Page 39 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
“I’ll do things you won’t like, and you’ll still love me,” she told him emphatically.
“Do I get to do things you don’t like?”
“Of course.” She drew in a sharp breath and frowned. “Well, give me an example.”
Dash wracked his brain that was still very much in a state of hazy, sated contentment. “Perhaps I’ll miss you and come to your house when you’re busy planning a soiree.” It was the best his lovemaking-addled mind could come up.
“That would be acceptable,” she said thoughtfully. “As long I got time to continue planning later.”
“Of course.”
She smiled, then became pensive again, her blue eyes focused on the remnants of the fire.
“What is it?” Dash could tell when something troubled her.
“You won’t go off on long trips without me, will you?”
“Fiona, I would like to never spend another night without you if I can help it.” He reached down and stroked his hands over her hair, settling his palm at her nape. “You did say we’d spend evenings together even if you’re at your house during the day.”
“I did, and I meant it.” She looked at him, her gaze soft and tender. “Just promise me that this won’t all change the moment we exchange vows.”
Dash realized she was voicing fears from the past. Experiences from her marriage that had hurt her, scarred her. He could not take those painful memories away, however much he wished to. And he knew trust took time—the proof that someone who said they would be there would indeed stand by you. Not once, but day after day, through difficult times and good ones. He intended to give her that proof everyday of their marriage.
“Who is the man who followed you around the countryside two summers in a row simply because he wanted to be in your company?”
“You were young and utterly smitten,” she insisted.
“I amstillutterly smitten, if a bit older. And I am still the man who talked with you long into the night and was still as eager for a chat the next morning.”
“I know.” Tears welled in her eyes, and Dash caught one with his fingertip as it slid down her cheek.
Dash urged her closer and she nestled against him, her head on his chest.
“This marriage will be ours. We will make it what we want it to be, and to hell with anyone else.” He meant every word. Let others judge him. He would never regret loving Fiona, and he would never fail to be grateful that she loved him in return. “I will prove myself a man worthy of this choice you’ve made. I promise.”
“We’re in this together now,” she said with a soft kiss against his cheek.
Dash bent to kiss her. “I’m the luckiest man in England.”
She laughed. “You are a man given to hyperbole, but I rather adore it.”
“I adore you.”
EPILOGUE
April1899
Fiona watchedas the six ladies who had initially helped her establish her widows club gathered in her conservatory. Though the club’s enlistment had grown to fifteen ladies over the course of the past year, she’d called this special anniversary meeting with the half dozen who’d met with her that very first time.
The past twelve months had wrought so many changes in each of their lives.
Marriage had come quite unexpectedly for three of them. Cecily, Duchess of Everton, had given birth to her first child—a daughter as fond of animals as her mother. And Abra Chamberlain had caused a scandal as colorful as her American personality.
After years of ordering her unmarried life exactly how she wanted it, Fiona had decided that change wasn’t always a bad thing. Indeed, she’d learned in the last year that one can only move forward—not dwell in the past or hold oneself back for fear of the future.
“It’s hard to believe this is the last time we’ll meet in this conservatory,” Cecily told her as she settled on the pink damask settee beside her.
Fiona had told her friend that she planned to sell Prescott House in the coming months, explaining that she’d finally realized she wanted to spend all her time at Granford House, which now felt like her true home.
