Page 172 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

The addition of a few more servants hadn’t hurt. Thanks to Julia’s inheritance, they’d managed to employ a small household staff. They’d also hired workers to start on the tenants’ cottages and to repair the leaking roof of the Hall.

It was only the beginning.

Releasing her from his embrace, Jasper plucked the copy of the Weekly Heliosphere from her fingers. “No need to read this now.”

She snatched it back from him. “And why not?”

“It’s the sales that matter, not the critical acclaim.”

She moved out of his grasp, taking the journal with her. “I won’t share it with you if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

His mouth quirked. “I survived the fall of Sebastopol. I think I can handle a scathing review.” He paused, adding, “It’s not me I’m concerned about.”

Julia wasn’t listening. She was too busy flipping through the pages. “Tripe and treacle indeed,” she muttered. “The man deserves a firm clout on the head. And if he’s said a single unjust word about Reunion at Waterloo, I’ve a mind to— Ah. Here it is.” A puzzled frown creased her brow. “But . . . it’s not a review at all.”

“No? What is it?”

“It seems to be a farewell.” She read the short passage to him:

To my esteemed readers: I bid you adieu and good fortune on your literary travels. Alas, I can no longer vouchsafe my services as your guide. The siren song of connubial bliss compels me to give up my weekly column and turn my attention to pursuits matrimonial. As Goethe once wrote—

Julia broke off. “The ridiculous man. Quoting Goethe of all people.” She tossed the journal onto a nearby table in disgust.

Jasper picked it up, briefly skimming the page. Laughter shone in his eyes. “The Sorrows of Young Werther? Perhaps Bilgewater was more of a romantic than he let on. Pity he’s retiring.”

“Good riddance to him, I say,” Julia retorted. “Though, I confess, I was rather looking forward to your latest novel proving his opinions wrong.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Jasper said. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.” His arm slid around her waist, drawing her near. “No one except you.”

Julia leaned into him. Four months of marriage had only made their union stronger. It was more than a love match. It was a friendship, a partnership, all wrapped up with bonds of loyalty and mutual respect.

And passion, of course. A passion that still made her heart thrill whenever she looked at him.

Captain Blunt or James Marshland, he was hers. All hers.

And she was his.

“Shall we call for the champagne now?” she asked.

“Yes, let’s.” He held her close. “We have a great deal to celebrate.”