Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

Jack came up to stand beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders just as he had on their voyage from England a mere month ago. It seemed more like years to her, so much had happened.

“Have you, like Simmons, had enough adventure to last you a lifetime?” he asked her.

She chuckled, for Simmons had repeated that phrase so often that it had become a joke between them. “Enough to last me a year or two, at any rate, I believe. I find the wilder side of life is not so appealing as I once thought it would be, somehow.”

“And I'm finding all the excitement I need in my wife.” He squeezed her shoulders. “When that year or two is up, promise to discuss it with me before you go seeking any more adventures.”

Nessa tilted her head up for his kiss, enjoying the fine salt spray that blew over them both. “I promise.”

EPILOGUE

EARLY MARCH, 1816

JACK STOOD IN THE DOORWAY of the nursery at Fox Manor, enjoying the scene before him for a few moments before announcing his presence. Nessa and Prudence both sat on the floor, while their sons clambered over them. Though little Robert was a month older than his cousin, young Julius was the bolder one, crawling away from his mother to investigate the crackling of the fire a few yards away.

Nessa scooped him up with a laugh. “Oh, no you don't, you little rascal! You'll find out soon enough that lovely yellow thing burns, but I'd prefer it wasn't today.”

Prudence shook her head. “You're going to have your hands full with that one, Nessa. And I thought my Robert was becoming more than I can keep up with! When we return home, I've finally promised to give more of his care over to his nurse.”

“But you'll stay yet awhile, will you not, Prudence? We so enjoy having you all here, and see how good Julius and Robert are together. I'd love to see them raised almost as brothers.”

“We are in no hurry,” Prudence assured her, smiling. “In fact, Philip is out today looking at a property here in Kent, with an eye to purchasing it. If all goes as we hope, we may relocate here permanently.”

Nessa hugged her sister in delight, and Jack waited until her raptures had subsided before clearing his throat. At once she whirled to greet him with a sunny smile that belied the gray day outside.

“Jack! How long have you been standing there? Did you hear what Prudence just said?”

“I did indeed,” he said, coming forward. “And I am as delighted as you are. If the property Creamcroft is inspecting today will not do, I will endeavor to help him find another.” He leaned down to kiss first Nessa, then his wriggling son, keeping one hand behind his back.

Nessa noticed at once. “What are you hiding there? Another toy for Julius? He must have more than any infant alive already.”

“No, my dear, this toy is for you.” He extended the rolled up parchment and she took it, clearly puzzled.

Unrolling it, she read its contents through before looking up at him incredulously. “You've bought it? Our little French cottage? Oh, Jack!”

“Consider it an anniversary gift. It was one year ago today that—”

Handing their son to Prudence for a moment, she stood and put her hands into his. “I remember,” she said softly. “I, too, will ever consider that day the anniversary of our true marriage. The day we dropped all pretense and pride, and admitted our love.”

He bent to kiss her, not caring that Prudence and both babies were watching. A long while later he lifted his head. “That was the day my real life began,” he said, “my scandalous, virtuous love.”

~ THE END ~

Continue reading for an excerpt from Rogue’s Honor .

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Rogue’s Honor

FOR YEARS, all of London has known of the legendary Saint of Seven Dials, that shadowy figure who steals from the rich to give to the poor. To the denizens of London’s slums and rookeries, he is worshiped as a hero and savior, while the gentlemen of the ton curse and scowl whenever his name is mentioned. His infamous calling cards are only proof of his impudence, they say, and an embarrassment to master and servant alike when they appear in place of purloined valuables.

The ladies of London Society are torn, sympathizing with their fathers and husbands even as they sigh over the mysterious, romantic thief. What sort of man must he be, to take such risks for such a noble cause? they wonder. But though his identity is shrouded in secrecy, his fame continues to spread…

~ ~ ~

LONDON, APRIL, 1816

‘SHE’LL MARRY YOU, never fear.”

Lady Pearl Moreston froze, her hand suspended over the crystal handle of the parlor door of Oakshire House, the finest mansion on Berkley Square. How dared her stepmother make such a promise—and to whom? Instead of opening the door, which stood slightly ajar, she waited to hear what reply might come.

“But she’s refused me twice already, your grace.” Pearl identified the tremulous tenor as belonging to Lord Bellowsworth. “It seems clear that her wishes—”

Obelia, Duchess of Oakshire, cut him off. “Her wishes have nothing to say to the matter. Do you wish to wed the Lady Pearl or not?”

Scarcely waiting for the young marquess’s stammering assent, the Duchess went on. “When you get her to Hyde Park, take one of the less frequented paths—the one leading off to the north, about a quarter mile from the entrance. You know the one? Good. No, don’t interrupt. She’ll be down at any moment. Go all the way to the end, to the little copse you will find there, and renew your addresses, as… forcefully as you can.”

“Forcefully? I—I’ll try. But what if—”

“I told you not to interrupt. I have arranged to have someone discover you, seemingly by chance, who will attest that he found the two of you in a most compromising situation. The Duke will be only too happy to consent to the match, whatever his daughter’s wishes might be. Her hand—and her fortune—will be yours.”

Pearl waited to hear no more. Breezing into the room, her head held high, she exclaimed, “A delightful plan, to be sure!”

Lord Bellowsworth started violently and began to stammer, but the Duchess merely smiled. “Lady Pearl. What a surprise. We were speaking hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course you were,” Pearl agreed. “A hypothesis I fear I cannot help you to prove. You’ll excuse me, my lord, for feeling indisposed for our drive today.”

“Of… of course. That is to say… I never meant… I’ll give you good day, my lady, your grace.” Bowing and blathering, he backed out of the parlor and fled Oakshire House.

Pearl turned to her stepmother, whose petite blonde beauty, so similar to her own mother’s, even now diluted her anger with long-remembered sorrow. “I know you have been anxious for me to marry, but I confess I had not expected you to resort to such measures as these to ensure it.”

The Duchess appeared more vexed than apologetic. “You leave me little choice,” she said, flouncing across the room to seat herself in a high-backed chair that rather resembled a throne—her favorite. “Your father is concerned about your future, and I feel bound to make him easy on the subject.”

“And, of course, the fact that the Fairbourne estate will fall to me if I am yet unwed on my twenty-first birthday has nothing to do with your solicitude.” Pearl spoke dryly, hiding any pain she felt from both herself and her stepmother. Seven years ago, when her father had first remarried, she had wished--She cut off that regret ruthlessly.

Obelia tossed her golden curls. “You’ll have a substantial fortune in any event. If you marry well, you’ll have no need whatsoever for that property, which by rights should go to Edward with the rest when he inherits. You cannot fault me for looking out for my son’s interests.”