When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) (27 page)

EPILOGUE

“Those who heed my advice end happily. Those who ignore it suffer mightily. I should think this would be obvious to you by now.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her son, Charles, during a rather fractious discussion of matches and meddling and mothers who only desire to hold a grandchild before being too weakened by old age and infirmity.

December 2, 1818

Shankwood Hall, Derbyshire

“She is convinced it is a boy,” Viola said, grinning down at the letter in her hand. “He will arrive in spring.”

Warm, firm lips caressed the nape of her neck. “Mmm. Perhaps you could embroider a wee woolen cap for the bairn, lass. The lad surely could use one for the Northumberland winters.”

Reaching up to stroke James’s hard, delicious jaw, Viola chuckled. “I think you may be overestimating Charlotte’s tolerance for mediocrity.”

He covered her hand with his, drawing her palm to his mouth. His touch sent tingles shimmying across her body, even though it had been mere hours since he’d last made love to her. “You are the furthest thing from mediocre that I can imagine,” he whispered. “These hands have wrought miracles.”

She leaned back into his arms and closed her eyes briefly, savoring her husband’s strength and heat. “I may have improved a bit in my efforts at stitchery, James, but I would hardly call it miraculous.”

Rumbling a deep laugh, he nibbled her ear and glanced over her shoulder at the letter. “How does Lady Rutherford fare?”

“She has formed a rather alarming friendship with Lady Wallingham, but apart from that, she sounds … blissful.”

He must have heard the thread of wistfulness in her voice, because his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her deeper into his body, surrounding and steadying her with every breath. “It will come for us, too, lass.” His big, strong hands flattened over her belly. “Ere long, it will come.”

She smiled softly and turned her lips to his jaw. “Do you think so?”

“I have an Inkling, I do.”

Sniffing, she neatly folded Charlotte’s letter and placed it on the writing desk—the
new
writing desk in her newly refurnished sitting room. James had not relented until she’d replaced every drapery, every chair, every inch of green twill with lighter, more curvaceous, and decidedly more feminine décor. Naturally, she had refused to similarly transform their shared bedchamber, although she had added a number of lovely, embroidered pillows to soften the square, oak furnishings and plain twill coverlet. “You may laugh, but my Inkling has served me well. It led me to you, did it not?”

He hummed his agreement before giving her neck one final kiss and releasing her to withdraw a letter of his own from the pocket of his blue wool coat. “I have a letter, as well, lass. From Lady Wallingham.”

Her eyes widened upon the expensive, folded paper, the dark-red, embellished seal, the bold, flowing script. “Do you suppose …?”

He waggled the thing between his fingers. “We must open it to see.” For entirely too long, he stood, staring at her, his eyes roving her face, running down to her belly, pausing at her breasts.

She began to wonder if he was deliberately delaying. “Well, open it, James!”

“Sae impatient ye are, my wee bonnie lass.”

“Yes, I am. You may ogle me later. For now, I am dying of curiosity.”

Looking as though she had denied him a delectable treat, he sighed. “Weel-a-weel.” Then, he loosened the seal, unfolded the paper, and began reading. Silently.

“Aloud, if you please.”

He smiled, his green eyes twinkling with a mischief she adored. Playfulness had been too rare in her husband’s life. Her heart soared to see him this way, glowed at the knowledge of his happiness.

Clearing his throat as though preparing to announce the queen’s entrance, he shook the paper and began reading. Aloud.
“Lord Tannenbrook. I do apologize for the delay in addressing your recent inquiry, but I have been most preoccupied of late. You should know that my dear, dear son has waged a ceaseless campaign on your behalf. Had the sound of his pleas not been overwhelmed by the cacophony of his wretched attempts to woo a certain widow, perhaps I might have responded sooner. Alas, a woman of my years must accept her limitations.

Regarding your cousin, Elijah Kilbrenner, I am happy to inform you he remains corporeal on this earth. According to his grandmother, he was taken in by a kindly man after the deaths of his parents. The boy was instructed in several trades, including chimney maintenance and pocket inspection. Needless to say, he elected to be called by a new name as the questionable nature of these trades requires. I believe you may be acquainted, as he currently resides in London.”

James stopped, a deep furrow developing between his brows. Viola waited, blinking between her husband’s face and the paper at which he glowered so fiercely.

“Well?” Viola demanded.

“The man’s name is Reaver. Sebastian Reaver.”

Now, Viola was the one frowning. “Should that mean something? Who is he?”

Green eyes came up to hers. “He owns a gaming hell off of St. James. A rather notorious one. Before Rutherford married Charlotte, he frequented the place almost exclusively.”

