Page 85 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"A coin he is now selling at an excellent price." She straightened his lapel. "Go. Tell him your rank. If he asks questions, mention the estate. If he asks more questions, show him the ledger."

He sighed. "You are still not joking about the ledger."

She peeked up at him demurely. "I never joke about ledgers, John."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went in.

She sat on the bench in the corridor and waited.

It took eleven minutes. She knew because she counted every one of them. The study door opened and John emerged.

She got to her feet. "Well?"

His expression was grave. Carefully, painfully grave. "Your father drives a hard bargain."

Her stomach twisted with nerves. "And?"

His brows drew down and his eyes grew solemn. Almost…too solemn.

"And I hope you're ready," he said.

"Ready for what?" she asked.

His grave expression finally cracked, and beneath it was a warmth so fierce it made her chest ache. "To be a mother. Lucy is quite the handful, you know, and I worry that without proper supervision she may⁠—"

She didn't let him finish.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him right there in the hallway of her father's house, with the afternoon light streaming through the windows and the sound of her own laughter caught somewhere between his mouth and hers.

When she pulled back, he was grinning.

"I take it that's a yes," he said.

"It has been a yes for some time, Lord Alderton." She kept her arms around his neck. "Do try to keep up."

EPILOGUE

The wind off the Channel smelled of salt and tar and something Arabella could not name. Possibility, perhaps. Or simply…the absence of London.

She stood at the rail of the ship and watched the white cliffs of Dover shrink behind them. Somewhere ahead, beyond the gray chop, lay Calais and a carriage and a great many weeks of travel she could not yet picture.

But for the first time in a long time, the not-knowing felt less like a cliff's edge and more like an open door.

"Mama Bella." A breathless Lucy approached, her bonnet already askew. "How long until France? Will we see it soon? Will there be whales? Papa says the water is deeper than a house. Is it bigger than our house? Will we⁠—"

"Slower, darling," Arabella interrupted with a laugh. "I cannot possibly answer so many questions all at once."

But Lucy had already spotted the maid coming up from below with a tin of sweets, and the questions evaporated. She was gone in a flurry of skirts and ribbons before Arabella could attempt to answer a single one.

Arabella laughed under her breath as she watched her go.

Lucy might have been the most excited of the three of them for this journey, but it had actually been John's idea first.

The trip was not to be a permanent one. The duchess had been very clear on that point when she'd heard of their plans. Arabella and John had assured her they had every intention of returning with Lucy at some point to settle into their life in England.

But they were not in any rush to return. Partly for safety. Pierce was giving up Barrington thread by thread, but Barrington himself remained at large. And a man like that had every reason to wish Arabella silent before she could testify against the network he'd built.

So did Pierce, cooperation or no. Until the duchess finished her work, Arabella was both a weapon and a target, and there was no sense leaving a target standing about in London.