Epilogue

A month had passed, the old year had receded into Rayne’s memory, and the new year had just begun. New. Fresh. Full of possibility. Every day he—through service—slowly absorbed the breadth of his duty, the consequence of his authority.

Making dusk of his shadow and Julia’s light was neither self-evident nor simple, but quietly fulfilling. They did fit—in ways both mundane and incomprehensible.

Christmas celebrations had eased his first bumbling attempts to unite their extended families.

Bromton, Katherine, Markham, and Clarissa had come to the Grange to pass out wassail, and, on Christmas Day at Bromton Castle, they’d cheered together as an increasingly round Katherine brought in the pudding. Bromton had reintroduced him to his mother and her husband—the renowned artist Bromton had once maligned.

Rayne had taken the opportunity to quietly commission a painting.

Finally, the day had come for his surprise. Everyone but Julia had been part of the planning.

The neglected, ancient chapel had been polished to gleaming, and the new vicar awaited at the door to welcome the expected bride, Miss Watson, and her attendants—Katherine and Julia.

He sidled into the front pew, bride’s side, across from Lord Belhaven’s grown children.

Already standing by the aisle, Farring clasped his hands behind him and raised his brows. “Don’t you love the scent of beeswax and lemon?”

Rayne pursed his lips. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Quaint.” Farring nodded as he looked around. “One might say combatively quaint.” He prodded Rayne’s arm with his elbow. “Even the relics have been brought into the light. You could almost say the scene is quintessentially English…”

Rayne glanced out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re looking for acknowledgment, I concede—you played an essential role in this—” He stopped abruptly. “In my transformation.”

Farring folded his hands behind his back. “Never doubted, my friend. Never doubted.”

“I take it the ride to London did not go quite according to plan? I don’t see Mrs. Van Heldt.”

Farring lifted his brows. “That’s over. I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that, and I quote, ‘Your Grace is too costly to wear every day.’”

Rayne frowned. “But you aren’t a duke…yet.”

“I’m well aware—as is she. It’s a quote from Much Ado About Nothing.” Farring glanced over his rims. “Thrown over by Shakespeare…you can’t conceive of the humiliation.”

Markham and Clarissa joined them in the pew.

“So”—Farring rubbed his hands together—“Spades survived a scandal, Hearts found his Queen, and now we welcome you back to the club…Diamonds.”

“Ah, but what of you?” Rayne asked. Katerina had never been right for Farring—but someone out there was Farring’s match. Surely, he hadn’t given up the search.

Farring’s smile stalled beneath his eyes. “I’m Clubs. You know I never run out of luck. But alas, no more time to ponder. If I’m not mistaken”—he cupped his ear—“I hear the jingle of sleigh bells.”

Clarissa squeezed Rayne’s hand. “She’ll love this, you know. Well done, you.”

Rayne turned toward the opening door just as the bride, on the groom’s eldest son’s arm, stood to the side of the threshold. But all Rayne could see was Julia looking around the chapel in wonder.

Her gaze settled on him, and the wonder transformed to love.

…

Julia snuck a curious peek at her husband, not able to catch even a glimmer of the man who, just six weeks past, had acted as if his skin scalded on entering Southford’s church. Instead, she found the man who she was only just beginning to recognize in full, the man her heart had known from the start.

As he worked the door to their bedchamber, she leaned over the stairwell railing, listening to the sounds of joy and laughter emanating up from the dining hall.

Happy as she was for Miss Watson—now Lady Belhaven—she was happier for herself, for her husband, for the life they would build.

The door opened. He held out his hand. “Before I show you your next surprise, did you enjoy the last?”

“Of course! It’s a beautiful chapel—and was a perfect wedding. Less perfect than ours, mind you, but lovely nonetheless. Katherine says you’ve been planning for weeks. Why?”

“Everyone helped—Katherine, Bromton, Clarissa, and Markham. As for why…” He cupped her jaw and tilted up her face. “I wanted the first service of the newly reopened parish to be a celebration of your amorous intercessions.”

“Amorous intercessions.” Her eyes sparkled. “Ooh, I like that.”

“I trust your professional interest in such things is at an end.”

She glanced aside and up. “I can make no promises—not while Farring remains unwed.” She rose to her toes and kissed his lips. “Now, what’s inside the bedchamber?”

“I warn you, it’s not finished.” He stepped aside. “But, like everything at the Grange, the start is encouraging.”

She slowly twirled. Same bed. Same shelving. Same bed curtains. She stopped at the mantel.

Instead of the blank wall—a phantom of the missing tapestry—was the largest canvas she’d ever seen. The background was the best aspect of the Grange—with the turrets of Bromton Castle in the distance. A space between the door in the Georgian facade and the flowering lilac bush stood empty. But the bush itself had an unusual feature.

She drew close to the painting.

“We’ll have to sit for Mr. Warren, of course.” Rayne set his hands on her shoulders from behind. “He’s in much demand. I’m not sure when the painting will be finished.”

“Are those…” She squinted. “Dragonflies?”

He drew aside her hair and spoke against her ear. “You are mistaken.”

“Oh, I don’t think I am.” She laughed through her tingles. “Dragonflies are an interesting choice for a portrait, don’t you think?”

He kissed the place beneath her ear that set her blood humming. “They’re clearly damselflies. A damselfly’s wings are closed when at rest.”

She closed her eyes and offered him a wider expanse of her neck. “But some have front and back wings in different shapes. They’re dragonflies.”

“Observant. But note”—he ran his fingers lightly over her breasts—“the delicate bodies.”

She turned in his arms. “Deceptively delicate.”

He quirked a brow. “You know, I’ve heard that weddings make some people amorous. But I never asked…do they make you amorous?”

She touched her hand to her throat. “Close the door and find out.”

He strode to the door, turned the key in the lock, and slid the key into his pocket.

Lovely as it was to have everyone she cared for all together, sometimes one wanted one’s husband all to oneself.

Like FREE Books?! Download one of Entangled’s bestselling books here!