierce’s life.

“No, I never tire of looking at the place.” Pierce turned and tucked his wife’s head under his chin. Her glorious hair was still a cropped bob, but it curled enticingly around her ears and nape. “And I never tire of looking at you, either.”

“Are you sorry not to be an Extraordinaire any longer?”

He shrugged. He needed more time to experiment with this new aspect of his gift to make sure he was right, that the business with the hostler wasn’t a singular occurrence. The ability to actively decide to hear someone’s thoughts was radically different from being inundated with them willy-nilly. But Honora didn’t need to know about his suspicions until he was sure. “The duke knows he can call on me if I can render the Order any service.”

Likewise, the powerful Lord Albemarle would be hard pressed to deny him or Honora a favor should they ever need his assistance. Benedick was quick to give his former mistress his blessing when she left him and had decided not to fill her position with another young courtesan.

“I’m reaching the age,” Benedick had told them, “when no one will think it odd that I’m satisfied with my own company. As far as the world knows, the snow gathering on the roof has effectively guttered the fire in the chimney.”

Pierce doubted Benedick was going to remain that solitary, but he was equally sure the baron would never be foolish enough to betray any other company he kept by leaving a written record. At least, not until the world changed quite a bit.

“Do you miss not being able to hear what I’m thinking?” Honora interrupted his thoughts.

“Sometimes.” Even though he’d not been married long, he knew better than to experiment on his wife with this new manifestation of his psychic gift. Honora would be the first to demand the privacy of her own mind. Besides, she deserved it. “It was both painful and useful to know what’s buzzing in the brains of others. But in this case, I’ll make an educated guess at your thoughts.”

He cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered something deliciously filthy into her ear, something he thought his lovely wife would like done to her, slowly, repeatedly, and with feeling.

“Pierce!” She slapped his chest playfully. “What a wicked idea!”

“Am I wrong?”

She smiled impishly. “We’ve an hour till the dressing gong sounds for supper.”

“Only an hour, hmm? I may have to rush things, but I believe we can make a credible start.” He scooped her up and carried her to the stairway that led from the roof back down into the manor house. “To bed, wife.”

“To bed, my lord. But, just to be on the safe side, let’s hide the dressing gong first.”

“Even if I can’t hear the thought before it comes out of your mouth,” Pierce said with a grin, “I do love the way you think.”

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