Authors: Heather Cullman
He nodded and smiled. It was a gentle smile, full of wisdom and warmth, the same smile that never failed to melt her heart. “Miss Barrington is indeed correct. There has been no real crime committed. Please release Pansy this instant, John.”
John immediately complied, looking relieved to do so. “But, my lord! You can’t just dismiss this incident,” the constable protested. “This girl indeed stole from your family. That she decided to return the property and confess most certainly doesn’t excuse her crime.”
“She did something far more important than just return the silver. She proved her loyalty to the Somerville family,” Nicholas retorted.
“She proved her loyalty to Miss Barrington, not our family,” Quentin sneered.
The marchioness shot him an exasperated look. “Do be quiet, Quentin. I have had quite enough of your spiteful harping.”
“You are wrong, brother,” Nicholas replied, quietly. His gaze was on Sophie again, his eyes gleaming and his expression tender. “Pansy indeed displayed loyalty for a Somerville.”
“Just like your father. Always speaking in riddles,” his mother complained. “Do just say what you mean.” “I mean that I wish Miss Barrington to be Mrs. Nicholas Somerville, the Countess of Lyndhurst,” he smiled
faintly, “if you will have me, Sophie. I truly meant it when I promised you my eternity. I love you.”
Sophie gaped at him, barely able to believe her ears. He loved and wanted to marry her. Her worst nightmare had just turned into her fondest dream.
His smile broadened then, displaying the dimples she so adored.
And she ran to him, her heart ready to burst with joy. “Oh, Nicholas! Yes! Of course I will marry you. I love you, too.”
He caught her as she rushed into his arms and swept her up into a kiss that expressed everything in his heart.
“It’s about time you declared yourself, boy,” the marquess remarked. “Thought I was going to have to save the girl myself.”
“What!” Sophie and Nicholas exclaimed in unison, though they remained firmly in each other’s arms.
The marchioness nodded. “Your father saw your feelings for the gel first, and guessed her identity. When he told me, I must say that I was a bit shocked. And with good reason. Even you must admit that it is beyond unbelievable that you could love Miss Barrington after all that has happened.” She shook her head, as if still amazed. “You both must sit down and tell me how such a thing came to pass someday. It is certain to be a most lively tale … a fine one to tell my grandchildren.” “Then, you have no objection to our marriage?”
She made an impatient noise. “Of course not. All your father and I ever wished for you is that you be happy. Your father made me see that Miss Barrington shall make you so. Besides, I like the gel. Best model I ever had, even if she slouches.” She winked at Sophie. “How about giving your future mother-in-law a hug?”
“And your father-in-law as well,” the marquess added, moving to stand beside his wife.
As she joyfully did so, Mr. Renton cleared his throat. “This is all very touching, but there is still the matter of the warrant for Miss Barrington’s arrest.”
Nicholas looked away from his bride-to-be long enough to glance at the majordomo. “Would you please bring the packet I brought from London, Dickson?”
The man presented him with a flat black leather case. “I anticipated your need and already fetched it, my lord.”
“Remind me to raise your wages, Dickson,” the marquess said.
Dickson grinned. “Very good, my lord.”
Nicholas shuffled through the case, then drew out several papers. Handing them to the constable, he said, “These rescind the warrant. I am certain that you shall find everything in order.” With that, he moved to Sophie, who stood encircled by his father’s arm, and handed her the case. “The rest of this is for you, my love.”
Sophie examined the contents, her eyes widening when she realized what it was she looked at. It was receipt after receipt, all marked paid in full. “Oh, Nicholas. You settled my debts,” she exclaimed, breathless in her gratitude.
“I saw no choice if I wish to show off my bride to the ton next Season. It would be ever so tiresome to constantly fight off the sheriffs,” he teased, opening his arms to embrace her again.
She eyed him rather solemnly. “I doubt the ton shall accept me after all that has happened.”
“Nonsense, my dear!” the marchioness interjected. “The ton wouldn’t dare cut a Somerville. Harry and I shall be there to make certain that they don’t try.”
“And I shall be by your side, beaming with pride,” Nicholas declared. “Now, how about another kiss for your future husband.”
She was back in his arms in a twinkling. As they kissed, Dickson led Mr. Renton from the room, while Quentin snorted his disdain and stalked off.
Oblivious to everything but their love for each other, Nicholas pulled his lips from Sophie’s and rested his forehead against hers. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he murmured, “What would you like for a wedding gift, my love?”
She smiled and stole another kiss. “You have already done so much for me, it hardly seems right that I ask for more.”
“It is a husband’s duty to spoil his wife,” he teased, stealing one back. “So what shall it be? Jewelry? A house in London? Anything. You have only to ask.” She considered for a beat, then said, “Actually, there are two things I want.”
“Ah. I see that I am about to saddle myself with a greedy wife,” he countered with a mock groan.
She shook her head. “Never. Just grant me these two wishes, and I promise that I shall never ask you for another thing.”
“I shall be delighted to grant you both your wishes, and a great many more. Ask away.”
She did as directed, dropping a kiss to his lips after each request. “I want Pansy and Ezra to have their farm, not to rent, but to own. And I want Fancy for my lady’s maid.”
As Nicholas opened his mouth to reply, a gravelly voice boomed, “Unhand the gel this instant, Lyndhurst.” Sophie’s gaze flew in the direction from which the voice had come. There, standing in the door, was a thin, stooped figure in a cherry-red greatcoat and an exceedingly tall top hat. Remembering the stir a similar coat had caused at her parents’ funeral, she gasped, “Uncle Arthur?”
“Of course. Who were you expecting? Wellington?” he retorted, hobbling into the room with the aid of a cane.
“No. It’s just that — “
“I said to unhand her, boy,” he cut in, pounding his cane against the parquet floor for emphasis. “I still ain’t decided whether or not I’m going to let you marry her.” Nicholas shot Sophie a pained look and did as directed, muttering, “I should have left him in Bath.” “You brought him here?” she exclaimed.
He nodded. “Of course. He is your guardian now, and it is only right that I ask his permission to marry you.” “But how — ” She made a helpless hand gesture.
He grinned. “You mentioned him that night on the road when you explained your presence at Hawksbury. Remember?”
“Yes. I’m just surprised you remembered.”
“Not remember that you’re Bomphrey’s great-niece?” He chuckled. “Arthur, here, has been a family friend for years. Indeed, he and my grandfather were the best of friends.”
“And a worse grouse hunter I never saw. Always worried that he’d shoot my hounds by mistake,” grumbled her uncle, tottering nearer. When he reached the center of the room, he pounded the floor with his cane again and commanded, “Well, don’t just stand there gaping, gel. Come and give your old uncle a kiss.”
When she had dutifully hugged him and kissed his withered cheek, he wrapped his arm possessively around her waist and rasped, “Now, about this marriage business. Before I give my consent, I want to know why you two want to wed?”
“I already told you why: We are in love,” Nicholas replied, his eyes gleaming with adoration as they met hers.
“Yes, but do you love each other enough to spend a lifetime together?” her uncle shot back.
Nicholas took a step forward, holding his arms out to Sophie as he did so. She pulled herself from her uncle’s grasp and ran to him. As he crushed her into his embrace, he huskily replied, “Enough for all eternity.”
“Yes. Eternity,” she whispered, staring up into his beloved face.
And in their hearts they knew it was true.
Table of Contents