Page 69 of Beguiling the Baron

Epilogue

On their wedding day, Tia had been delighted to find the church thronged with all the best local families, many of Hal’s former colleagues, his relations, and old friends. The latter included the Duke and Duchess of Finchingfield, both glowing with happiness in expectation of the arrival of their second child.

If Hal had been worried about being shunned by Society due to the wicked rumors about his wife’s death and his subsequent seclusion, it was plain he needn’t have done so.

The presence of the Duke and Duchess had lent respectability to the gathering, giving Tia hope Hal would soon be welcomed back into political life—and would once again have a purpose—one involving the living rather than the dead.

It was now a full month since the wedding. October was nearly ended, and the trees had started to drop their golden cascade of leaves upon the ground. The passageways of Foxleaze were chill, but the bedchamber had a fire burning cheerfully in the grate.

Hal still slumbered. They’d retired early the previous evening, made love with vigorous enthusiasm, and hadn’t fallen asleep until the first cock began to crow. Tia’s rest had been fitful, however. She had a gift she wanted to present to him today—but her courage had begun to fail her, not knowing if it would be taken in the spirit in which it was intended. She had secretly commissioned the work when he was bedridden, recovering from his injuries.

Throwing a wrap over her nightgown, she slipped out of his bedchamber and made her way to his study. The room had a completely different aspect to it now, with the late baroness’s portrait no longer hanging above the fireplace. Hal was already working on its replacement, in an attic he’d converted into a studio.

The old picture was to be substituted by a portrait of Tia. In fact, her husband was working on two portraits, but the first was for personal consumption only, depicting the new Baroness Ansford with her hair loose about her shoulders, wearing a low-necked muslin dress which clung to her curves in an almost indecent fashion.

The other painting he was creating was much more respectable. In that portrait, Tia was dressed in a smart riding habit, with a dashing hat and a pair of beige kid gloves in her hand. She glanced toward the viewer in three-quarter face, her expression both proud and benign.

She’d told him she could never appear so top-lofty, but he’d refused to make any changes. The portrait was destined for a new wing of the Selbury Poorhouse, being built with the joint patronage of her husband and the Duke of Finchingfield. It was to house the Lady Galatea Ansford School, where the young paupers would learn domestic skills, as well as their numbers and letters.

Hal had already generously donated some reference books from his library, prompting Polly to offer up some of her own illustrated storybooks. If he needed any proof Tia’s loving and indulgent approach toward the child hadn’t spoiled Polly, this was surely it.

Tia was, of course, delighted that her good fortune in marrying a wealthy and influential man meant she could help the pauper children she’d left behind. The new wing had been a sort of wedding present from her husband, and she’d told him—her eyes awash with tears of joy—that she could never have dreamed of a better one.

She wandered across to the study window and gazed out across the cloisters to the park beyond. Suddenly the door opened, but before she could turn around, she was grasped from behind and pulled up against a deliciously firm male body.

“Why did you get up?” His voice against her ear was a delicious purr. “Come back to bed.”

She trembled in Hal’s grasp as she felt the wonder of his growing arousal pressed against her bottom. His hands around her waist began to slide up toward her breasts, but she pushed them down. “Not now, Hal. We need to talk.”

“Oh dear, that sounds ominous.” Tia could hear the humor in Hal’s tone. He kept his hands where they were but didn’t release her.

“I can’t believe it’s actually gone.” She glanced toward where the line of the treetops was no longer interrupted by the darkly brooding tower. All trace of the folly had vanished and with it the secrets of the past, the ghosts, and the grim memories.

With its loss, the eeriness of Foxleaze had departed as well. She knew the shadows of the cloisters held no specters, the family mausoleum no vengeful spirits, and the gargoyles and ceiling bosses were no longer demons turned to stone, awaiting the right touch of magic to bring them all tumbling back into the world again.

It was just as well, for as she was now mistress of this house, it wouldn’t do to be afraid to walk the passageways at night.

“It’s gone. And I don’t miss it one iota. Not now I have you.”

“It is a great pity your memorial sculpture of Mary should be lost. It was a stunning piece of work.”

“I’m honored you should think so. I’m sad for Polly’s sake I can no longer build the impressive monument to her mother I’d intended, but it can’t be helped.”

Tia turned around slowly and gazed up into Hal’s eyes. “It’s possible it can.” She scanned his beloved face. Now the injuries caused by the fall of the folly had healed, he was more beautiful than ever. Especially when he regarded her with that particular expression, combining adoration and arousal.

But she was going to make him wait a little longer before he received what his body so clearly wanted. There were two hearts, two souls, needing resolution.

“Hal, I have a surprise for you. Can you dress quickly and come down to the cloisters with me?”

His mouth drooped. “Not what I had in mind.” His tone was velvety soft and alluring.

“Hal, please.” She used what she called her Schoolmistress Voice now. He and Polly were rapidly learning never to ignore it.

“Very well. But we’d best take coats—the cloisters get so draughty this time of year. Are you positive you don’t want to wait until after breakfast?”

“Hal!”

“Oh, all right. I’ll get dressed.” He fell back to let her past him, and she experienced, as she always did, the lightning flash of awareness when their bodies were close, but not quite touching. Once she had given him her gift, breakfast would have to wait, while they attended to . . . other matters.