Page 119 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

When he set her feet back on the ground, he held her hand and turned toward the Janissaries and their captive. Uncle Charles was talking to the guards in their language. One of the men nodded. Uncle Charles stepped up to Wolfe and backhanded him.

Evangeline gasped. She had never seen her uncle lose his temper, but her family had also never been ambushed in a Greek villa. A man had his limits.

Crispin had his arm around Sophia, holding her close at his side.

Once the courtyard cleared, leaving Evangeline and her family alone, Jonathan recounted the encounter with Farrin.

“Dom was hunting Farrin all this time,” Jonathan said.

She smiled, her heart full of gratitude for Lord Dominic. He had remained loyal to Jonathan. She had misjudged him in the beginning, and she owed him an apology.

“Will Wolfe be extradited, too?” she asked.

Uncle Charles shook his head. “He committed a crime against their citizens when he held the Lis and their servants hostage.”

“He didn’t act alone,” Evangeline said.

“No, but Mrs. Li only identified Wolfe. I imagine she could point out Farrin, too, but Lord Dominic has already made arrangements to extradite him to England. Farrin will be tried at home, as he should be.”

Crispin nodded toward Xavier. “Wolfe had quite the lump on his forehead. You represented us well, Vistoire.”

“No!” Sophia cried. “That was me.”

“You?”

Sophia frowned. “Yes, me. I hit him in the forehead.”

“Good girl,” Crispin said, grinning. “I’m impressed.”

Evangeline glanced around the group of people she loved most in the world. “Well, I hit him with a painting.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Look at you using art to save lives again.”

A pleasant warmth washed over her. “I would have offered to sketch him instead, but I doubt he wanted to sit for a portrait.”

“Probably not.” Jonathan drew her close to kiss her forehead. “No bumps here. Safe and sound,” he murmured, “and all mine.”

Epilogue

Ivymere Manor was alive again. Jonathan smiled. No, more alive.

He had never seen anything like it. Their houseguests packed into the drawing room for another evening of conversation, laughter, and entertainment. After years of being alone, he reveled in the noise—even the sounds of Cupid’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor and playful growls as Margrave wrestled with him over a toy.

“Get him, Cupid,” Sophia called from the table where she was playing whist.

She was partnered with her best friend Octavia, Countess of Ramsdell, and the ladies were handily trouncing the Duke of Stanhurst and Russell Hawke—landed gentry and owner of the Drayton Theater in Marylebone.

Apparently, there was an Old Stanhurst who had caused trouble for Regina and Xavier, but his heir seemed to be well-liked among the crowd.

Evangeline came up to Jonathan with a bright smile that lit up his world. “Uncle Charles has a question about your latest book. I tried to explain, but you’re better at it.”

Jonathan chuckled and placed his arm around her waist. “I’m certain you have done our work justice, but I’m honored by the invitation.”

He loved how genuinely enthusiastic his new family was about antiquities. No more glazed-over eyes when he spoke of drumming or the ritualistic use of rhythmic percussion to induce transient states. He was no longer a crackpot amongst the sea of bodies. He had found his people.

As Jonathan neared the seating area where Aunt Beatrice was knitting away while talking with Claudine Hawke, he heard Aunt Beatrice ask about the playwright’s latest work.

“Rehearsals begin after Christmas,” Claudine said, “but I won’t be in the spotlight for obvious reasons.”