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Isobel and Rafe were arguing about something in a corner. And Viola was surrounded by a chattering crowd of the Duke of Westbury’s sisters.
Lady Henrietta Prince was talking to the society’s newest recruit, Lady Philippa Bramble, who had revealed some surprising ambitions when she attended her first meeting.
Even though they’d christened the society with a new name, Beatrice and her friends still weren’t at liberty to fully divulge the extent of their activities. Isobel, in particular, would never be allowed to graduate from law school if her sex were revealed.
Mrs. Kettle, who had decided to stay on as housekeeper to the club, couldn’t possibly make enough tea for everyone, but she was very happy to try. And Mr. Coggins, who hadn’t yet agreed to retirement, was seen to smile by Viola, though no one would quite believe it.
Ford’s grandfather attended, but only briefly. Hecomplained loudly about all the profit wasted, but privately, she knew he was pleased with his grandson for marrying into the nobility. Beatrice was still certain that Foxton’s business practices were less than humane, but she and Ford, and Ford’s mother and aunt, were wearing him down, little by little, and he would come round to their way of thinking eventually.
Beatrice smiled happily as she walked around the room, making sure a good time was had by all. Who would have thought that she’d be living in London, hosting large social gatherings, one year earlier when she was cloistered in the library at Thornhill?
After the festivities ended, she and Ford walked back, arm in arm, to their adjacent home.
“Come and see what I’ve been working on while you’ve been writing your dictionary these past weeks, my love.” He took her downstairs to his basement workshop.
“A cradle? Ford, isn’t that putting the cart before the horse, so to speak?”
“It’s for Tiny,” he laughed. “I had a letter that his Eliza is expecting. I’ll send it back to Cornwall with my mother.”
His mother had been splitting her time between Cornwall and London now that she was reconciled with her father.
He winked at her. “Though it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have a young Ford running around. He’d be a handsome little devil.”
“Or a young Beatrice wearing spectacles and memorizing dictionaries.”
“Or one of each.”
“Perhaps. One day. We have time to try, my rogue.”
“Would you like to try right now? Down here on top of this pile of cedarwood shavings?”
“Malapert rapscallion. Scurrilous scoundrel.”
“You like scoundrels. We’re far more interesting than other men.”
She kissed him then, to show him just how much she loved scoundrels.
She kissed him with the fragrance of cedar around them, reminding her of his handiwork.
His large, capable hands shaping her waist.
She loved his work-roughened hands.
She loved him. More than she’d ever thought it was possible to love.
Their love was strong and solid and true.
Built to weather storms. Built to stand the test of time.
