“Oh, Xavier.” Jenee wiped her eyes and giggled. “This reminds me of when you had the concussion and kept telling me you loved me.”
“Mais oui, it affected me like a truth serum.”
Gaby put her finger to her lips, shushing them. “If you please, this is my special moment.”
“What say you, my dearest Gaby?” Jack said. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me? I promise to love you until the day I die and will do everything I can to make you happy.”
“Yes, yes.” Gaby’s hands flew to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.
Jack jumped up and, wrapping his arms around the woman he adored, swung her around and around.
“Oh, Jack, I love you so much!” she shouted. “Now put me down. I’m getting dizzy.”
Emily and Jenee looked at each other and squealed. They grabbed Gaby and pulled her into their arms as Jack accepted enthusiastic handshakes and congratulations from Colin and Xavier.
“We are very happy for you,mon ami,” Xavier said. “And when all this is done, we will have a proper celebration—but for now, may we return to the problems at hand?”
“Quite right, old chap,” Colin added. “We have a host of them to resolve.”
“And most importantly, the reunion of Iris and Marco,” Jenee added.
“Oh, is that all?” Jack chuckled. “Would you like to see where I’ve hung the painting?”
“You’ve read our minds, my darling,” Gaby said.
“Lead the way, my good fellow,” Colin added.
*
“I still can’tget over the changes in the painting from the one we saw hanging in the Metropolitan,” Gaby said, staring at Allegretto’sIl Leto.
Jack had opened a secret door in the wall of books lining the wall on either side of the fireplace in the library, revealing a hidden room. Inside were mementos and heirlooms from his childhood and his mother. Xavier and Colin helped him remove the painting and hang it above the carved mantel. Jack had kept the painting hidden away in the locked library, and the only key had been hanging around his neck.
They all stood and admired the painting. This was not Allegretto’s fading muse; instead, Iris could be seen in her full glory, with her red hair flowing over her shoulders. Her catlike green-eyed gaze was fixed on the artist, whose muscled back was turned to the viewer. The final portrait inThe Three Stages of Lovewas so beautiful and sensual that it was hard for Gaby to tear her eyes away.
“Such an incredibly beautiful painting,” Emily said. “And at least we know the real paintings will survive, because we saw them at the Met.”
“Yes, but unfortunately, Iris’s likeness will start to fade away in the paintings,” Jenee said.
“Perhaps not,” Gaby said. “Perhaps what we are doing here will reverse the fading of the paintings, and they will remain as beautiful as today.”
“This painting will always remind me of you, my beauty,” Jack said, slipping his arm around Gaby’s waist. “It would have made a lovely addition to the collection at Singly Park, but I shall engage an artist to paint a portrait of you. That will satisfy my eye for artistic beauty.”
“Did I hear mention of Singly Park, cousin?” Beauford strode into the room with Cynthia beside him, arms entwined.
Gaby felt Jack’s tall frame stiffen beside her and saw his eyes darken with anger. She laid her hand over his hand resting on her waist. “It’s all right, Jack. Remember everything we told you.”
“Yes, I remember,” Jack replied, meeting her gaze. When Emily and Colin had told them of Beauford’s father, Jack’s eyes had filled with sadness. He had told Gaby that he’d always liked his Uncle Bennett and loved his Aunt Beatrice, who’d been kind to him after his mother’s death. He’d expressed regret to Gaby about having no idea the extent of the financial troubles his uncle had gotten himself into, and he doubted his father had known either.
“I know you must hate me for what I did, and I am here to apologize to you, cousin.” Beauford stopped to clear his throat. “I must also tell you that with Colin’s assistance, I will admit to what I have done, and your title, lands, and legacy will be returned to you and your good name reinstated.”
“I must apologize to you as well, Jack, and to everyone here,” Cynthia added. “I have been less than cordial and behaved like a spoiled child. I hope you can all forgive us. And in the future, I would welcome you all to our townhouse in London for a quiet celebration in about nine months.” She blushed, and Gaby could see the strain that must have been lifted from her shoulders with the truth coming out.
Gaby knew more than most how the truth was a healing balm.
“We shall be returning to London as soon as possible, with a short detour to Gretna Green for a quiet and speedy ceremony,” Beauford added, gazing down at Cynthia with adoring eyes.
“Over my dead body.” The baroness strode in. “Cynthia, I am your guardian and the executor of your father and uncle’s estates. If you know what’s good for you, I suggest you return to your room and send this four-flusher on his way. I—”
