Epilogue
“That is utterly unfair,” Grace asserted as she strode into the parlor of Kilmarin House. Perhaps waddled would be a better word for it. Ramsey was close behind, trying desperately to hide a smile. They had just celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary, and he still was constantly amused, and surprised, by his lovely wife, who was now expecting their first heir.
“What are we in uproar about now?” Samantha asked, handing a biscuit to Lochlan, the youngest of their two sons.
“Do I dare ask?” Lucas called from the other side of the room, pouring port into three snifters. It was the usual custom to have dinner once a week at one of their houses. This week it was Kilmarin House; last week it had been the Heightfields’ residence.
Lucas handed a snifter to Heathcliff, who raised it as if offering a salute.
“We deserve to have a place as well.” Grace answered Lucas’s question.
“Oh?” Heathcliff asked, bending down to kiss Samantha on the head.
“Yes,” Liliah answered after picking up a wayward tot, the youngest of her three girls.
They all were quite amused that Lucas, the most notorious rake of them all, had three daughters to worry over. Who said fate didn’t have a sense of humor?
“So you’re in on this too?” Lucas asked his wife, arching a brow and winking at her.
“Always,” Liliah replied.
“Should I be afraid?” Heathcliff asked, then took a sip of port.
“We. Shouldwebe afraid?” Ramsey amended, sipping his own port that Heathcliff had just delivered to him.
“That depends,” Grace replied.
“On if we ever hear what the bloody problem is,” Heathcliff remarked with some irritation. “Pardon my language.” He apologized when his wife gave him a direct glare.
“We’ve decided that since you have your club,” Grace started, and Ramsey watched her with both trepidation and pride. She was his world, but also the one able to work him into a lather quicker than any other. It was the spice in his life; he knew he needed it, and most of the time he welcomed it. He had the suspicion that he knew where she was going with the comments. Temptations had been growing steadily over the past few years, and as such, had taken on more than before. Thankfully, they hadn’t had any more incidents with Westhouse or with the Duke of Chatterwood—Liliah and Samantha’s father. In some cases, it was a boon to deal with people so devoted to their reputation. It made blackmail so much easier—not that they had to resort to such measures, but if necessary, they were always prepared.
Grace continued. “We’ve decided that we need our own place too. We even have a name.”
“What do you mean your own place?” Heathcliff asked, his tone suspicious.
“When you go to the club, we stay home without you, and sometimes you’re not home till late. We understand that this is part of life, but we thought it would be brilliant if there was a place where we . . .” Liliah paused.
“. . . The wives . . .” Samantha clarified.
“Could go and be with you, and have our own parties and such, while you have yours,” Grace finished.
Ramsey’s suspicions were affirmed.
Heathcliff looked resigned.
Lucas looked surprised.
“So?” Liliah asked.
“Are you sure that’s what you want? I mean, none of you are regular visitors to the club—”
“Because there’s no place for us. There’s plenty of room and we could oversee it—”
“But the possibility of keeping your good reputations while attending . . .” Lucas spoke up.
“Will be easy because we’ll do the same as you . . . keep it a secret. We’ll start out as just the three of us, and if it works, we’ll go from there.”
Ramsey glanced about the room, then decided to address the most obvious question. “So, I suppose the question is, are you asking us or telling us?”
