“…when I shouldn’t have,” her father finished. “I should have told you how much you meant to me. And I should not have allowed my debt to Oldfield coerce me into sacrificing the greatest treasure I’ve ever had.”
“My dowry?” she said, her voice wobbling.
“My daughter. Oldfield may have saved my life, but it is a father’s duty to give his daughter a life of her own.” He held out his trembling arms. “Come here, if it’s not too late.”
“It will never be too late.” She threw herself into her father’s embrace as gently as she could, pressing her wet cheek against his nightshirt as he held her close for the first time.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured into her hair.
“I don’t want to lose you, either,” she choked out against the linen of his shirt.
“Where does your abductor intend to whisk you off to tonight?”
“A hotel, I imagine. We certainly cannot return to his rooms at Viscount Oldfield’s. But don’t worry. It won’t take long for Hudson to find us a new home—”
“I’m not worried, because he needn’t bother looking any longer. This house becomes yours the day I die. But it’s already your home, here and now. Where is the lucky groom?”
“Outside, in his carriage.”
“Well, tell him to come inside, and stop acting like a stablehand in front of my neighbors. If you’re going to marry him, then this is his home, too.”
Tabitha gasped and sat up enough to stare into her father’s face. “You bless the wedding?”
“Bless it? I’ll be there in the first row.” He coughed over her shoulder. “You’d better do it soon, though. Is this afternoon too early?”
“Hudson procured a regular license, not a special license,” she explained with regret. “He can do almost anything, but since he’s not a lord—”
“I am,” her father said gruffly. “I’m owed favors from half this town. They might as well settle their debts before I die. Go and tell your groom to freshen up and comb his hair. He’s getting married within the hour.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Tabitha whispered.
“It’s the least a father can do.” He gave her a self-deprecating half-smile. “See? You were the perfect olive branch after all.”
Epilogue
One month later
Hudson waited until the last of the day’s clients had been escorted out of his home office before he collapsed backward in his armchair and let out a sonorous sigh.
“Long day?” asked Tabitha with sympathy.
He waggled his eyebrows at his wife. “Desperate for a long night.”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Another sleepless night planned? However will you concentrate tomorrow, if you spend your bedtime hours engaged in vigorous activity?”
He sprang up from his chair and pulled her into his arms. “How can I concentrate on anything but you right now, when we’re alone in a room with no interruptions and nothing to—”
A knock sounded on the door.
Hudson let out a groan, flopping his shoulders against the closest bookcase and flinging an arm over his grimacing face with melodramatic flair.
“What now?” he demanded as the door creaked open.
“Dinner is served,” murmured an apologetic footman.
Semi-apologetic. With a hint of constrained amusement, as if the rotter knew very well how Hudson would prefer to dine this evening.
And was not nearly apologetic enough.
