Page 39 of How to Ruin a Duke
“I think it isnotwhat he meant,” Rowena said dryly.“I think he wanted things to continue as they always had.But it’s up to me to decide now, isn’t it?”
“It is, and look what you’ve done.It’s wonderful.”
“Well.”At the warmth of his words, she suddenly felt shy.“I hope it will be.”
Was Simon blushing too?Was he scuffing his boot against the pavement?The moment had shifted, tipped.It wasn’t all business.With the wordwonderful, it had become something more.
“If you’re amenable…” Simon coughed.“I know you don’t want an assistant.But if you’d like a carpenter, I’m a fair one.”
“One of the million jobs you’ve had in the past?”
“Exactly.I’m not saying I can build a house for you, but I can miter and nail and plane.If it would help you set up your workshop sooner, I could stay.”
“I don’t need a house,” Rowena said.“And I’d love for you to stay.As long as you’re willing.”There.She’d extended a hand.Would he reach out?Would he take it?
He cleared his throat.“About that.Staying.Right.It depends on you.I wondered if you might have me.”
His bashfulness was adorable.She had to prolong it, even as delight bubbled within her.“For what?”she teased.“For dinner?For a fortnight?For a sales campaign?”
He poked her in the ribs.“Minx.For a husband, I mean.For life.My home is in London, Rowena, and more specifically, it’s with you.You helped me sort out my poor muddled heart, and as it turns out…it’s yours.”
She had to press a bit more, had to know.“How can I be sure?More important, how canyoube sure?”
He waved a hand, as if this were the simplest question imaginable.“Because the only things I tired of were, well,things.The man to whom I was apprenticed helped me realize that I’m not one who attaches to things.I attach to people.I’ve never wavered in my sense of loyalty to my old friend Howard, and that was out of guilt.Motivated instead by love, imagine how tightly I feel tied to you.How tightly Iwantto be tied to you.If you’ll allow it.”He took a deep breath.“If you’ll marry me.”
“Oh,” she said faintly.She looked up at the painter, frankly eavesdropping from his perch on a ladder.
“Your evergreen line.”When she didn’t say more, Simon pressed her for an answer.“Is that all you have to say?‘Oh’?”
She bit her lip.“I was thinking…we shall have to repaint the sign.Or can I call the shop Fairweather’s anymore if my last name is Thorn?”
He whooped, taking her in his arms and swinging her in a circle.When he set her back down again, she still didn’t feel the pavement beneath her feet.She couldn’t feel her hands, her face.All she could feel was a swooping joy that, at last, at last, they’d found their way to each other, and there they’d stay.
“Now, why should your name change?”Simon answered, still holding her in an embrace.“My last name isn’t serving me any particular purpose, and yours is.If you’ll have my hand, I’ll have your name.We’ll both be Fairweathers.How about that?”
She’d heard of the elite adopting new names for the sake of an inheritance, but never of a husband taking his wife’s name for a shop.But…why not?
“I’ll have it,” she decided.“And all of you.Simon, I’m so glad you came back.I love you dearly.”
“As I love you.”He pulled back, smiling at her gently.“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Why, I just did.But I wasn’t going to chase you.I didn’t want to force you to my side.”
“Wise, independent, wily woman.I don’t deserve you.Will you tell me all the time that you love me?”
She grinned at him.“I can do that.”And rising to her toes, she caught his lips with a kiss.
One Year Later
“Prinny—no, I ought to call him George IV now—entertains far more than the former king.”Rowena shuffled through invoices, noting the stamps.Paid.Paid.Thank the Lord,Paid.“And he’s paying his royal luthier a bit.Isn’t that lovely?”
Yes, she was carrying on a conversation by herself again, but now she hadtwogood listeners.Cuddled on a cushion beside Rowena’s desk, Cotton dozed, sated after gorging on crawling insects for several hours.At Rowena’s other side, in a rocking cradle, month-old baby Howard blinked up at her blearily.His eyes, as light as Rowena’s when he was born, were now turning the lovely rosewood color of his father’s.
“You’re fighting sleep again, little fellow,” she chided her son.“I suppose I can’t blame you.The world is a fascinating place.”
The dear baby.She hadn’t ever thought of herself as particularly maternal, but when she’s realized she was with child, both she and Simon had fallen in love with the little one they nicknamed Sprout.Howard was born with a wild fuzz of black hair, a curious gaze, and ten perfect fingers.Not that it signified what his hands looked like, really.He could become a luthier no matter what.Or, if he chose, he could become something entirely different.
“Maybe you’d like to tune pianofortes like your father,” she suggested, winning herself a worried furrow of baby brows.“No, I’m serious.He loves it.He’ll be back any moment and can tell us all about how it went.”She regarded the clock on the study mantelpiece with some doubt.“Well, maybe he won’t be back at any moment.I’d have been done two hours ago, but he’s not as quick.”
