Page 181 of The Ladies Least Likely
“I don’t wish to rush you, and not that my posture is becoming uncomfortable, or that my tea is growing cool, but how much more time do you need to consider, my darling?”
This time she didn’t stifle the small laugh. “I have made my choice.”
The light in his eyes deepened, steady, bright. “Amaranthe Illingworth—soon to be Amaranthe Delaval, Duchess of Hunsdon—you are the author of my happiness and every beautiful thing that has come into my life. Say you will share it with me for always.”
She smiled even as the tears spilled over. “I will.”
He rose to his knees, anchored both hands in her hair, and kissed her again. Amaranthe gripped his forearms with her hands, clinging to him, laughing, crying, kissing him back. Camilla clapped her hands over her eyes. Ned whistled and looked at the ceiling. But the others—including Hugh—cheered.
And the feast that night in Hunsdon House was the merriest yet, with the promise of many more merry times—sweet, long days and sweeter nights—to follow.
EPILOGUE
“If a man has a library in a…woman of beauty…Aree fah! I’ll never get this.” Ned tossed the shred of paper with its Latin inscription onto the library table.
Amaranthe looked up from her easel near the window and the parchment pages anchored with her wooden bar. The library at Hunsdon House had even better light than the workroom in her own little house.
“Where are you picking up your Cornish expressions, Ned? Eyde? Derwa? Or Tamara?” Tamara was the little Cornish costermonger who, with her cronies, looked after Amaranthe’s house after she removed to the ducal mansion.
Ned gave her an abashed grin. “You, mum.”
There’d been a happy settling of Amaranthe’s staff into Hunsdon House in the sixth months since her marriage. Mrs. Blackthorn ran the kitchen with its small army of undercooks and scullery maid. Mrs. Wheatley had proved a hopeless cook but a natural born housekeeper, and she and Mrs. Blackthorn ruled their empire with wisdom and munificence. Amaranthe was allowed to make menu suggestions and choose which scents she wanted in the linen closets, and which guest to put in whichroom, but otherwise she was not obliged to decide on a single household issue. She found this arrangement a great relief.
Ralph, now Mr. Biggs, was the most loyal and devoted butler to be found in all of London, and his dignity was to be marveled at. Davey, first footman, enjoyed his task of instructing and advising the second and third footmen, keeping them in their place. Eyde had ascended to the role of dresser to the duchess and spent hours tending to Amaranthe’s hair and gowns, carefully and with much delight building a new wardrobe for her mistress after Sybil stormed through the house and took every last glove and pin with her.
Derwa was companion to Camilla, and all summer the two had racketed about the gardens like hooligans, whooping and shouting and neglecting their lessons. Amaranthe vowed that next year they would remove to one of the country estates for the summer, but Mal had needed these months to settle into his new role.
Joseph looked up from his book. “You’re switching the object with the prepositional phrase, Ned. Look at the declensions again.” He passed the paper back to his pupil. Ned heaved a sigh.
Amaranthe hid her smile. Joseph had had a less blissful summer than she, but at least he had ceased drowning his sorrows in spirits.
“I’m home!” Mal strolled into the library, dressed in a beautifully embroidered brocade coat and matching breeches. He tossed his small wig into a chair and ran a hand through his shorn hair.
He had taken up wigs, following the fashion in the House of Lords, though he kept threatening to wear his natural hair. Amaranthe suspected that many other men would abandon their bag wigs and periwigs to imitate the new Duke of Hunsdon, who had caused quite a few ripples through thebeau mondewhen hewas formally invested at the close of Parliament’s spring session and assumed his coronet and robes.
With the Lords assembling again for the fall session, Mal had taken his seat with pleasure, and found the arguing, negotiating, networks, and factions of politics his true milieu. Amaranthe smiled to see him full of confidence and self-assurance, his sense of justice and his persuasive talents put to good ends.
“What is everyone working on? I demand an accounting,” Mal said.
“Latin.” Ned sighed.
“Travel plans.” Joseph returned to his copy of Thomas Nugent’sThe Grand Tour, the volume on France.
Camilla, without taking her eyes from the pages, raised a thick volume entitledThe History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
“And you, my love?” Mal strolled over to drop a kiss on her hair and glance at the pages where Amaranthe was scraping away a mistake. Her mind had been wandering of late, and she’d made two errors already.
“My new commission to make a preservation copy of the Book of Nunnaminster. It’s an Anglo-Saxon prayer book from the Harley Collection in the British Royal Library. Ninth century Latin, the earliest thing I’ve ever worked on. I’m still astonished that the librarian would have contacted me about making a display copy for them.”
“I’m not surprised at all.” Mal rubbed her shoulders, working out the knot that had developed from bending forward over the fine script. “You’re a duchess, and the best copyist in London. No one can quite get over that combination.”
“I can think of half a dozen copyists equally good who have more need of the commission,” Amaranthe murmured. “But I couldn’t say no. Do you know who was first to hold and read this book? Ealhswith, wife of Alfred the Great. I’m holding a prayerbook made for a queen.” She reverently traced the line she was to copy next.
“A woman of beauty requires a library? Bah!” Ned sputtered with frustration. “Millie, won’t you lend a fellow a hand here?”
“Not on your life.” Camilla’s eyes were glued to her book. “Commodus is about to be murdered by the praetorian guard, and I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.”
The door opened and Ralph entered, back straight as a doorjamb, his livery gleaming. “The post, Your Grace,” he intoned. “And the cards that have been left today.” He brought the salver mounded with letters and cards to Amaranthe, who put down her quill and picked up her letter opener.