Her brows rose. “Oh, dear. It is a club for scoundrels, then.”

James nodded and dropped his eyes back to the letter. “She goes on to explain further her reasoning for withholding the information from me.” He chuckled. “She says,
‘Now you understand why I was loath to burden you with the knowledge of your presumptive heir’s identity. There is only one sort of man less deserving of your title than a Scottish stonemason. And that is Sebastian Reaver. But, now that Lady Tannenbrook is with child, I don’t suppose it is any longer a worry, for you shall soon have …’”

He raised his head. Green eyes caught fire. “You—you are …”

Filled with the luminous weight of the knowledge she’d carried for more than a fortnight, she gave him her happiest, watery smile. “With child. Yes. Your Inkling was right, after all, my love.”

The paper fluttered to the floor. His arms came around her. Lifted her. Spun her about until she was dizzy and bursting with a joy she could not contain. And all the while, the captivating sounds of his laughter rumbled and boomed. She kissed his beloved mouth. Cradled his beloved face in her hands.

He stopped spinning long enough for her to catch her breath. “Bloody hell, you told Lady Wallingham before you told me?”

Viola chuckled. “I believe she guessed. Lady Atherbourne says the dowager has numerous, mysteriously knowledgeable sources in Derbyshire. I simply confirmed her suspicions. I intended to tell you this morning, but you distracted me.”

“Why did you not tell me sooner, lass?”

She could hear a thread of sadness in her own voice when she answered, “We had been disappointed before. I wanted to be certain.”

His lips caressed hers softly. Tenderly. “I love ye, Viola.”

She grinned. “And I adore my Scottish stonemason.” Laying a gentle kiss upon his brow, she held him to her and whispered the truth of her heart. “For he is the very finest of men.”

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When a Girl Loves an Earl
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MORE FROM ELISA BRADEN

It’s far from over! There are more scandalous predicaments, emotional redemptions, and gripping love stories (with a dash of Lady Wallingham) to come in the Rescued from Ruin series. For new release alerts and updates, follow Elisa on
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Plus, be sure to check out the other exciting books in the Rescued from Ruin series, available now!

The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Book One)

Victoria Lacey’s life is perfect—perfectly boring. Agree to marry a lord who has yet to inspire a single, solitary tingle? It’s all in a day’s work for the oh-so-proper sister of the Duke of Blackmore. Surely no one suspects her secret longing for head-spinning passion. Except a dark stranger, on a terrace, at a ball where she should not be kissing a man she has just met. Especially one bent on revenge.

The Truth About Cads and Dukes (Book Two)

Painfully shy Jane Huxley is in a most precarious position, thanks to dissolute charmer Colin Lacey’s deceitful wager. Now, his brother, the icy Duke of Blackmore, must make it right, even if it means marrying her himself. Will their union end in frostbite? Perhaps. But after lingering glances and devastating kisses, Jane begins to suspect the truth: Her duke may not be as cold as he appears.

Desperately Seeking a Scoundrel (Book Three)

Where Lord Colin Lacey goes, trouble follows. Tortured and hunted by a brutal criminal, he is rescued from death’s door by the stubborn, fetching Sarah Battersby. In return, she asks one small favor: Pretend to be her fiancé. Temporarily, of course. With danger nipping his heels, he knows it is wrong to want her, wrong to agree to her terms. But when has Colin Lacey ever done the sensible thing?

The Devil Is a Marquess (Book Four)

A walking scandal surviving on wits, whisky, and wicked skills in the bedchamber, Benedict Chatham must marry a fortune or risk ruin. Tall, redheaded disaster Charlotte Lancaster possesses such a fortune. The price? One year of fidelity and sobriety. Forced to end his libertine ways, Chatham proves he is more than the scandalous charmer she married, but will it be enough to keep his unwanted wife?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Reading romance novels came easily to Elisa Braden. She’s been doing it since she was twelve. Writing them? That took a little longer. After graduating with degrees in creative writing and history, Elisa spent entirely too many years in “real” jobs writing T-shirt copy … and other people’s resumes … and articles about giftware displays. But that was before she woke up and started dreaming about the very
unreal
job of being a romance novelist. Frankly, she figures better late than never.

Elisa lives in the gorgeous Pacific Northwest, where you’re constitutionally required to like the colors green and gray. Good thing she does. Other items on the “like” list include cute dogs, strong coffee, and epic movies. Of course, her favorite thing of all is hearing from readers who love her characters as much as she does.

If you’re one of those, get in touch on
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www.elisabraden.com
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