He grinned. “That slight problem with the wedding…namely, the wrong bridegroom.”
“Julius, in my heart, I knew I could never marry anyone but you.”
“Same here, love.”
“I’m so glad it was you. It was always meant to be you,” she whispered as they both drifted off to sleep.
EPILOGUE
London, England
April, 1827
NIGHT HAD FALLEN and a chill lingered in the spring air as Julius strode into the Fullerton townhouse where another of Lady Fullerton’s ever popular routs was taking place. The ballroom was a crush, but Julius had no problem finding Gory, who was in attendance along with most of his family and friends, except for Octavian and Syd who were back in Scotland now.
Julius had been away himself on Thorne family business for an entire month that felt like an eternity because he missed his wife terribly. For this reason, he had come directly here, hastily dropping his bags at home, and then washing up and donning his evening attire before hurrying over to seek out Gory rather than wait for her to come home.
As expected, she was seated in what he termed the wallflower corner, which is where he used to find her when approaching her for a dance before they were married. She sat with Adela and Marigold, and another young lady who resembled Marigold. The four of them were hovered over something in Gory’s hand, no doubt some hideous glob that had yet to be identified but would turn out to be some groundbreaking discovery of hers.
“Mind if I intrude?” he asked, interrupting them.
Gory looked up at him with a big smile on her entrancing face and the light of love in her eyes. “Julius!”
She melted into his open arms.
“Sweetheart, you are sight for sore eyes,” he said, hugging her fiercely as he momentarily drew her away from her friends.
She laughed and kissed him. “So are you. I missed you so much. We did not expect you back until tomorrow. How was your trip?”
“Productive. I’ll give Ambrose my full report tomorrow.” He had no desire to talk about dull business affairs tonight when she stood before him looking radiant. “How are you feeling, my love?”
“Never better.” She patted her stomach to show him the smallest bulge now starting to form, and then took his hand so that he might feel this latest change in her body.
He drew in a breath, amazed by the wonder of it all. “Gad, Gory. Are we really going to be parents?”
“I’ve made it past four months now, but there is still quite a way to go.” She studied his expression. “Oh, now you are giving me that apishly protective look. I love that look, but do not dare think to confine me to bed rest. That time will come soon enough.”
He sighed. “I just want to keep you safe.”
“You have done that, kept me safe and happy,” she stressed because it had taken some doing for her to get beyond her memories of the fateful night that had changed her life so starkly. The trials, all leading to convictions for her aunt and her cohorts, had captured everyone’s attention for months.
It was still all the talk.
He worried that having to deal with the incident day in and day out was going to be too much of an ordeal for Gory, but she was proving to be quite resilient. She had not even been resentful of losing most of the inheritance she was to receive when it turned out her uncle had squandered the bulk of it.
How ironic, that all the misery Lady Easton had caused would have yielded her no more than five thousand pounds because Gory’s uncle had faked the ledgers and embezzled the funds down to almost nothing.
Perhaps the new earl would restore it in time, assuming he was a man of honor and able to return the earldom to profitability. But Julius never wanted Gory to worry about this, for she was his to care for and protect.
When he remarked on it, she responded by crediting him for what mattered most to her, and this was her healing.
Perhaps he had played a small part.
But Gory’s true strength came from within.
“Let me introduce you to Marigold’s cousin,” Gory said, shaking him out of his straying thoughts. “Her name is Tulip, and she has just arrived from Burnham, a charming village in Somerset.”
He chuckled. “Tulip? Yet another Farthingale flower? I pity the poor bachelor who’s about to become embroiled with her.”
