Page 47 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

“For the receiving line, yes,” said Michael firmly. “The article didn’t get everything wrong…we’re a trio, Mama. And will be more open about that from here on in.”

Barbara’s eyes widened, then she patted his shoulder. “I wish you well. I wish you all well. Now, I forbade Uffy from bringing his pistol—removing bullets from sculpted plaster is such a bother—but he does have his special cane if Nero appears.”

“The one with the blade,” said Uffy affably, tugging on the lapels of his dark brown jacket. “And Barb has promised to rest between dances.”

“I might rest between dances. This is so exciting. A ball once more at Ellis House! And the decorations look magnificent—what an eye you have, Hunter. I know you’re responsible for these two looking so splendid as well.”

Gerry bowed. “My thanks, madam.”

In a move that surprised them all, Barbara wrapped Gerry in a brief hug. “It is I who should be thanking you. For bringing love to this house. Twice. And making my son so happy. Now, come along, Uffy, I need a drink. We’ll leave the young ones to greet their guests. Tonight will be a crush, mark my words.”

For the next half hour, Michael, Katherine and Gerry welcomed a seemingly never-ending line of resplendently attired men and women. Some, like the Townsend-Grants, were friendly and effusive in their congratulations. Others were cool, and many asked awkwardly pointed questions. In the past, Michael would have retreated directly into his shell. But with his wife and valet by his side, that gold ring on his finger, and his body magnificently tender after their continued exertions in bed, the gossips and sticklers simply didn’t matter.

Until two familiar faces appeared at the front door and entered into heated words with Kenney.

Gerry sucked in a breath. “The bloody audacity.”

“I’m going to scratch their eyes out,” said Katherine fiercely.

Michael smiled. “It appears my cousin misunderstood the other day. Let us go and make it very clear.”

As they approached the front door, Nero looked over and waved his invitation. “Whitmore! This damned fool is trying to refuse us admittance!”

Tilting his head, Michael studied his cousin. “Of course he is. Kenney is an excellent butler. When I said get out, Nero, that was permanent. You’re not welcome here.”

The other man’s cheeks turned puce. “I am your heir.”

“Not for much longer,” said Katherine, her eyes gleaming. “His lordship is so very dedicated in his endeavors.”

Horatia gasped and whipped out her fan. “Do not say another word. Harlot!”

“You’re on our steps, Mrs. Ellis. But you’ll be invisible in future. Farewell.”

Michael inclined his head. “I’ll set up a trust for the girls—they are innocent in all this—but you two…you’re on your own.”

“Now leave before I throw ye out,” growled Gerry. “That would be entirely my pleasure.”

Nero and Horatia went pale, then a sickly shade of green. But eventually they turned and stumbled down the steps, pushing past approaching guests to flee.

Michael took a deep breath, before offering his arm to Katherine, who was holding Gerry’s hand. “Come, my loves. We have a ball to host.”

Then they returned to the receiving line as a trio, an unbreakable wall of strength and care and support. Of true love.

Indeed, this was the beginning of a very happy ever after.

EPILOGUE

One year later

Unlike 1816, the year without a summer where they’d endured an endless helping of cool temperatures, bleak skies and rain, 1817 had been a vast improvement. Days like today, where actual sunshine beamed through the cotton ball clouds and everyone risked pink noses and cheeks.

Gerard leaned back in his chair, enjoying the warmth on his face and bare feet, the soft laughter from Michael and Katie as they played a game of vingt-et-un for shillings while they waited for the second half of the play to begin.

After the outrageous success and extended run of Lennox’s The Flame of Passion, half of London had descended on the Townsend-Grant’s outdoor theater to see a performance of his new masterpiece: Fae Rebellion. So far, Gerard could say, hand on heart, it was rather good. For a Welshman. Viola was, of course, quite splendid in her role as the Wicked Fae Queen.

Truth be told, he much preferred outdoor theater. The Opera House and Drury Lane had started installing gas lights, and while some people loved the illumination, that amount of chemicals roiling together in an enclosed space gave him hives. If this opinion made him a curmudgeonly stick-in-the-mud, so be it. Give him sunshine, fresh air, a sturdy rug, and plenty of overstuffed cushions any day; the premium position Jon had arranged even included a leafy tree for shade. Hell, outdoor theater also offered the opportunity to bring their own picnic rather than grimace their way through lackluster fare. Gerard had packed a bulging basket for the family day out: lemonade, cool water, and plenty of delicious treats to nibble on. Katie needed the sustenance; the heir to the earldom might be tiny, but he was a voracious feeder.

Gerard’s gaze softened as he reached down to adjust Viscount Firth’s light blanket. Naturally, Miles Henry Hunter Ellis kicked it off, gurgling delightedly as he did so. This was a game the bairn could play for at least half an hour before drifting off to sleep again, and there was never a shortage of people to play with.